Star Wars

The Black Fleet Crisis Trilogy

Book Two

Shield of Lies

Michael P. Kube-McDowell

Synopsis:

In the blockbuster bestselling tradition of Heir to the Empire comes this

thrilling addition to the Star Wars saga, as peace gives way  to  a  dire  new

threat...

BANTAM BOOKS NEW YORK TORONTO LONDON SYDNEY AUCKLAND

Dedication

For Matt, Amanda, and Gwen, in gratitude for  their  love,  support,  and

understanding.

And for all the twelve-year-olds everywhere and any when  who,  like  me,

believed they would journey into space someday--most especially for those  who

really did, and for those who still believe.

Acknowledgments

The STAR WARS universe has been so greatly expanded and enriched  in  the

years since Return of the Jedi appeared that even the best-intentioned  of  us

can hardly hope to master all its details unaided.

I'm therefore grateful for the assistance of the many writers and fans in

the extended STAR  WARS  community  online---on  Genie,  CompuServe,  and  the

Internet--who took the time to answer (and  even  undertook  to  research)  my

questions. In particular, Kevin J. Anderson, Roger MacBride Allen, Matt  Hart,

Robert A. Cash-man, Laurie Burns, Jim Fisher, Cathy Bowden, Tim  O'Brien,  Wm.

Paul Sudlow, and Steve Ozmanski each added at least one page of helpful  facts

to my reference binder this time around.

Other invaluable references included Bill Slavicsek's A Guide to the Star

Wars Universe, Shane Johnson's Star  Wars  Technical  Journal,  Dan  Wallace's

planet research, and  the  various  time  lines,  lexicons,  and  concordances

provided me by Sue Rostoni of Lucasfilm, Ltd., and Tom Dupree at Bantam.

Once again, I owe a great debt of thanks to my family and first  readers,

all of whom made sacrifices so that I could devote my time  and  attention  to

this project.

Without Gwen, Matt, Amanda,  Arlyn,  and  Rod  aiding  and  abetting  the

effort, this book would still be a wc in progress, and  my  editor  and  agent

would have even more gray hair than I've already given them.

Finally, I remain grateful to George Lucas for givi me a chance to add  a

few pages to the continuing saga the STAR WARS universe. It's been a  pleasure

and privilege to serve as a de facto historian for the maturing  New  Republic

and biographer for some of its legendary figures.

- -Michael Paul McDowel; February 6, 1996

Okemos, Michigan

Dramatis Personae

On Coruscant, capital of the New Republic:

Princess Leia Organa Solo, president of the Senate and chief of state  of

the New Republic

Alole, aide to Leia

General Han Solo, on detached duty

Admiral Hiram Drayson, chief of Alpha Blue

General Carlist Rieekan, head of New Republic Intelligence

First Administrator Nanaod  Engh,  administrative  director  of  the  New

Republic

Senator Behn-Kihl-Nahm, chairman of the Defense Council  and  friend  and

mentor to Leia

Senator Tolik Yar of Oolidi

Senator Tig Peramis of Walalla

Senator Cion Marook of Hrasskis

Ayddar Nylykerka, chief analyst for  the  Asset  Tracking  Office,  Fleet

Intelligence

Plat Mallar, sole survivor of the Yevethan raid on Polneye

Belezaboth Ourn, extraordinary consul of the Paqwepori

With the Fifth Battle Group of the New Republic Defense Fleet, in  Farlax

Sector:

General Etahn A'baht, Fleet commander

Captain Morano, commander of the Fifth Fleet flagship Intrepid

Esege "Tuke" Tuketu, K-wing bomber pilot

With the Teljkon Task Force:

General Lando Calrissian, Fleet liaison to the expedition

Lobot, chief administrator of Cloud City, on vacation

See-Threepio, protocol droid

Artoo-Detoo, astromech droid

Colonel Pakkpekatt, expedition commander, New Republic Intelligence

Captain Bijo Hammax, foray commander

On N'zotb, spawnworld of the Yevetha, in the Koor-nacbt  Cluster,  Farlax

Sector:

Nil Spaar, viceroy of the Yevethan Protectorate

Eri Palle, aide to Nil Spaar Vor Duull, proctor  of  information  science

for the viceroy Outbound from Lucazec in the skiff Mud Sloth:

Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Master

Akanah, an adept of the White  Current  On  Kashyyyk,  homeworld  of  the

Wookiees:

Chewbacca, attending coming-of-age ceremonies for his son Lumpawarump

Lando

Chapter 1

The Teljkon vagabond was on the run once more.

But this time, there were hitchhikers aboard.

"Hyperspace?" See-Threepio echoed in a dismayed tone as he  struggled  to

free himself. The droid's limbs were tangled up with  Lobot,  R2-D2,  and  the

equipment sled in one corner of the vagabond's air-lock--a  chamber  that  had

suddenly become a spacegoing prison. "You must be mistaken, Master Lobot."

"I am not mistaken," said Lobot, pushing a flailing golden leg away  from

his faceplate. "All my data links terminated at the same  moment,  in  exactly

the same manner I associate with a hyperspace jump."

"There was a course change, too, during  the  acceleration,"  Lando  said

from the opposite corner of the lock.

He flexed his ungloved right hand, trying to drive the bone-chilling cold

from his aching fingers.

"Master Lando!" See-Threepio cried in his most plaintive voice.

"Can't you make it stop?"

"I didn't make it start, Threepio," Lando snapped.

"With all respect, Master Lando, you most certainly did,"  Threepio  said

huffily. "Now, you just reach back in that hole and undo whatever you did, and

quickly, too. Colonel Pakkpekatt will be most upset with us  for  running  off

with his starship."

"Colonel Pakkpekatt is probably inventing new words in Hortek right now,"

said Lando. "But at least he's on a ship that he can boss.

We're not. Any damage over there? Lobot? Artoo-Detoo?"

The little astromech droid emerged from the jumble of bodies and  chirped

once.

"Artoo-Detoo  reports  that  all  his  systems  are  operational,"   said

Threepio.

"I'm uninjured, Lando," said Lobot. "My  suit  took  the  impact  of  the

equipment sled. But my data links are still all down,  and  I  am  finding  it

disorienting."

Lando nodded. "Artoo, can you help Lobot out?"

Rotating in midair  with  the  aid  of  its  microthrust-ers,  the  droid

chittered disagreeably.

"Don't be rude," Threepio chided.

"What's going on?"

"Master Lando, Artoo says that he prefers to keep his systems private."

"Yeah, well, I don't like telepaths, either, Artoo," said Lando. "But I'd

sure like to be able to think at the colonel right now. Give Lobot a  link  to

your event log.

There might be something in there we can use to figure out what happened.

Does anyone see my right glove?"

Lobot was clinging with one hand to the equipment  sled.  "I  think  your

glove blew out the airlock in the decompression."

"Just perfect." Lando looked at his purpled hand, then  at  the  inflated

wrist cuff that was keeping his suit sealed. "What's the pressure in here now?

"

"Six hundred forty millibars," said Lobot. "Repressurization began  after

the entry sealed."

"Repressurization? That's interesting. From where?" Lando craned his head

and looked at the seamless, featureless bulkheads. "Artoo, see if you can find

the vents."

The droid acknowledged the order with a beep and rose to  begin  cruising

along the bulkheads at close range.

"All right--here's the way it looks to me," said Lando. "We're no  longer

invited guests and welcome visitors.

She shook off Lady Luck and tried to spit us out.

Probably would have succeeded if she hadn't been trying to run away  from

the task force at the same time."

"Which raises a question," said Lobot. "Why didn't she know?"

"I'm listening."

"It appears to be a misjudgment.  Two  defense  routines  were  activated

without consideration of their combined effect. The repressurization  of  this

compartment appears to be another inconsistency."

"Do you have an explanation?"

"These events suggest to me that the ship is either under the control  of

systems with limited intelligence, or under the control of beings with limited

intelligence."

When he saw Lando's expression, Lobot added, "At  this  point,  it's  not

possible to distinguish between those possibilities."

"Maybe if we figure that out, we'll know something that can help  us  get

on top here," said Lando. "I'm sure of this much--that lock closed because  of

the jump, not as any favor to us. We're not wanted here.

And if we're not clear of this  compartment  by  the  time  the  vagabond

leaves hyperspace, I don't think too much of our chances."

"Master Lando, I  am  certain  Colonel  Pakkpekatt  and  the  armada  are

pursuing us," said Threepio. "The sooner we leave hyperspace, the sooner  they

can rescue US."

"Yeah, they're going to be looking for us," said Lando. "But finding us--

we could pop out five light-years from  where  we  were,  or  fifty,  or  five

hundred. And normal evasive tactics would call for an immediate course change,

then another jump. Once that happens, you might as well be  playing  hide-and-

seek with the Ewoks on Endor."

"But, Master Lando---there must be some way they can  rescue  us.  Surely

they wouldn't abandon us. If they do not come for us, we  are  all  doomed  to

perish as prisoners, lost in space--" "Threepio, we can't afford to  wait  for

them."

Lando tapped his faceplate to remind the droid why.

"The chrono's already moving. Lobot and I could be dead before this  ship

even decides to leave hyperspace.

That's why we have to act now. We  can't  count  on  any  help  from  the

armada, unless we can figure out some way to give them some  help  finding  us

first. Until then, we're on our own."

Threepio raised his arms and his voice together.

"We apologize," he called to the ship. "Please, believe me, I never meant

to harm anyone--" "Shut up, Threepio."

"Yes, sir."

"Lando," said Lobot.

"What?"

"It couldn't hurt," said Lobot. "Someone might be listening."

Lando frowned.  "As  far  as  this  ship  is  concerned,  we're  pirates,

burglars, tomb-robbers, or worse. Not too  likely  they'll  forget  that  just

because we suddenly develop better manners after breaking down the front door.

"

"The probability of success may be  low,"  said  Lobot.  "But  diplomatic

words are the tool Threepio is best equipped to wield. And perhaps an  apology

will prove to be the key that will open the next door."

Sighing, Lando waved his gloved hand toward See-Threepio.

"All right. But, Threepio, a little dignity, please."

"Of course, Master Lando," the droid said, a hint of defensiveness in his

tone. "I am programmed to conduct myself in a dignified manner at  all  times.

Why, it's one of the  fundamental  principles  of  etiquette  and  protocol--"

"Right," Lando said, cutting him short. "Just get to it. We have no  idea  how

much time we have. Use the secondary comm channel so Lobot  and  I  can  still

hear each other."

"Very well, Master Lando," Threepio said, then seemingly fell silent.

"Lobot, you have access to Attoo's event log?"

"Yes, Lando."

"See  if  you  can  figure  out  our  new  heading  from  his  gyro   and

accelerometer readings leading up to the jump.

Maybe that, plus Artoo's astrographic database,  can  tell  us  something

about how much  time  we  have--"  New  Republic  ferret  IX-26  came  out  of

hyperspace close enough to its destination for the planet to fill most of  the

forward viewscreen.

"Check the  coordinates,"  Kroddok  Stopa  ordered,  frowning.  "Absolute

reference."

"The astrogator says forty-four, one-niner-six, two-one-oh."

The pilot spun the index wheel on the ship's log  with  a  swipe  of  his

palm. "Yeah, that's what you gave me."

"Those numbers came  directly  from  the  Third  General  Survey."  Stopa

pointed at the astrogation display.

"But if I'm reading your board correctly, it says  that  this  planet  is

Maltha Obex. That's a Tobek name."

The pilot cocked his head toward the astrogator.

"Maltha Obex, that's right."

Stopa, expedition chief for the  Obroan  Institute's  mission  to  Qella,

shook his head as he studied the data coming in from IX-26's sensors.

"My stars. What happened here?"

Glancing up at the viewscreen, the pilot said, "Why, what d'ya mean?

Looks just like ten thousand other iceballs."

Josala Krenn, the other half of the Obroan expedition, moved forward from

her station. "That's just it.

The Three-GS survey mission reported this as a temperate world. It had  a

population of seven million and a primary  ecosystem  rated  provisionally  at

complexity two."

Shaking his head, the pilot said dryly, "We must have missed  the  summer

season."

"That was expected," Stopa said. "When the Three-GS contact mission  came

here, they found a third of the landmass glaciated." He left unspoken that the

contact team had found the planet dead, the Qella civilization in ruins.

"When the Tobek came, they must have thought this world  was  theirs  for

the taking, and gave it a claiming name," said Josala.

"What difference does the name make? This is  where  you  wanted  to  be,

right? What am I missing?"

"The last Three-GS contact was a  hundred  and  fifty-eight  years  ago,"

Stopa said. "The planet should have begun its recovery by now."

"I still don't see the problem."

"Yes, you do," Josala said. "The problem's all we can see. The problem is

the ice."

"Try me again."

Josala sighed. "Where'd you pick us up?"

"Babali," the pilot said. "Wait--you don't have ice drills? Snow shelter?

Cold suits?"

"Babali's a tropical dig. For some reason,  ice  drills  weren't  on  the

equipment list," said Josala wryly. "Our rover isn't even rated for this  kind

of weather."

The pilot whistled sympathetically. "Now I see  the  problem.  But  why'd

they send you, then?"

"We were the best solution to a two-variable equation," said Josala.

"The nearest bioarchaeologist and the fastest available transportation."

"It is not all bad," Stopa said  thoughtfully.  "We  were  sent  here  to

recover biological samples.  The  glacia  tion  virtually  ensures  that  good

samples still exist to be recovered."

"Unless what triggered  this  climatic  episode  was  a  dirty  war--with

incendiaries, or surface-burst weapons," Josala pointed out.

"Not much atmosphere left, but I can drop a probe to take a sniff,"  said

the pilot. "We ought to be able to settle that question pretty quickly."

"No," said Stopa. "Put us in a mapping orbit. Let's have a  look  at  the

other side. We only need one landing site--a  few  grams  of  material.  There

could be a geothermal field, or some other sort of hot  spot--a  warm  current

from a deep vent, perhaps, that kept a portion of some seacoast  ice-free.  If

so, surely the Qella would have fled there before the end."

"You don't expect to find anyone alive, do you?

Look at the surface temperature readings."

"No, not alive," Stopa said. "But I would be grateful for a single corpse

that is not buried under three hundred meters of ice."

"Mapping orbit it is," said the pilot, reaching for the controls.

"Maltha Obex, here we come."

"Qella," Josala amended quietly. "If at least a little bit of this planet

doesn't still belong to the Qella, we're going to be a big  disappointment  to

the folks who sent us here."

From the close vantage of a standard mapping orbit, Qella's  face  proved

no more inviting. The land was blanketed  in  ice  to  a  depth  of  up  to  a

kilometer, while the shrunken oceans, too salty to  freeze,  were  thick  with

bergs and growlers.

"That's it," said Stopa, studying the data from the final pass. "Some  of

the Qella might have tried to live on the ice--we might  get  lucky  and  find

their remains only fifty or a hundred meters down. It's something we can  work

on while we're waiting for reinforcements. But we have to  assume  the  worst,

and call for help."

"Maybe we can get Dr. Eckels's team," said Josala.

"They were supposed to be finished with the Hoth excavation by now."

"We can try. Open a hypercomm link to the Obroan Institute," Stopa said.

"Ready," said the pilot.

"This is Dr. Kroddok Stopa, verification code al-pha-eager-four-four-two.

I want Supply and Dispatch in on this call."

"Done. Go ahead, Doctor."

"I have an urgent requisition for additional equipment and staff  for  my

current assignment." Stopa quickly  rattled  off  the  detailed  list  he  had

composed.

"Have all that?"

"Supply here--I have it. We'll get working on it right away."

"We also need a crack cold*site team out here. Is Dr. Eckels's Hoth  crew

available?"

"They reported back yesterday. I don't know what their status  is,"  said

the dispatcher. "But I'll send this up to the committee right  away,  and  get

you an answer pronto."

"Assuming that they are available, what's your best estimate of  when  we

see them and the gear out here?"

"If we can push the turnaround on Penga Rift and get the  team  and  gear

aboard by midnight--you are looking at sixteen standard days. Add on hour-for-

hour for any delays getting off."

"Is anything faster than Penga Rift available?"

"Not under institute registry--sorry."

"Explore other options,"  Stopa  said  shortly.  "This  has  the  highest

priority. Stopa out." He signaled the pilot to end the link. "Now you'd better

get me Krenjsh at New Republic Intelligence. They need to know there'll  be  a

delay getting them what they asked for."

There was little talking among the  quartet  trapped  in  the  vagabond's

airlock. Everyone had a job to do.

Artoo searched for the inflow vents, while Threepio  made  entreaties  to

the vagabond's masters. Lobot analyzed the acceleration and astrographic  data

while he inventoried the equipment on the equipment sled. And  Lando  returned

to the control handle in the corner of the compartment  to  see  if  it  would

respond to him.

The  handle  proved  immovable,  and  Lando's  touch  alone  elicited  no

detectable response from the ship. But through his efforts, he  realized  that

his bare hand was puffy, stiff, and aching--the pressure from the wrist collar

was compounding the damage done by the decompression.

"Do we have any sample bags?" Lando asked, returning to where  Lobot  and

the equipment sled floated.

"Yes. Six small, six large, and two capsules of freeform sheet gel."

"The bags--they're self-sealing, right?"

"Yes, Lando." He paused. "I'm sorry--I don't have any  more  information.

Do amnesiacs know that there are things they cannot remember? If  so,  then  I

know how it feels to have amnesia. What  I  know  best  is  making  links  and

browsing for information. I do not seem to have much other expertise."

"Save the self-examination for another time," said Lando.  "Grab  one  of

those small sample bags and see if we can't improvise a mitten for me."

Before long, they managed to attach the mouth of the sample bag above the

wrist lock for the missing gauntlet. By squeezing the locking pins, Lando  was

able to make the wrist cuff relax. Almost  immediately  the  swelling  in  his

fingers began to subside.

"I do not know if the bag or the adhesive is strong enough  to  withstand

another depressurization," said Lobot.

"I'm not counting on that," Lando  said.  "I  just  don't  want  to  lose

consumables, or the use of my hand.

The odds are bad enough already. Did you  get  anything  out  of  Artoo's

data?"

"I believe I have our heading prior to the jump to within half a degree,"

Lobot said, then rattled off the numbers. "I apologize for the imprecision."

"That would put us on a course toward Sector One-Five-One," Lando said.

"Yes. The boundary is eight light-years from our original position."

"Is there anyone out in 'Fifty-One who might be able to help us?"

"I'm sorry," said Lobot. "Artoo has navigational data only. There  is  no

geopolitical or sociological data."

Lando nodded. "Stop apologizing for what you can't give  me.  We  haven't

the time to spare. How far is this road open?"

"The imprecision of the heading becomes more significant the farther  out

we look, of course," said Lobot.

"The nearest body that is close enough to the center flight path and  has

a large enough gravity shadow to force a ship out of hyperspace is  forty-one-

point-five-three light-years away."

Frowning, Lando said, "That doesn't  help  me  much.  Turn  the  question

around--how far to the spot along this flight path that's  the  farthest  from

everything else?"

Lobot closed his eyes and concentrated. But the answer came  from  Artoo-

Detoo as a long series of beeps and chirps.

"Artoo says that in twelve-point-nine light-years, this vessel will enter

the most isolated region along this flight path," Threepio offered.  "At  that

point, there will be no charted bodies larger than  a  class  five  comet  for

nearly nine light-years in any direction."

"Sounds like a good place to make a course change," said Lando. "And  far

enough out to give us a little time to work with."

"But we do not know how fast this  vessel  is  capable  of  traveling  in

hyperspace," Lobot pointed out. "That region could be twelve  hours  away,  or

eight, or six--or even fewer.  The  conventional  upper  limit  on  hyperspace

velocity may be technological rather than theoretical.

And there's something else--" "What?"

"If we do clear that gravity  shadow  forty-one  light-years  from  here,

we'll be heading straight for the border of the New Republic, in  the  general

direction of Phracas, in the Core."

"All the more reason not to just stand around waiting," said Lando.

"Artoo, what did you find?"

Artoo beeped, and Threepio translated. "Master  Lando,  Artoo  says  that

there are no inflow vents anywhere in this chamber."

"What? Then how was this chamber repressurized?"

"According to Artoo,  the  atmospheric  gases  are  passing  through  the

bulkheads molecule by molecule. He says that most of the surface area  of  the

compartment is involved."

"Let me get this straight--these bulkheads are porous?"

Artoo chittered, and Threepio offered the answer.

"No, Master Lando. Artoo says that molecules of gas simply appear on  the

surface."

"Curious," said Lobot. "I wonder  if  the  bulkheads  could  be  actually

producing the gas."

"Artoo, is there any area that's more involved with this process than the

rest?" asked Lando.

The little droid jetted down to the center of the chamber and illuminated

a band across the inner  bulkhead  with  a  beam  of  orange  light  from  his

holographic projector.

"Got it. Threepio, give me a report on your progress."

The golden droid cocked his head. "Sir, so far I have hailed the  masters

of this  vessel  in  eleven  thousand,  four  hundred  sixty-three  languages,

offering our abject apologies and asking for their assistance. There has  been

no reply on any band I am capable of detecting."

"Do those six million languages of yours happen to include the Qella?"

"Alas, Master Lando, they do not."

"Do you have any information at all about the Qella language? Maybe  it's

related to some other language you are fluent in--the way  that  if  you  know

rock, you can almost get along in Thobek or Wehttam."

"I'm sorry, Master Lando. I am completely at a lOSS."

"What about matching up geographically?"

"Sir, it is a standard first contact procedure to  attempt  contact  with

regional languages when the native language is unknown," Threepio said with  a

note of indignation.

"I began with the eight hundred seventy-three  languages  spoken  in  the

sector where Qella is located, and continued  with  the  three  thousand,  two

hundred seven languages with direct links to those linguistic families."

"And now you're just going A to Z on the rest?"

"I am continuing by astrographic proximity."

"How long will it take you to try them all?"

"Master Lando, by reducing the wait time to the minimum specified  by  my

protocols, I will be able to complete the  initial  series  in  four-point-two

standard days."

"That's about what I figured," said Lando. "Lobot, dig  out  the  cutting

blaster. We're going to have to make our own door."

With a grim expression on his face, Admiral Hiram Drayson sat on the edge

of his desk and studied the final contact report from  Colonel  Pakkpekatt  at

Gmir As-kilon.

The recordings from the spotter ships were dramatic and alarming.

Moments before the vagabond broke away, a ring  of  six  rounded  bumps--

accumulator nodes or beam radiators, Drayson thought--appeared at the  forward

end of the ship. A fierce blue light began to dance over the bow.

Moments later, twin beams of energy shot out from two of  the  nodes  and

scissored back through the gap between the vagabond  and  Lady  Luck,  slicing

them apart. Another pair of beams knifed out from two other nodes  and  carved

through the interdiction generator on the underbelly of the picket Kauri.  The

blowback surge from  the  fully  charged  generator  destroyed  Kauri's  power

compartment and left the ship afire and dead in space.

The instant Kauri was neutralized, the vagabond began  to  move,  turning

away from Lady Luck and accelerating out past the disabled picket's  position,

well clear of the remaining interdictors.  Just  forty-two  seconds  after  it

began, it was over, the vagabond vanishing into the  center  of  a  hyperspace

cone.

The final tally for the contact: One drone ferret destroyed.

One  interdiction  picket  disabled  and   abandoned,   with   twenty-six

casualties, including six fatalities in the power compartment.

One yacht recovered  and  returned  to  a  mooring  on  Glorious's  hull,

undamaged except for the primary air-lock.

One successful boarding of the target.

One successful escape by the target.

One expedition armada scattered across space, with four ships in  pursuit

of the target and the others pulling ambulance or cleanup duty.

And, most  troubling  of  all  to  Drayson,  one  contact  suit  gauntlet

recovered in the debris--right hand, in Lando's size.

The report contained some positive information as  well.  It  was  beyond

dispute now that the vagabond's weapons were compound--the intersection of two

or more  beams  did  the  damage,  probably  through  some  sort  of  harmonic

resonance. Unless there were more weapon nodes concealed amidships, it  seemed

as though six targets were all the vagabond could handle. Possibly as  few  as

four ships, properly spaced, might overwhelm its defenses.

But first Pakkpekatt would have to find the vagabond again--a  task  that

had taken two years the last time.

Drayson called up the chart of the pursuit and studied it closely.

Three ships were racing for search stations  along  the  vagabond's  last

heading: Lightning ten light-years out, Glorious twenty, and Marauder  thirty.

The improvised plan called for  them  to  drop  sensor  buoys  with  hypercomm

repeaters at those entry points and then begin making short jumps out  to  the

limits of sensor range, hoping to catch a glimpse of their quarry.

The precision of the plan did not mask its weak-ness--its slim chance  of

success depended on the vagabond's making a single short jump. If it  followed

a short jump with a second jump on another heading, where there were  no  eyes

to see or sensors to track--or if it carried  the  first  jump  out  fifty,  a

hundred, five hundred light-years, beyond the borders of the New Republic  and

into the chaos of the Core-Drayson knew that Colonel Pakkpekatt had  addressed

an urgent appeal for more ships to both  New  Republic  Intelligence  and  the

Fleet Office before Glorious jumped out from Gmir Askilon. He  also  knew  the

likely answer to that appeal.

"The only real chance for us to catch her lies with you, Lando,"  Drayson

said softly. "You must help us find you."

But it was not Drayson's way to abandon someone he had sent into  danger.

His fingers danced over his controller, bringing an inventory of Alpha  Blue's

assets in Sector 151 to the screen. There might be little he could

Shield of Lies ·17

do, but he would do what he could. And there was always some way to alter

the odds.

The habits of the Senate's Council on Security and Intelligence were  not

unlike those of the institutions  over  which  it  reigned.  It  announced  no

meetings, released no public reports, and met only in closed  session  in  the

field-shielded Room 030, deep in the subbasements of the old Imperial Palace.

So  earnestly  secretive  were  the  seven  sitting  members   that,   in

Coruscant's own dialect of  Basic,  the  phrase  "CSI  agenda"  had  become  a

benchmark for the unattainable, the  impossible  item  on  a  scavenger  hunt.

Discouraged suitors would despair that they had "a better chance of  taking  a

CSI agenda home." Subordinates handed a daunting task could comfort themselves

with the thought It could be worse he could want a CSI agenda, too.

Even Drayson found it difficult to discover when the CSI  would  take  up

Pakkpekatt's request. And when he finally did learn about that session, it was

too late to find a way to listen in.

"Last item on the agenda is the Teljkon expedition," said General Carlist

Rieekan. "May I assume that you all received your copies of  the  report?"  He

waited a moment, then, hearing no dissent, went on.

"Discussion, please."

Senator Krall Praget of Edatha, chairman of the CSI, leaned back  in  his

chair and combed his fingers back through his skulldown.  "What  is  there  to

decide?

The mission was a failure. Close the books."

"Lando Calrissian and his team are still aboard  the  vagabond,"  Rieekan

reminded him gently.

"What reason do you have to think they're still alive?" Praget asked.

"Why would any captain capable of acting as surely and decisively as  the

captain of the vagabond did in escaping make  the  mistake  of  not  repelling

boarders with equal vigor?"

"It is possible that they were taken prisoner," said Rieekan. "It is even

possible that they escaped capture."

Praget pulled his datapad toward him. "How do you account for the contact

suit gauntlet found by the recovery teams? It's Calrissian's, I believe."

"I don't have an explanation," Rieekan admitted.

"General Rieekan," said Senator Cair Tok Noimm.

"Do I understand correctly that the gauntlet is undamaged and there is no

blood on it?"

"That's correct."

She nodded. "In that case, this gauntlet does not seem to me to be reason

enough to abandon these people to their fate."

"It's not clear to me what we can do for them,"  said  Senator  Amamanam,

who represented the Bdas on Coruscant.

"Unless Senator Noimm would like to lead us in prayer to the Star Mother-

-" The laughter around the table was  cold,  but  Noimm's  eyes  were  colder.

"There are two lives at stake here--the lives of two valuable friends  of  the

New Republic.

And please remember that the droids are of no small  value,  either--they

had their own role in making it possible for there to be  a  New  Republic.  I

doubt there are any droids anywhere who are better known  than  these  two--or

better loved, for that matter."

"If they are so important to the New Republic,  they  should  be  in  the

museum, along with all the other beloved icons," said Praget curtly.

"Along with Luke Skywalker, to whom they belong?" asked Senator  Lillald.

"I must agree with Cair Tok. I would not want to face the questions that would

come if these four were to disappear in our service and we  were  to  make  no

effort to recover them."

"In our service? Have you read the account of how they came to be on that

ship? They can hardly be said to be in our service,"  said  Senator  Amamanam.

"General, could you kindly explain to us how it is that the  Baron  Calrissian

and the others came to be involved in the first place?

I don't recall there being any mention of them in the expedition plan you

brought to us."

"General Calrissian was representing the Fleet on this  mission,  at  the

request of the Fleet Office," Rieekan said deliberately. "The others  comprise

his support staff, pparently assembled specifically for this mission."

"This is all so absurd," Praget fumed. "If it were Hammax and his men  on

board the vagabond, as it should have  been,  we  would  not  be  having  this

discussion.

Either they would have disabled the ship, or we'd be sending our  regrets

to the families of the missing in action."

"Senator--" "But Pakkpekatt  allowed  these  meddlers,  these  outsiders,

these amateurs, to intervene, and suddenly it becomes impossible to write  off

our losses in a professional manner."

Rieekan tried again. "Senator, have the reports from  Colonel  Pakkpekatt

led you to reevaluate the potential gain if we succeed in recovering the Qella

vessel?"

"No, General," said Praget, with a touch of impatience at being  handled.

"I'm still quite convinced that this artifact is worthy of our interest. But I

don't see that the circumstances justify sending a Force Two armada  wandering

through a thousand cubic light-years on what is very likely  to  be  a  futile

effort."

"With all the uncertainty in Farlax, we could surely find better uses for

those ships than chasing a phantom," said Senator Amamanam. "The vagabond will

turn up again."

"Will you be personally handling the apologies to Luke Skywalker,  then?"

Senator Noimm asked cuttingly.

"Will the chairman make himself available to the  news-grids  to  explain

exactly under what circumstances these notables disappeared?"

"If I might make a suggestion--" Rieekan began.

"By all means," said Praget.

"A contact suit isn't designed for long endurance.

Its recycling systems are simple and relatively inefficient.

Its consumables, if managed wisely, might last  the  wearer  perhaps  two

hundred hours--certainly no more  than  two  hundred  and  twenty,"  said  the

intelligence director.

"So we simply wait a few days to declare them dead, is that your point?"

"Not quite," Rieekan said. "If they are still alive, the general and  his

team will be highly motivated to act expeditiously. Anything they  can  do  to

impede the flight of the Qella vessel, they will do in the next several days.

So it seems only prudent to me to allow Pakkpekatt to continue the search

for, say, another fifteen days."

"If nothing else," said Senator Amamanam, "doing so would cut  the  heart

out of the charge that we  abandoned  the  Baron  to  his  fate."  He  glanced

expectantly down the table toward Senator Noimm.

"If you'd truly like to protect yourself,  I  suggest  you  go  one  step

further and  propose  that  we  send  Pakkpekatt  the  additional  vessels  he

requested," said Noimm. "Otherwise the search  might  be  seen  as  the  token

gesture it is."

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Praget.  "Pakkpekatt  gets  no  more  ships.  That

incompetent Hortek spook what he  ought  to  get  is  a  review  board  and  a

dishonorable separation.

But I suppose I'll have to settle for the general's finding a deep,  dark

hole to drop him in once this is over."

"I wouldn't support sending additional  ships,"  said  Rieekan,  ignoring

Praget's other comments. "The way I see it, we  now  have  assets  aboard  the

target vessel. That changes the tactical  equation.  We're  not  going  to  be

trying to run it into an interdiction net, or firing on it.

We just need to find it and be on hand to pick up our people."

"I see Pakkpekatt only has four vessels actively committed to the  search

at this point."

"That's right," said Rieekan. "So I think we can  reasonably  talk  about

downsizing our commitment to this project.  If  everyone  will  look  at  page

fifteen in the mission outline, the ship assignment list--"

CChapter 2

"Have you ever used a cutting blaster before, Lando?"  Lobot  asked  with

concern.

"Lots of times," said Lando, bracing himself between the  inner  bulkhead

and the equipment sled.

"But don't ask me for a list. The statute of limitations hasn't  run  out

on all of 'em. Artoo, can I have a little more light in here, right  in  front

of me?"

The dome-topped droid drifted up and forward on tiny  puffs  of  thruster

gas, changing the angle of the light slightly.

"That's good, Artoo--hold right there."

"Be careful not to cut too deeply," Lobot said.

"There may be mechanisms behind the wall--" "If  Artoo's  right,  there's

nothing behind this part of the wall. The sonogram showed a thin bulkhead  and

another compartment beyond, five meters in diameter."

"I know. But a ship this size could  have  waste  ports  five  meters  in

diameter. Or fuel conduits."

"You know, Lobot, when you're cut off from your databases, you're  almost

as much of an old  lady  as  Threepio  here,"  Lando  said,  but  not  without

affection.

"Threepio, any change?"

"No, Master Lando. There has been no response to my  first  nine  hundred

sixty-one thousand, eight--" "Save it for the log," Lando said.

"Lobot, Threepio, I know how much you want  to  watch  over  my  shoulder

while I do this. But if I were you, I'd move around to where my  contact  suit

is between you and the blaster.

That way, if I make a mistake, you might still be around  to  learn  from

it."

"If Artoo would give me a link to his video processor-" Lobot said.

"Do it, Artoo." Lando held the cutting blaster up before  his  face  with

his right hand, and with his left set the selector for hairline and depth  for

shallow. "Maybe we'll finally get a response to this message,"  he  said,  and

activated the cutter.

Under Lando's steady hand, the blue-white energy blade  drew  a  straight

line down the face of the bulkhead.

But when Lando pulled the blaster away to inspect his work, he found that

the blaster had left no mark--the bulkhead was intact.

"Guess I was a little too careful," Lando said, frowning. "Move the  sled

in just a little for me, Lobot."

When he had finished adjusting his position, Lando  reached  forward  and

drew the blaster blade slowly down the face of the bulkhead once more.

"What the--" "What is happening?" Threepio asked worriedly.

He rose from behind Lando to peer over his shoulder at the wall.

"A lot of nothing," said Lando in disgust. "I can't even scorch it."

"I think you are mistaken, Lando," said Lobot.

"Please try again, and this time move the cutter more quickly."

Lando slashed the cutter downward across the face of  the  bulkhead.  The

brilliant glare of the blade left a thin black  line  in  its  wake--a  clean,

straight cut that closed up and vanished a fraction of a second later.

"Self-sealing bulkheads?"

"It would appear so," said Lobot.

"Well, that's just dandy," Lando said, shutting off the cutting  blaster.

"I can't cut us a door, because it hasn't the manners to stay cut."

Lobot tapped Lando on the helmet, then gestured at the  blaster.  "May  I

try something?"

"Be my guest." Lando surrendered the blaster  and  moved  aside,  pulling

himself hand over hand toward the aft end of the equipment sled.

Lobot studied the selectors on the blaster for a few moments, then  opted

for the medium drill setting. The blade appeared this time as a pointed  cone,

which Lobot pressed against the wall until half its length had disappeared.

When he withdrew it, there was a hole a few  centimeters  across  in  the

bulkhead.

The hole began to close at once, but it took noticeably longer to  vanish

than the cut had long enough for Lobot to pull himself down to eye  level  and

catch a quick glimpse through the breach.

"Very clever, Lobot. Very interesting. Between one  and  two  seconds,  I

think," Lando said.

"I was hoping for this result," said Lobot, turning toward Lando.

"Whatever mechanisms are involved, substantially more  material  must  be

transported or replaced to fill a hole than to seal a cut."

"Did you see anything?"

"Nothing useful. An open space of some kind, dimly lit. Everything had  a

yellowish cast."

"Let's try a bigger hole," Lando said. "Artoo, do you have some  sort  of

remote sensor you can stick through this time?"

"The limpet," Lobot suggested. "We could reach  through  and  attach  the

limpet on the other side of the bulkhead. Both Artoo  and  I  are  capable  of

receiving its sensor data."

"I don't want to make quite that big a hole," Lando said. "Not this time.

Every time we cut into that bulk head, we're reminding this ship we're here. I

don't know how many times we can bite before we get swatted.

Artoo, what about it?"

Artoo tootled pridefully as a small equipment panel on  his  body  popped

open and a slender wand topped by a small silver ball unfolded from within.

"You needn't be snippy about it," Threepio chided.

The response from Artoo sounded like an electronic raspberry.

"Well, I'm sure it's not his business to keep track  of  those  details,"

Threepio said, bristling. "I've been in your company for longer than I care to

remember, and I certainly don't keep track of every gadget in that ugly little

chassis--"  Lando  whistled  sharply.  "Whoa,  you  two--save  it  for  later.

Threepio, was there any part of that I need to know?"

"Master Lando, Artoo says that astromech droids must  frequently  inspect

systems which are located in confined spaces," Threepio said curtly.

"He apparently believes that R2 units  are  important  enough  that  this

should be common knowledge. He has quite the little ego, you know."

"Yes, well, I've often thought it's a shame he doesn't have your modesty,

Threepio," Lando said, flying himself back to the middle of the equipment sled

and reclaiming the cutting blaster from Lobot.

"Have you made any new pen pals since we started cutting?"

"There has been no response whatever from  the  masters  of  this  vessel

since I began trying to hail them," said Threepio. "I suggest you proceed with

whatever you are planning."

Lando changed the selector to medium drill and activated the blaster.

"Artoo, come in close--I want  that  sensor  wand  through  the  hole  as

quickly as possible. But don't let yourself get caught when it closes.

And Lobot, Artoo, between the two of you, I  want  to  know  exactly  how

large a hole I make and exactly how long it takes it  to  close.  Is  everyone

ready? Let's do it, then."

The medium setting allowed Lando to open a hole  that  was  nearly  large

enough to admit a man's clenched fist. Switching off the blaster, Lando pushed

off from the wall and did a backward somersault, floating out of Artoo's  way.

The droid moved smoothly and surely into position, extending the wand  through

the very center of the opening and snatching it back at the last moment as the

hole disappeared again.

"Show us, Artoo. Holoprojector," Lando ordered.

The droid chirped an acknowledgment and offered up a fish-eye perspective

of a round-walled passage that seemed to bend around or through  the  ship  in

both directions.

There was no sign of life or machinery, nor any response to  the  cutting

of the hole and the invasion of Artoo's scan probe.

"Looks promising," said Lando. "Whatever it is, it could give  us  access

to at least part of the ship. Artoo, Lobot, what's the verdict?

How big a hole do I need to cut to get us all through?"

"I am afraid there is a problem, Lando," Lobot said.

"Artoo's measurements show that the larger hole closed faster,  per  unit

of area, than the smaller one."

"It looked that way to me, too," Lando agreed.

"Bigger holes probably get higher priority from the ship's systems.

What, don't you think we can get through?"

"The short dimension of the common wall between  that  passage  and  this

chamber is approximately one-point-seven meters," Lobot said, pointing.

"My estimate is that a hole that size will take only six or seven seconds

to close down to the point where it will be impassable for any of us. That  is

not enough time to move the sled and the four of us into the other chamber."

"It might be enough time. Jump troops go out the drop chute of an assault

boat at a rate of one per secN and."

"Jump troops have the benefit of training and gravity.

I have modeled it with Artoo's nav processor. At best, one  of  us  would

not make it through."

"Well--that is a  problem,"  said  Lando.  "Because  I  have  a  sneaking

suspicion that when we cut a hole that size, this ship's going to get  fed  up

with us and try to spit us out again. I don't think we'll get a chance  to  do

it twice." He thought hard for a moment, then waved the blaster  in  the  air.

"Everything off the sled. I need to make some modifications."

The equipment sled was an uncomplicated device.

Its thick rectangular frame contained the gyros, fuel cells,  and  thrust

stabilizer system, and also provided cutout handholds  at  regular  intervals.

The standard diamond-pattern metal grid  that  filled  the  frame  provided  a

wealth of lockdowns for gear kits and tools. Both sides of  the  grid  on  the

team's sled were heavily loaded.

"Modifications?"

"Yeah," said Lando. "I think we need a frame for our door."

Clinging to the sled with one hand and wielding the cutting blaster  with

the other, Lando slashed away where the grid joined the sled  frame.  When  he

was finished, the sled was in two pieces. Lando  pushed  the  wobbly,  heavily

loaded grid toward Artoo. "You tow that through to the other side."

The droid's grappling clamps appeared and latched onto the grid securely.

"Give me a hand here, Lobot?"

Lobot eased forward and grabbed a handhold at the  opposite  end  of  the

gutted sled frame. "I am remembering something I accessed earlier,"  he  said.

"The chief designer of the Ma'aood funerary  temples  directed  his  draftsmen

that all obvious passages should be booby-trapped, and  all  traps  should  be

made as inviting as possible."

"Thank you for that uplifting thought," said Lando.

"If we get out of this, you should think about a new career as  a  morale

officer. Everyone ready?"

"Master Lando, what should I do?"

Lando checked his combat blaster in its holster, then slid  the  selector

on the cutting blaster to WiDE. "Add  this  to  our  apology,"  he  said,  and

pointed it at the bulkhead.

"Hang on."

The  brilliant  flare  of  the  cutting  beam  momentarily  dazzled   the

viewscreen of Lando's contact suit, and the vaporized material from two and  a

half square meters of bulkhead filled the air as a gray cloud.

Before Lando could even see clearly, the hole began to close.

"Let's go, let's go--get it lined up!" Lando shouted.

The two men maneuvered the frame into position, and the  bulkhead  closed

around it as though it were a tailored fit.

But as they did, they heard a deep, rumbling groan from the ship, a sound

that had no direction. Though the  surroundings  were  alien,  the  sound  was

familiar--the signature of a form of stress that aged large vessels' hulls and

led to the spectacular form of self-destruction known as an  exit  breach.  It

was the exit growl, the characteristic sound caused by portions  of  the  ship

emerging from hyperspace  nanoseconds  before  the  rest  as  the  jump  field

collapsed.

"I hate it when I'm right," Lando said, gesturing with his free hand.

"Move it, Artoo. Now!"

The little droid jetted quickly toward the opening,  towing  the  heavily

loaded grid behind it. For a moment Lando thought the frame looked  too  small

for Artoo to pass through it. But the droid retracted his  treads  as  far  as

they would go, turned his body, and cleared the opening by  bare  centimeters.

The equipment grid smoothly passed through behind him.

"Wait for me, Artoo!" Threepio called, flailing  his  arms  and  legs  in

midair.

"Go ahead," Lando said to Lobot, passing  him  the  cutting  blaster  and

waving him on. "I'll get Threepio."

Lobot didn't wait to be told twice, swinging  himself  feetfirst  through

the improvised doorway as neatly as a gymnast taking a turn  on  the  parallel

bar. Meanwhile, Lando clipped the safety line from the contact suit's belt  to

the handhold of the frame and launched himself toward the  droid,  his  gloved

hand extended to him.

"Oh, thank you, Master Lando," the droid said relievedly  as  he  grabbed

hold of Lando's arm. Then Threepio saw Lando's eyes suddenly widen in alarm.

"What is it, sir?"

Watching from the inner passage, Lobot saw the same thing Lando had  seen

when he looked past Threepio  toward  the  outer  bulkhead:  a  small  opening

appearing and quickly irising into an airlock that revealed  a  stark,  starry

blackness beyond. Moments later the external mics on the suits picked  up  the

hiss of out-rushing air.

Lando did not take the time to answer Threepio's concerned inquiry.

"Heads up--incoming!" he bellowed, and swung Threepio by the arms  toward

the inner doorway. Bracing himself against the frame, Lobot  reached  through,

caught Threepio's right foot, and dragged him into the inner passage.

But the rush of air through the inner passage and out through  the  wound

kept building, and it was all Lobot could do to keep himself from being sucked

through.

Nor was he the only one in trouble.  Artoo's  thrusters  could  not  hold

against the  screaming  wind,  and  he  squawked  loudly  as  he  was  dragged

inexorably  back  down  the  inner  passage  toward  the   opening,   clinging

determinedly to the equipment grid.

Meanwhile, Lando dangled helplessly at the end of his  safety  line,  his

feet banging against the edge of the outer airlock as the air grabbed  at  him

on its way into the vacuum beyond.

Only Threepio was relatively secure, his metal body braced across one end

of the sled frame, blocking part of the opening. But he was  waving  his  arms

wildly like a shell-spined mud crawler that'd been flipped on its back.

"Oh, Artoo, we're doomed!" he cried. "I never did like space travel.

Look where your adventuring has led us--" "You have to  cut  the  frame,"

Lando was shouting into the comlink. "Cut the frame and  it'll  pull  out--the

rest of the hole will close. Do it!"

"Not with you on that side," Lobot  said,  climbing  across  Threepio  to

where the safety line was attached.

"There's a take-up crank on that belt line. See if you can pull  yourself

up that way."

"No good," said Lando. "Too much load. Just cut the frame, will you?"

Lobot glanced sideways down the corridor to see if he and  Threepio  were

in danger of being knocked through the hole by an out-of-control Artoo and his

cargo. But to Lobot's relief, he saw that Artoo had made his way to  the  edge

of the passage, burned a small hole with his arc  welder,  and  let  the  hole

close around a repair arm. So far, the anchor was holding against the current-

-which seemed to Lobot to be weakening.

"Forget it," Lobot directed, reaching down between his  braced  legs  and

catching hold of the thin safety line.

He began hauling on the line hand over hand,  reeling  Lando  in  like  a

great white fish. The cyborg's wiry body concealed  surprising  strength,  and

soon he had hold of the tow ring on Lando's suit, at the back of the neck.

"Use your thrusters now--full vertical."

"Full vertical," Lando echoed.

With one smooth, powerful motion,  Lobot  pulled  Lando  up  between  his

widely spaced knees, lying straight back to drag Lando's legs clear  and  hurl

him free down the passage.

Quickly sitting back up, Lobot pulled out the cutting blaster and slashed

the frame in two places. There was a shower of sparks each time, then  a  puff

of D20 propellant from the broken lines as he kicked out the  section  between

the cuts. It spun free and tumbled out through the airlock on the breeze.

The bulkhead groaned under Lobot, and the rest  of  the  frame  began  to

collapse, twisting sideways as it did, until it, too, was carried away.

Seconds later the hole had closed under them, the pitch  of  the  roaring

air rising to a shrill note before  it  cut  off  entirely,  leaving  them  in

silence.

"I guess we only get to use that doorway trick  once,"  Lando  said.  The

inside of his faceplate was fogged with sweat. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I learned it wild-water rafting on  Oko  E,"  Lobot  said.  "It  is  the

preferred method for getting a raftmate out of the river before the sulfur ice

pulls him under.

That was my last vacation," he added.

"You have unexpected depth, Lobot," said Lando.

"Is everyone all right?"

"I am certain that several  of  my  circuits  are  overheated,"  Threepio

pronounced. "With your permission, Master Lando, I would  like  to  perform  a

self-diagnos-tic."

"Go ahead," Lando said. "While you're doing that, we'll get  Artoo  free.

And then we can start figuring out what to do next."

"That should not prove too taxing," said Lobot.

"The choices appear to be to go that way"--he crossed his arms  over  his

chest, pointing a finger in each direction"or that way."

"Shhh," Lando said, craning his head. "Wait. Listen."

They listened in silence, with sinking hearts. In the  mysterious  hollow

spaces of the vagabond, the fading rumble of the entry growl echoed for a long

time.

"Blast." Lando sighed. "She's jumped again."

"Something interesting here," said Josala Krenn.

ner. The false-color image mapped the undulations of a great  glacier  as

it crawled its way along a widening, steep-sided valley toward a  frozen  sea.

"Where?"

"Here," said Josala,  pointing  out  a  string  of  small  blue  blotches

scattered along the northeast edge of the glacier.  "The  side-scanning  radar

pulled these up--they're sitting anywhere from eleven to nineteen meters  down

in the ice."

"Rock from the lateral moraine?"

"No, for two reasons. First, they're awfully  regular  in  size,  oblong,

between one-point-five and two meters in the long  axis.  And  second--do  you

know anything about the flow lines in the accumulation zone of a glacier?"

"Not a thing."

"Something that falls on the surface of a glacier moves down-valley  with

the ice and down into the body of the glacier as more snow falls on top of it,

" Josala said. "The lateral moraine running through that part of  the  glacier

is made up of rock coming off this cliff face."

She pointed at a side valley well back along the path of the glacier.

"So by the time that rock gets to here--" "It's fifty meters down.

These other objects, they haven't been in the ice as long  as  that  rock

underneath them. And they would have had to come onto  the  ice  somewhere  in

here." Josala traced a circle with her finger over a flat area up-valley.

"That's out in the middle of nothing," said Stopa.

"Right." She wrinkled her face in thought. "It's hard to be sure  of  the

timetables with cataclysmic climatic change, but I'd guess that whatever these

are, they've only been in the ice for fifty to a hundred years."

His eyes widened. "Bodies. Burials on the ice."

"That was my thought."

"It makes sense. Nomadic groups, or perhaps caves  somewhere  nearby--ice

caves, possibly--" "It doesn't matter where they lived, so long as we've found

where they died."

"How deep is the shallowest of those bodies? Eleven meters?" When  Josala

nodded, Stopa turned to the pilot.

"We're going to want our rover."

"Kroddok--" "I know, I know.  But  hear  me  out--we'll  wait  until  the

weather's good there," Stopa said, his eyes animated by anticipation.

"We'll set the rover down right on top of the site. We leave  the  engine

running at idle so there's no chance for anything to freeze up.

We work right out of the gear bay, because all we have to do  is  take  a

core.

Our equipment ought to be able to handle that."

"You want to drill a core?" Josala said in horror.

"That'll mangle the remains."

"Yes," Stopa said. "I know it violates the usual protocols.

But we weren't sent here to recover bodies. We were sent here to  recover

biological material. When our reinforcements arrive,  they  can  go  down  and

excavate the other sites. But in the meantime, we'll  have  something  we  can

analyze and report back on."

Josala shook her head. "I'd really rather wait for the  people  who  know

what they're doing."

"But we know how to take a core," Stopa said.

"Krenn, a first-year apprentice knows how to take a core. We'll be out of

there in thirty minutes. Twenty."

Josala's reluctance still showed on her face.

Kroddok drew closer and dropped his voice. "The bonus from the NRI  would

be enough to fund the expedition to Stovax," he said. "But if  we  wait  until

Penga Rift arrives, we'll have to share the bonus. We might even end up  being

cut out completely."

He waited to see if that would sway her, then added, "I give you my  word

that we'll withdraw at the first sign of any trouble. No, better,  I'm  making

you expedition boss. You say 'That's it,' and that's it."

Josala looked up at him with a frown, then past him to the pilot.

"What Dr. Stopa said. We're going to want our rover."

The archaeologists' little Mark II World Rover skimmed across the top  of

snow-covered southwest range and began its descent into the glacier valley.

"You're on the beam, eight hundred fifty meters out," said the  voice  of

IX-26's pilot, continuing to talk Stopa and Krenn down to  their  destination.

The navigation and sensor arrays of the rover were no match for those  of  the

ferret.

"Copy," said Stopa, who was at the controls. "I'm  going  from  glide  to

hover mode now."

"Seven hundred. Six hundred. Five fifty--" Several small shield doors  on

the rover's fuselage and delta wings slid open, revealing vector  nozzles  for

the thrustjets. With the rover's nose stall-high and the nozzles perpendicular

to the wings, the little ship quickly lost its forward velocity and  began  to

settle.

Josala was peering out  the  starboard  cockpit  viewpane,  studying  the

ground below them. The steep inner slope of the southwest range wore a  smooth

blanket of snow, but the surface of the glacier itself was a field  of  jagged

ice blocks, some as large as the rover itself.

"It looked a lot smoother on the SSR display," Josala said.

"The rover can cope with a forty-degree terrain tilt.

We'll be all right."

"It's going to be like drilling thlough rock."

"But ice won't wear the bits like rock  does,"  said  Stopa.  "We'll  get

through."

"Two hundred twenty," the pilot was saying into  Stopa's  headset.  "Ease

her a hair to port."

"Copy," Stopa said. "Krenn, we have to at least give  it  a  try--"  Just

then a cloud of swirling white particles billowed up  around  the  rover  from

below, closing in around the cockpit viewpanes and cutting  visibility  nearly

to zero.

"It's our downblast," Stopa said quickly. He raised

Shield of Lies 35

the control handle, and the rover climbed nimbly out of the cloud,  which

immediately began to dissipate beneath them. "Not a problem."

"One fifty."

"You can't land us in a whiteout," said Josala. "If you set  us  down  on

the edge of one of those ice  boulders,  we'll  flip  over  before  the  strut

levelers can do anything."

"Ninety-five."

"I'll just hover at ten meters until the thrusters blow the site clear of

loose material," Stopa said confidently, "If I can't  get  definition  on  the

findercarriage holo, I won't try to land. All right?"

"All right," Josala said with a sigh.

"Sixty," the pilot said. "Ease off, or you're going to overrun the site."

Stopa tapped the air brakes lightly and pulled back on the control handle

slightly. As the rover settled toward the glacier, it was once again  engulfed

in a billow of jet-driven snow. But before long, the swirling cloud  began  to

thin, and the horizon returned.

"Twenty-five."

Josala peered forward. "I can't judge distances without a referent.

That big slab of ice--" He patted her arm. "It's bigger and farther  away

than you think."

"Ten. Eight. Five. Easy--" "Take me to plus-sixteen. I want  to  put  the

rover's tail right down on top of it."

"It's under you now. Plus-six. Plus-nine. Plus-fourteen--"  Stopa  pushed

the control handle sharply down, and the rover dropped hard and shook from the

impact, nose tilted down and sliding sideways. It came to a stop with  another

small jolt, then slowly came to level.

"There," he said, switching quickly among the un-dercarriage scanners and

studying the display.

Those closest to the thrusters were frozen over with steam ice,  but  the

forward and aft scanners were clear.

The front landing strut seemed to be wedged in a small  crevasse,  though

no damage was evident. Aft, the body of  the  rover  was  sitting  comfortably

above the ice.

"That wasn't half bad," he said with  a  grin,  setting  the  systems  to

STANDBY.

"Let's just get it done," Josala said crossly.

One behind the other, they made their way through the crawlspace over the

orbital engine compartment to the crowded gear bay.  There  they  helped  each

other into their improvised snow gear--the ferret's sole  emergency  spacesuit

for her, a standard digger's isolation suit for him, augmented by  the  ferret

pilot's spacesuit glove liners.

Neither of them was prepared for the blinding dazzle of the glacier  when

the gear bay doors swung open.

The sky was clear, and the blue-white sun lit  the  landscape  with  cold

crystal fire as hard to look at as the sun itself. Josala's viewplate adjusted

for it, but Stopa had to  avert  his  eyes  and  squint  to  keep  from  being

overwhelmed.

"Spectacular!" Stopa exulted.

"Sightsee when we're finished," Josala chided.

Everything took longer than it should have. The core  drill  base  didn't

want to latch in the working position, giving Josala  reason  to  worry  about

whether the bay doors would seal properly when it was time to leave.

The gloves made them both clumsy and turned the routine assembly  of  the

first sections of the coring tube into a test. Josala's sounding for the  body

beneath them was marred by crazy echoes. The drill's  gimbal  mount  froze  up

until the  drill  was  turned  on,  complicating  the  alignment  on  Josala's

sounding.

But at last the coring bit chewed its way into the surface of the glacier

and headed down into its depths.

"Seven sections!" Stopa shouted over the rumble of the  drill.  "At  this

angle, we'll need seven sections."

Josala waved her hand in acknowledgment and turned away to pull the  next

section from the rack. It danced under her touch, and she drew her hand back.

She pressed her gauntlet  against  the  wall  of  the  bay  and  felt  it

shivering. It was then that she realized that what she had thought was her own

body shivering was the deck of the rover vibrating under her feet.  The  drill

was roaring now, as though its bearing rings had disintegrated, its lubricants

turned to grit.

"Turn it off!" she cried, pulling  her  way  along  to  where  Stopa  was

leaning out the back of the bay, looking down at the core drive and  measuring

the drill's progress. "Turn it off!" He looked  up  at  her  dumbly,  and  she

reached behind him for the controls.

The core cylinder spun to a stop, but neither the vibration nor the noise

ceased. Just the opposite, in fact--the rumble  was  growing  louder  and  the

shaking growing worse.

With a desperate fear already in their eyes, they  looked  out  from  the

gear bay at the mountain ridge behind them, the ridge they had flown over just

minutes before, the ridge that had been like cotton bathed  in  sunlight.  The

middle of the ridge was now hidden behind an onrushing wall of snow  and  ice,

spreading and climbing the sky as it hurtled closer.

There was no chance to escape into that sky. The avalanche  was  on  them

before they could even quite remember the word. It tumbled the rover before it

like a toy, packing its every crevice with snow, engulfing  the  ship  in  the

furious turbulence of the icy maelstrom.

When the flow finally slowed and ceased, its leading edge reaching nearly

halfway across the valley, there were two more bodies buried on  the  ice  for

Penga Rift to recover.

"The first thing we need is a way to  find  this  spot  again,  and  this

passage is notably lacking  in  landmarks,"  said  Lando.  Using  the  cutting

blaster, he sliced a small triangle off one  corner  of  the  equipment  grid.

"Where was our doorway? Here?"

"Lower," said Lobot. "There."

"I'm glad you're sure," said Lando. "I'm all turned  around."  He  cut  a

slit in the bulkhead, inserted one edge of the triangle,  and  held  it  there

until the bulkhead closed around it. Then he placed one palm flat against  the

bulkhead and tried to tug the metal grid out of the wall. "That should do it."

Lobot drifted up with a short length of cord in one hand. "We might  want

more than one marker before we're done," he said, looping the cord through one

of the diamond-shaped openings and tying the ends together  with  an  overhand

knot. "One knot equals the first marker. We'll put two knots on the next one."

"Okay," said Lando, turning away from the wall.

"There's one thing I overlooked when we took inventory.

I burned about sixty percent of my thruster propellant trying to  get  up

here."

"I have ninety-one percent remaining," said Lobot.

"Unfortunately, there is no way for me to share my supply with you."

"You might end up sharing it by carrying me around on your  back,"  Lando

said. "Threepio, how are you doing for thrust mass?"

Artoo burbled, and Threepio offered the translation.

"Artoo says that his propellant supply is adequate, but he would like  to

be informed when any of us locates a power coupling."

"With any luck, it'll be right next  to  an  oxygen  valve,"  Lando  said

grimly. "All right--we are in a survival situation. This ship has  now  jumped

twice, and we have to assume that it lost any pursuit that  was  mounted  with

that second jump. That means our first priority is to locate and  disable  the

hyperdrive, and stop this ship."

"But Master Lando, if we disable the hyperdrive, we would  be  stranded,"

Threepio protested.

"We don't know how long the vagabond stays in hyperspace--weeks,  months,

years. The galaxy is one hundred twenty thousand light-years  across.  I  like

our chances better stranded."

"Master Lando, would it not be more prudent to find the masters  of  this

vessel and petition them to take us back to Coruscant?"

"Threepio, I think we're the masters of this vessel now," Lando said.

"We have to be, if we're going to survive." He ticked off the  priorities

on his fingers.

"First, we find some way to stop this ship. Second,  we  find  out  where

that leaves us. Third, we find out who our nearest friend is. Fourth, we  find

some way to signal them. If we get that all done before Lobot and I run out of

air and the droids run out of power, then we can worry  about  who  built  the

vagabond, and why."

"We may need  to  engage  those  questions  in  order  to  achieve  those

objectives," said Lobot.

"Maybe," said Lando. "But in my experience, you really don't need to know

much about a precision machine in order to smash it." He pointed a  finger  to

the left, then to the right. "What's  your  best  guess--hyper-drive  aft,  or

forward?"

"Center of mass is the most efficient placement," Lobot said.

"Forward."

Lando nodded. "Then let's get going."

Colonel Pakkpekatt hovered near the communications station as the cruiser

Glorious dropped out of hy perspace. The chase armada  was  strung  out  along

forty light-years, and Glorious was the second bead on the string. "Give  them

to me as fast as they come," he said to the tech at the station.

"Yes, sir. I'm seeing six dispatches--an emergency action directive  from

the Fleet Office, copied to Captain Garch. A blue letter from the NRI,  copied

to Captain Hammax. A dispatch  marked  'Urgent'  from  the  Obroan  Institute.

Reports from Lightning, Pran, and Nagwa."

"The three ships behind  us,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "Very  well.  Make  the

dispatches available at my station."

Crossing the bridge with long,  light-footed  strides,  Pakkpekatt  eased

himself into his flak couch and brought up the  secure  display.  Neither  his

face nor his carriage betrayed any emotion as he read through  the  dispatches

one after another. When he was finished, he tipped the screen away and let out

a long hiss.

"Major Legorburu."

Ixidro Legorburu, the M'haeli intelligence officer  who  was  serving  as

Pakkpekatt's tactical aide, hurried to his station in response to the summons.

"Colonel."

"We have just received a Fleet-wide level one  alert,"  Pakkpekatt  said,

tipping his display upward so that the major could read the  emergency  action

directive. "My request for additional ships for the search has been denied.

I am under orders to release Marauder, Pran, and Nagwa from their  duties

here so that they may return to their respective  commands  at  best  possible

speed."

"That's nearly half our remaining strength, sir," Legorburu said, shaking

his head. "What do they expect us to do?"

"Fail, apparently," Pakkpekatt said curtly. "I have also been  placed  on

notice that Glorious may be recalled as well. We are  to  remain  on  one-hour

alert status, which means no jumps greater than one half light-year."

"At least that allows us to proceed with the search," said Legorburu.

"But we should call Kettemoor forward to fill the gap in  the  line  when

Marauder pulls out. She should be finished with recovery work by now, anyway."

"Kettemoor has already jumped to Nichen with the dead  and  injured  from

the Kauri," said Pakkpekatt. "We will not have her back  for  another  day  at

least--if they allow her to rejoin us at all."

Legorburu peered intently at the display. "I don't get it, Colonel.

Why the sudden change of priorities?

What's happening back there? It must be something big if they can't spare

a thirty-year-old gunship and a couple of interdiction pickets."

"That information was not made available to  me,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  His

mouth curled in an unhappy threat-snarl.

"Maybe I can get something out-of-channel," said  Legorburu.  "Would  you

like me to try?"

Pakkpekatt nodded. "Please do," he said. "I would like to have  a  better

idea just who I must wrestle to keep this mission alive."

CChapter 3

The procession through the passageway of the Teljkon vagabond was led  by

Lando Calrissian, combat blaster in hand. Following close  behind  was  Artoo,

towing the equipment grid protectively behind him. Last  in  line  was  Lobot,

with Threepio riding on the back of his contact suit like a child  perched  on

the back of his father.

"This is my fault," Lando said, peering over his  shoulder  at  them.  "I

should have gone ahead and gotten a thrust belt for  Threepio,  maybe  even  a

complete thrust harness and powerpack.  Consumable  refills  for  the  contact

suits, too."

"We have them--had them--on Lady Luck," said Lobot. "Everything could not

fit on one sled."

"I'd trade most everything on that grid for a couple of refill packs.

I never thought we'd be in zero-G as long as it looks like we will be."

Forever, maybe, Lando thought grimly.

"It is an interesting design choice," Lobot said.

"The Qella appear to have done everything they could to make it hard  for

us to move about in here. There is no artificial gravity, no spin.

The bulkheads are nonmag netic and have no friction tracks, handholds, or

zip lines."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"The Qella were planet-dwellers," Lobot said, surprised by the  question.

"How did they expect to get around in this ship?"

Lando grunted. "Maybe the Qella are giant slugs as wide as this tunnel."

"Perhaps,"  said  Lobot.  "But  even  giant  slugs  are   probably   more

comfortable in a gravity field. I can't help thinking that somewhere  in  this

vessel there must be a switch that would make all of this much easier."

The passage seemed to have no end. It curved away in front of Lando  like

an ever-receding horizon, teasing him with a promise it never fulfilled.  "How

long has it been now?"

"Artoo's event recorders say we entered the vagabond three  hours,  eight

minutes ago. We left our entry point forty-seven minutes ago," Lobot answered.

"Seems even longer than that," said Lando.  "Am  I  the  only  one  who's

noticed? Shouldn't we have run out of ship by now?"

"Obviously we haven't."

"Nothing's obvious here," Lando said. "We're  cruising  at  a  meter  per

second, minus overhead for a couple of stops. Forty-five  minutes  is  twenty-

seven hundred seconds. And this ship is only fifteen hundred meters  long.  We

should be a kilometer out in front of the bow by now."

"The conduits we saw on the surface of the vagabond  wind  around  it  in

complex patterns," Lobot said.

"If we are inside one of those, as I believe we are, that  could  account

for the length of this passage."

"No, it couldn't, because we're still heading forward.

Aren't we? If this passage had turned back, we'd have noticed."

"Would we?" asked Lobot. "Without landmarks  and  referents,  I  find  it

difficult to be sure."

"You're right about that. No matter how I try, I can't keep a picture  of

this place in my head," Lando complained, turning to face the others.  "Artoo,

let me see your map again."

Artoo's holoprojector flickered into life. The map superimposed the  data

from Artoo's  inertial  movement  sensors  over  the  scans  of  the  vagabond

performed by Pakkpekatt's technicians, showing their  path  through  it  as  a

bright red line. The line wiggled back and forth  like  a  low-frequency  sine

wave across the hull of the ship and extended out beyond it.

"See?" Lando said. "We are out in front of the ship."

"Artoo, are your gyros operating normally?" Lobot asked.

The droid's affirmation was indignant.

"Then how do you explain this data?"

Artoo chirped a curt reply. "The ship is longer now?" Threepio translated

incredulously. "What an absurdity.

Even you can't be that foolish. You are obviously malfunctioning."

Lando sighed and surveyed the passage's face--they had dropped the  words

"wall" and "bulkhead" as inappropriate some time earlier. "It  makes  as  much

sense as anything else," he said tiredly. "We've seen something of the  tricks

their technology can do. Maybe nothing about this ship is immutable, not  even

its dimensions. Maybe the Qella don't play fair."

"You have beaten rigged games in the past," Lobot said.

"Yeah--I guess I have," said Lando. "But it helps a lot if you can  watch

the table for a while first. Kill the map, Artoo, but keep tracking us as best

you can. We're going to pick up the pace a little.

Two meters per second, on my mark--" Most  of  another  hour  dragged  by

before Artoo made a discovery that set him to beeping agitatedly.

"What is it?" Lando demanded.

"Artoo says that there is an irregularity ahead," Threepio said. "It  may

be an artifact of some kind."

Lando jetted ahead, scanning the passage face hopefully.

"Which side?"

"Ahead and high to your left, Master Lando," said Threepio.

"I see it," said Lando. "Blast, it's tiny. Wait--oh, no."

"What is it? Lando?"

Lando did not explain, but when the others joined him, they got  all  the

explanation they needed. A fragment of metal diamond grid protruded  from  the

face of the passage, and a short cord waved from its anchoring knot.

Threepio gave voice to the unspoken. "Why, we're back where we started."

"That's impossible," Lobot said, with a touch of irritation.

"Yeah, you'd think so, but how else do you  explain  this?"  Lando  said,

gesturing.

"Perhaps it was moved," said Lobot.

"How? You think there's someone else on this ship?"

"I do not know," said Lobot. "This could be  a  copy  of  our  marker,  a

deception. Artoo's sensors still indicate that we're heading toward the bow."

"Oh, we are--for the second time, most likely.

What kind of crazy ship are we On? This passage doesn't go anywhere,  and

it doesn't do anything."

"It occupied us for two hours," Lobot pointed out.

"So it did. And we've wasted those  two  hours  and"--Lando  checked  his

readouts--"about nine percent of my thrust mass. Same for  both  of  you,  I'd

guess."

"This is most distressing. What do we do now?"

Threepio asked.

"We start playing smarter," said Lando. "How much carbon line do we have?

"

Lobot knew the answer without looking. "Two spools, five thousand  meters

each. Why?"

"If we keep going around in circles, we could find  ourselves  unable  to

get anywhere for lack of propellant.

There's not enough grid to spare to make  handholds  the  length  of  the

passage, but there might be enough for line anchors. I think we'd better start

stringing some hand lines now," Lando said. "And they'll  help  keep  us  from

getting fooled again."

"Yes--we can build a topological map rather than a representational one,"

Lobot said. "We will at least know the relationships  between  the  places  we

have been, even if the exact geometry escapes us."

Lando nodded. "Something had better start happening.

I'm starting to get seriously annoyed."

According to the counter on the line spool, they had gone 884 meters down

the passage, staking four improvised line anchors along  the  way,  when  they

came to the junction.

"This is nuts," Lando said, hovering in midair before the twin  openings.

"This passage didn't branch the last time we were through here."

"If we've been through here before."

"Don't start with me," Lando said, turning.

"It was not a jest," Lobot said. "It remains  a  possibility  that  these

passages are channels or conduits, related in some way to the operation of the

ship. What we have seen in here may have nothing to do with us."

"Conduits for what? They're dry as a bone."

"There are other  types  of  fluids  and  flows--gases,  energy  plasmas,

electrical charges,"  Lobot  said.  "And  conduits  generally  require  stops,

valves, and switches of some sort. This is likely to be one, directly ahead of

us.

There may be another somewhere behind us that placed us on this path."

Lando slowly spun back to face the junction. "If I had a fat toe, a short

toe, a black toe, a new toe, I would know, where to go," he chanted softly.

"What?"

"Pardon me, sir. It is  a  children's  counting  rhyme,  from  Basarais,"

Threepio said. "Master Lando, may I make a suggestion?"

"Anytime, Threepio. The last thing I want is for the last thing I hear to

be someone saying, 'You know, I wondered about that earlier--I guess I  should

have spoken up."

"Very well, Master Lando. My suggestion is that we should  separate  into

two parties and explore both passages at the same time. This would be the most

efficient method. If each party consists of a human and a droid, I believe  we

should be able to maintain communications even if we become separated by  some

distance."

"Not bad, Threepio," said Lando. "We have two spools--we could set  lines

in both passages. Lobot?"

"I strongly advise against separating," Lobot said.

"Valves and stops which open seemingly at random can as easily close.

It is also  possible  that  we  have  been  presented  with  this  choice

precisely for this purpose--to divide us."

Lando frowned. "If we don't separate, which passage do we take?"

Lobot shook his head. "It will not matter, Lando.

Just choose."

It did not matter. The passage Lando chose  ended  three  hundred  meters

later,  after  turning  downward--inward--nearly  ninety  degrees.  When  they

doubled back, the alternate passage led them to another junction that was  the

reverse of the first, and to another short passage that turned sharply  before

ending abruptly.

"There's something down there,"  Lando  said,  lingering  as  the  others

turned back. "Both dead ends go to the same place.  The  hyperdrive  could  be

down there."

Lobot could tell that the baron was powerfully tempted to test his theory

by blasting a hole in the wall, and touched his shoulder with an  outstretched

hand.

"Come," the cyborg said.

"I'm tired of this."

"I know," said Lobot. "But you  know  that  disabling  a  hyperdrive  and

destabilizing one are two very different matters. We will find a better way."

Lando glanced at his telltales. "All right," he said.

"But if we haven't found it  by  the  time  these  numbers  reach  single

digits, I'm coming back here. I'm not just going to wait for death, Lobot."

"I would not expect that of you," Lobot said. "But for  now,  please,  my

friend."

They jetted back up the passage together, side by side.

With an artfulness born  of  desperation,  Lando  and  Lobot  managed  to

improvise forty-one line anchors from the  equipment  grid  and  the  supplies

attached to it.

Spaced two hundred meters apart, those anchors secured  more  than  eight

kilometers of hand lines, covering three major passages and more than  fifteen

branches.

In the course of their  explorations,  the  team  cataloged  eleven  stop

valves, eighteen switch valves, and  three  different  routes  back  to  their

original marker. The purpose of  the  mechanisms  and  the  pattern  of  their

movements remained impenetrable, but Artoo-Detoo's  holographic  map  steadily

took on more useful form, framing the unknown with the known.

Through it all  the  vagabond  bored  on  through  hyperspace,  seemingly

oblivious to the passengers within.

The early fears faded. The vessel remained mysterious, giving up  few  of

its secrets, but it was no longer menac ing in its own right.  The  threat  to

their lives was as impersonal as the 'graph of an equation--one in which  none

of the variables was under their control.

At a point when yet another unexplored passage had disappointed  them  by

leading them to a passage already hung with hand  lines,  by  unspoken  mutual

consent they lingered there--to rest, and to recover their resolve.

Lando looped the slack of a hand line around one wrist and  let  it  hold

him in place. "How long is this jump now?"

"A little over thirty-seven hours," Lobot said.

"Going a long way to somewhere," Lando sighed.

"Let's see,  four  times  three-point-one-four  times  thirty-nine  cubed

divided by three--by now we could be anywhere in a quarter of a million  cubic

light-years of space.

They'll need a telepath to find us."

"You and I should sleep," said Lobot.

"Why?"

"Sleeping will conserve our consumables. And human beings do not  perform

at peak efficiency when fatigued."

"We don't get very much done when we're dead, either," Lando said.

"The five hours we spend napping might be five hours we need to  get  out

of this fix."

"And the five hours we do not spend 'napping' may result  in  one  of  us

making a nonrecoverable error."

"We have the droids to keep us  from  making  mistakes.  They  don't  get

tired," Lando said. "Besides--I'm hungry. I'm kinda counting on turning up  an

after-hours cafe somewhere around here."

"Lando, that is not a rational expectation."

Lando chuckled tiredly. "I know when I'm being silly," he said.  "Do  you

know when you're being stuffy?"

"Master Lando--" "What is it, Threepio?"

"Is it possible that this vessel could already  have  exited  hyperspace,

without our knowing? Perhaps we were distracted by our  other  activities.  We

may not have gone as far as you fear."

"No," Lando said curtly. "I've never heard a ship  growl  like  this  one

does going in and coming out. We couldn't have missed  it.  I  couldn't  have,

anyway. That's something I've been thinking about.  Thinking  about  how  long

this ship's been jumping at shadows, hopping in and out of  hyperspace.  About

how long it's been since  it  was  in  for  a  structural  inspection  and  an

overhaul.

"I had a friend in the yard at Atzerri who showed me  scanning  holos  of

the ships that'd come through there--microfractures in  the  hyperdrive  cage,

the inner stringers, even the keel of a Dreadnaught.

"No, even if we had all the oxygen, all the water, all the hot cafe  food

we could eat, all the time we could ask for, I don't think I'd  want  to  hang

around here long enough to hear  that  growl  too  many  more  times.  Because

someday soon, no matter how well the Qella tightened the nuts, this old  crate

is going to turn herself into a deep-space junkyard."

Artoo cooed worriedly.

"I wonder where Glorious is now," said  Threepio.  "That  I  won't  think

about," said Lando, and laughed. "I don't want to get depressed." He  released

the hand line and floated free. "You rest if you want. Show me the map, Artoo.

There's still a lot of ship to explore."

They found  the  coupling  panel  in  the  seventy-first  hour  of  their

imprisonment. It was pure luck that they did, since it appeared in  a  section

they had already passed through twice and would not have returned to if a  new

passage they were marking had not brought them there.

Nearly two meters long and more than a  meter  wide,  the  round-cornered

panel was inset flush in the "ceiling" of the passage. (Lando had  established

by flat that the hand lines defined the "right" face of the pas sage  and  all

other directions derived from it.) The  panel  was  liberally  decorated  with

sockets and projections of various heights, depths, and  diameters,  with  the

sockets clustered symmetrically  in  the  center  third  and  the  projections

flanking it.

"Master Lando, what do you think it is?"

"Some sort of intelligence test,  maybe,"  Lando  said,  trying  to  peer

through one of the larger-diameter sockets.

"Anyone feel up to taking it?"

"Why, it does bear some resemblance to the busy box Ambassador Nugek gave

to Anakin Solo," Threepio said. "My, how he enjoyed spinning  the  wheels  and

pushing blocks through the holes--" "Shut up, Threepio."

"Yes, sir."

Lobot was carrying out his own examination of the artifact.

"Twenty-four sockets, in two sizes. Eighteen projections. I  can  see  no

obvious moving parts. The metal has a high  sheen  and  reflectivity,  and  no

protective finish. Yet there are no scratches or scars, even in and around the

sockets."

"It looks like some sort of bus port to me," Lando said. "Like  the  diag

rack on the Falcon, or the maintenance cabinet on Lady Luck. Plug in here  and

you have access to the ship's systems."

"That is what you have been looking for," said Lobot. "How likely  is  it

that you would find it?"

"It's the only mechanism we've seen in nine klicks of passageway."

"It is the only mechanism we have been able to recognize," said Lobot.

"But the design of this vessel apparently provides for mechanisms  to  be

concealed until they are needed. I ask you to consider why this mechanism  has

appeared now."

"You tell me."

"Most likely because the ship will shortly need  whatever  function  this

mechanism serves--" "Which gives us a chance to  slip  in  and  take  care  of

ourselves," Lando said. "These couplings weren't designed for us, but maybe we

can make use of them anyway.

Energy is energy--Artoo can cope  with  thermal,  plasma,  or  electrical

ports. And data is data--if Artoo can read it, Threepio can interpret."

"Lando, you have no basis for concluding that this  is  a  system  port,"

Lobot pressed. "It is more likely that  the  function  of  this  mechanism  is

related to the function of these passages."

"Which is what?" Lando snapped. "Holding cell?

Ventilator? Rodent maze? A fungi farm? Are you saying we're not  supposed

to touch this, either? Blast it all, how long are we supposed to  wait  before

we do something?"

"You have not had more than two hours' sleep in nearly three days," Lobot

said. "Your sense of urgency has  been  heightened--"  "That's  right,"  Lando

said. "I haven't had anything to eat in so long I'd cut a friend  dead  for  a

fracking cracker. My water supply tastes like it's gone around  half  a  dozen

times already. Are you more machine than man?

Doesn't any of this affect you?"

"I am as human as you are," Lobot said. "I doubt that you  could  be  any

hungrier than I am. My water supply is as disagreeable to me as  yours  is  to

you. But I do not understand the discoveries we have made--" "Then  don't  you

want to learn more? I want the droids to try  to  interface  with  this  port.

That's all. No blasters. No creative structural renovations," "Please listen,"

Lobot said earnestly. "I do not understand  why  structures  as  extensive  as

these have been inert throughout our tenure on this ship, or why we have  been

permitted to move about in them unimpeded. These questions trouble me.  And  I

am concerned that the appearance of this artifact may signal the end of either

or both of those conditions--" "All the more reason for us to make  the  first

move," Lando said. "Artoo, Threepio, come on up here.

I want you to try to interface with the vagabond."

Lobot turned toward the droids. "Threepio--Artoo--I ask you to wait until

we know more. None of our supplies are critical yet. We do not  know  what  we

are dealing with."

"I am sorry, sir, but Master Luke placed us in the care of Master Lando,"

Threepio said, allowing Artoo to tow him toward the panel. "We are obliged  to

follow his instructions, no matter what reservations you may have."

"Thank you, Threepio," Lando said,  fixing  Lobot  with  a  baleful  gaze

touched with a hint of smug triumph.

"I'm glad to know that you're still on the team."

Whether it was due more to Lobot's misgivings or to Artoo's innate  sense

of self-preservation, the as-tromech droid proceeded  cautiously  in  carrying

out Lando's instructions, and Lobot was glad to see it.

At first Artoo stopped a safe distance from the panel and began  to  scan

it, his dome rotating back and forth as he brought different sensors to bear--

optical, thermal, radionic, electromagnetic. Threepio called out  the  results

of each reading to the two men, who were watching from opposite sides  of  the

passage.

Lobot already knew the results by the time Threepio pronounced them,  for

the droid--on his own initiative, and without any notice to Lando--had  opened

another of his data registers to the  cyborg's  neural  interface.  It  was  a

signal of support that Lobot accepted in silence, saying  nothing  that  would

betray the small mutiny.

When the initial scans produced no obvious  red  flags,  Artoo  moved  in

closer and extended his sensor probe. The scan head was too large to fit fully

into the smaller sockets, but Artoo brought it as close to the first  of  them

as he could without actually touching it.

"Field, zero-point-zero-nine gauss," said Threepio.

"Flux density, one-point-six-zero-two. Alpha rate, zero.

tive--Artoo, I don't understand a word of this. Will someone please  tell

me what it means?"

Artoo swiveled his head and emitted a sharp  series  of  whistles,  which

Threepio did not translate.

"I am trying to hold still," Threepio said as Artoo moved  the  probe  to

the next socket. "It's not my fault I wasn't designed for weightlessness. Most

sensible beings live on planets, where they belong."

The response from Artoo sounded churlish even to Lobot's ears.

"I don't care what you think," Threepio said.

"Why, you're only a mechanic. I was meant for nobler purposes.  I  should

be at a diplomatic reception, helping to forge peace  between  bitter  rivals,

arranging a dynastic marriage- - Oh,  how  I  miss  the  old  days--"  Artoo's

response was an electronic bleat. "Very well, then," Threepio said  haughtily.

"See if I care. I don't need your help."

With that, the golden droid released his  grip  on  Artoo's  right  tread

support and folded his arms across his chestplate.

"But I need your help, Threepio," said Lando. "So  stop  squabbling  with

your brother and call out the numbers."

"Why do you keep making that error, Master Lando? That egotistical little

tyrant is no kin of mine," Threepio sniffed.

"I can help you, Lando," Lobot said quietly, without explanation.

"Field, zero-point-eight-two gauss.

Flux density, one-point-seven-four. Alpha rate--" Lando looked  at  Lobot

with annoyance, a sight that gave Lobot surprising satisfaction.

Neither of them saw Threepio reach out and clutch one of the  projections

on the panel to steady himself. But both heard a loud burst of static  on  the

contact suit comm unit and saw a blue glow in the passage.

"Gracious me!" Threepio exclaimed.

Quickly looking that way, Lobot  saw  that  the  end  of  the  panel  was

crawling with blue-white snakes of en ergy. They were  crackling  between  the

tips of the projections, dancing up Threepio's arm nearly to the elbow  joint,

and rapidly growing more intense.

"Threepio--don't let go--" Lobot began.

The warning came too late.  The  moment  his  surprise  abated,  Threepio

pulled back his hand in a reflex of squeamishness.

An instant later a massive, squirming bolt  of  energy  leaped  from  the

panel to Threepio's hand, flashed up his arm and one side  of  his  head,  and

sprang from there to the face of the passage. Before anyone  could  react,  it

had raced away down the passage and disappeared, spreading as it went until it

was dancing over the entire surface like a halo of blue fire.  One  finger  of

the bolt ran along the hand lines, leaving them crumbling into black  dust  in

its wake.

The bolt left Threepio convulsing and spinning in midair. His  right  arm

was burned black and smoking from the servos and energizer controls, his  head

was frozen at an odd angle and quivering as though an actuator were caught  in

a feedback loop.

Lobot loosed a string of curses he had  forgotten  he  knew  and  started

toward the injured droid. Lando stared dumbly for a moment, then did the same.

But Artoo beat both of them to Threepio, latching on  and  dragging  him  away

down the passage in the opposite direction from the one the bolt had taken. As

Artoo passed Lando, the droid made a hostile noise.

"I'm sorry," Lando said, throwing his arms up in a gesture of  surrender.

"It's not my fault. Lobot--tell him it's not my fault."

Hastening up the passage after Artoo  and  Threepio,  Lobot  letted  past

Lando in purposeful silence.

Artoo would not allow Lando to  approach  Threepio.  He  had  to  content

himself with watching from several meters away while Lobot and  Artoo  hovered

over the protocol droid and tried to assess the damage.

From several meters away, the damage looked to be considerable.

An R6 or R7 could have survived the jolt handily.

The latest combat-rated droids were  armored  against  power  surges  and

induced currents up to and including a near-direct hit from a  class  one  ion

cannon.

But Threepio had been designed for wars of words.

His buffers and breakers were minimal, and the bolt of  energy  from  the

panel had overwhelmed them. If the charge had passed across his body,  through

the primary processors, instead of up one side, Threepio would be dead.

As it was, Lando could see  that  Threepio's  right  arm  was  rigid  and

useless at his side, the servo controllers burned and the linkages fused. Even

worse, his speech synthesizer or vocal processor had been  crippled.  When  he

spoke, his voice phased and changed timbre, as though he were a million klicks

away on a pocket comlink.

Twice already he had halted in midsentence, as though stuck searching for

the most ordinary of words--something Lando had never heard him do before.

After a few minutes, Lobot left Threepio with Artoo and joined Lando.

To Lando's  surprise,  there  were  no  words  of  recrimination--only  a

business-like coolness barely distinguishable from Lobot's usual demeanor.

"Threepio's arm is beyond repair, given that we  have  no  spare  parts,"

Lobot said. "Artoo is trying to free the lateral actuator and restore  freedom

of motion to Threepio's head." He nodded past Lando  at  the  equipment  grid,

which Lando had towed away from the scene of the accident. "I  need  the  tool

kit."

"In a moment," Lando said. "What happened back there---have  you  thought

about it?"

"I need the tool kit, Lando," Lobot repeated, and moved to  pass  between

Lando and the passage wall.

Lando reached out and caught Lobot's forearm.

"You were  right  about  these  passages.  They're  getting  ready  to--"

Something moved at the periphery of his vision, and Lando's gaze flicked  past

Lobot to the droids, then past the  droids  to  the  growing  glow  where  the

passage bent out of sight. "Blast!" he exclaimed.

"Get away from the wall. Artoo, look out!"

"What?" Lobot craned his head.

Using his grip on Lobot's suit, Lando dragged him toward  the  center  of

the passage, just as the energy halo appeared at the horizon of  their  vision

and sped toward them. It surrounded them for only a moment as it raced through

on its course, but its passage made the hair rise on the back of Lando's neck.

"It's gone all the way around?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't seem to have lost any strength at all," Lobot said in wonder.

"No," Lando said. "That's what I was trying to tell you. You were  right.

These are conduits--superconduct-ing accumulators. Perhaps even some  sort  of

gas-tube cascade generator."

"For the weapons," Lobot said slowly. "It has to be for the weapons."

"That panel is the ballast, the source of the spark.

Threepio created an arc path while it was building up  to  fire--probably

prematurely. He may have caused the system to report a failure,  buying  us  a

little time as it resets."

"The weapons are useless in hyperspace. That explains our reprieve."

"It also answers your question about the panel--about why  it  showed  up

now," Lando said. "Smart.

She's a smart lady. The last thing I do before I enter an unfriendly room

is check my weapon."

"Testing the integrity of the system. She must be getting ready--" "Wait,

" Lando said. "Listen."

All at once, all around them, the ship began to  groan  and  growl  in  a

slow, deep voice.

Lando released Lobot and dove toward the  equipment  grid,  wresting  the

sensor limpet from its restraints.

The limpet was secured in a harness of silk line, with a single  trailing

cord ending in a loop.

"I have to do this now," Lando said. "Artoo! Map!

What's the shortest way to the outer hull?"

Artoo's reply was a squawk.

"Point out the direction--I can't understand you!"

"He's not answering you," said Lobot. "He's asking me why  I'm  not  back

with the tools yet." He closed his eyes. The lights on his  interface  blinked

at a furious rate.

"Through there," he said. "Eighteen  meters.  But  I  don't  know  what's

between here and the hull."

"I'll tell you when I get back," Lando said. He drew his blaster,  burned

a hole in the direction Lobot had pointed, and was gone.

With his thrusters holding his widely set feet against the outer bulkhead

of the vagabond, Lando pointed the cutting blaster down between his  legs  and

squeezed the actuator. A perfect circle of hull vanished in  a  puff  of  gray

smoke, which was instantly sucked out through the opening.

The limpet had been floating freely, tethered to Lando's left wrist.

Now it strained at the end of a taut line, rocking as  the  compartment's

air rushed past it.

Pocketing the blaster, Lando let the line play  out  through  his  gloved

fingers until the limpet slipped through the opening. Only the cord on Lando's

wrist kept it from escaping completely into space.

Then he simply waited, watching the hull breach  knit  closed.  When  the

opening had shrunk enough to prevent the limpet from being pulled back inside,

Lando took up the slack and pulled the limpet back against the hull.  Reaching

through, he pressed the dual switches that activated the limpet's sensors  and

armed its attachment system.

Letting a little line play out again, Lando waited  until  the  hole  had

closed to the size of a peephole, then yanked the limpet toward him.

There was an audible thwack as the crisscrossing anchor spines fired  and

drew the limpet flush against the hull. For insurance, Lando knotted the  cord

around the safety tab that had  covered  the  limpet's  switches,  pulling  it

snugly against the inner face. Lando hoped that even if the ship  was  somehow

able to slough  off  the  limpet's  barbed  anchor  spines,  the  harness  and

improvised stop would keep it in place.

That job accomplished, Lando turned away to examine for  the  first  time

the compartments he had crashed through en route to the outer hull.

Unlike in the accumulators, where the entire face of the  passage  itself

gave off a pale yellow glow, the only light in the outer compartment came from

the twin "ear lamps" located on either side of Lando's helmet. When  he  swept

their beams through the dark volume  that  enclosed  him,  a  great  emptiness

swallowed the light forward, aft, and around the circumference of the ship. It

was as if he were alone in the darkest corner of space.

Only when he looked up, away from the outer hull near  which  he  hovered

and back the way he had come, did the light catch and reflect to  him  any  of

the substance of the ship. And what the light revealed there made Lando shiver

with a chill no warmer could drive away.

For the lamps showed that the inner wall was covered with alien  faces--a

collage, a portrait gallery, a mural, a memorial, stretching  as  far  as  the

light could carry, and likely beyond. There were thousands of different faces,

or thousands of variations on the same face, each  gazing  out  from  its  own

hexagonal cell. The faces were unlike any Lando had  ever  seen,  and  yet  he

keenly felt the intelligence in the large, round eyes that seemed to seek  him

out.

More than by any other gift, Lando had found his way by reading the faces

of strangers and knowing them better than they knew themselves.

He read in the sculpted, deeply lined faces of the  Qella  both  strength

and surrender, a settled wisdom and a thwarted curiosity, and most  of  all  a

terrible knowledge of the impermanence of life. The beings  who  had  sat  for

these portraits, and the artisans who had created them, had  known  when  they

did so that these images might be all that survived them, and  they  had  held

nothing back.

There was a circular gap in the mural where  Lando  had  burned  his  way

through it from behind. The supporting wall  had  healed,  but  the  overlying

portraits had not--four were  damaged  in  varying  degrees,  one  obliterated

forever. Lando fought off sharp pangs of guilt as  he  jetted  up  toward  the

mural and reopened a hole at that same spot.

"I'm sorry," he said to the surviving faces as he left them behind.

"But this is your tomb--your memorial.

I'm trying to keep it from becoming mine. I like to think  that  if  life

meant this much to you, you'd be rooting for me to succeed."

Lando found the others where he had left them, still tending to Threepio.

The golden droid was the only one to react strongly to his return, turning his

head toward Lando and greeting him cheerfully.

"Master Lando!" he said in a crackly voice. One  glowing  eye  flickered.

"What are you doing on Yavin Four? Why are you wearing that  costume?  Do  you

know, you look rather like a droid?"

"Threepio, take a look around," Lando said. "Do you recognize this place?

"

The droid's head swiveled. "Oh. Oh, yes, I see. The Qella vagabond.

I seem to have had an accident." He turned and clanged Artoo on the  dome

with his good arm. "And it's all your fault, you good-for-nothing  sabo  teur.

You belong in a waste compactor, along with all the other--" "No," Lando  said

sharply. "It was my fault. I gave the orders. I made the mistake.  I'm  sorry,

Threepio. I promise you, we'll get you put back to specs as  soon  as  we  get

home."

"It is I who should apologize, Master Hambone," said Threepio. "I am sure

that my clamminess was the approximate corpse of my mishop."

"Don't try to talk,  Threepio,"  Lando  said.  "Just  keep  running  your

diagnostics. Your parser will map  the  damaged  regions  and  relocate  those

functions."

"Fairy wall, monster lambda." The droid's head returned  jerkily  to  the

neutral position.

Lobot shook his head in sympathy. "Lando, the  test  charge--if  that  is

what it was--has been around four more times. I could see it  weaken  when  it

passed your new hole, but other than  that,  it  did  not  seem  to  lose  any

strength at all. I expect that it would still be circulating if the panel  had

not reabsorbed it the last time it passed."

Lando acknowledged the report with a nod. "These passages  are  a  nearly

perfect energy bottle," he said.

"This explains a lot about the power of their weapons. It must get pretty

exciting when they're running a capacity charge through here."

"I believe our consensus is that we have had enough excitement for now."

"You're right--we need to get out of here. But there's something that has

to be done first," Lando said.

"Artoo, I was able to place the limpet on the outside of the ship. I need

you to pick up its signal and make it available to Lobot."

The little droid turned its dome away from Lando and remained mute.

"Artoo, we need to find out where we are. Step two of our plan, remember?

I don't know how long we can count on getting data from  the  limpet.  And  we

don't know how long we'll be in realspace."

Still the droid was silent.

"Lobot?"

Lobot cleared his throat. "Ah--Artoo just said something rude to me about

your leadership ability.

Then he told me to tell you that he's on strike."

Working to restrain a flaring temper, Lando said evenly,  "Artoo,  you're

the only one of us who can receive the data from the limpet. If we don't  have

that data, we can't plan an escape. If we don't escape soon,  we're  going  to

run out of air, and you're going to run out of power. Is whatever point you're

trying to make worth the four of us expiring?"

Artoo emitted one small beep.

"Receiving data," Lobot said. "Artoo said to tell you that he's doing  it

for Threepio, not for you."

"I don't care if he does it for the Blood Prince of Thassalia, as long as

it gets done," said Lando. "How long will it take to get a navigation fix?"

"Artoo is calculating the triangulation now," Lobot  said.  "Lando,  only

one local star is in the spectral  database.  Artoo  is  searching  for  other

reference stars."

"What? Where the frack are we?"

"One moment," Lobot said. "Coordinates zero-nine-one, zero-six-six, zero-

five-two. Uncertainty due to measuring error, two percent."

"Triple zeroes? That can't be right. That would put us in Sector One."

"Correct," Lobot said. "We are presently one hundred six light-years past

the border of the New Republic, in the Core. The nearest inhabited  system  is

Prakith."

"Prakith," Lando repeated. "Foga Brill."

"Excuse me?"

"At last report, Prakith was controlled  by  the  Imperial  warlord  Foga

Brill."

"I see. Prakith is eight light-years away."

"Are there any other ships out there? Any security buoys, drones, probes,

anything?"

"None that the limpet can detect.  However,  the  hull  of  the  vagabond

blocks a substantial portion of the sky."

Lando muttered grimly, "Well, we're sure not going to be putting out  any

calls for help in this neighborhood.

All right--let's get out of  this  accumulator  while  things  are  still

quiet. We'll go right back through where I just came out. I don't  know  quite

where it puts us, but nothing bad happened the first time."

Artoo trilled.

"What?"

"Never mind," Lobot said. "You don't want to hear."

Lando thought dark thoughts  about  lax  maintenance  schedules  and  the

consequences of letting droids  go  too  long  without  a  memory  wipe.  Your

decision, Luke, but they've both got entirely  too  much  personality  for  my

taste. But he kept those thoughts to himself.

"Once we're through," he continued, "I'd like to  see  if  we  can  avoid

blowing any more holes in the walls--" Lobot nodded approvingly at that.

"--but that means one of us is going to have to solve the puzzle of  what

a Qella door looks like and how to  open  it,"  Lando  said.  Then  he  looked

directly at Artoo. "So the first thing we're going to  do  when  we  get  over

there is get six hours' rest--all of us. I should have insisted on it  sooner.

I'm sorry, Artoo. I don't know if it would have changed anything. But I  never

meant for Threepio to get hurt."

Artoo's dome swiveled back toward Lando. "Chirrneep-weel," he said.

"He told me to tell you that  he  is  considering  giving  you  a  second

chance," said Lobot.

Lando nodded, drawing the blaster from its pouch.

"You tell him for me that that's all a smart player should need."

CChapter 4

The nudge that finally awakened  Lando  was  provided  by  a  dehydration

headache and a stomach knotted with hunger. The dream  that  lingered  in  his

awareness was of being pursued through a dark city by  a  soft-voiced,  unseen

assassin, and he was eager to chase  it  from  his  senses.  Reaching  up,  he

switched his helmet lamps to the low setting and looked for the others.

Lando found he was the only member of the team who was conscious.

Lobot was floating near the wall below him, a few meters away.  His  arms

were raised beside his face and his legs drawn up and bent at the knees like a

child's. Artoo was still  holding  Threepio  protectively  with  his  grasping

claws, and the duo spun slowly in the air at the far end  of  the  chamber  as

though dancing to music only they could hear.

Glancing down at the controls on his  left  forearm,  Lando  checked  the

timer he had started before closing his eyes. He was startled to see that  the

six-hour rest he had proposed had stretched to more than sixteen hours.

He and Lobot had both slept through their alarms,  and  the  droids  were

still powered down, waiting for an awakening touch.

For a-moment he felt a flash of guilt over the lost hours, but  he  swept

that away with the realization of how necessary the rest had  been.  The  body

knows what it needs, he thought, looking at Lobot's blissful expression.

But sleep had not healed all the insults. Lando's hunger was keener  than

ever, and the water from the helmet pipestraw only  spurred  wishful  thoughts

about bottomless ice-filled glasses of charde and skoa.

More than anything, though, he wanted out of his contact  suit.  The  air

inside was decidedly rank, and his own breath came back to him off the sneeze-

spotted faceplate  as  a  foul  cloud.  His  scalp  and  a  half  dozen  other

unreachable places itched maddeningly. His skin felt greasy, and he  craved  a

hot shower. And the suit was a prison,  preventing  him  from  stretching  out

tight muscles and deep aches.

The makeshift glove on Lando's right hand was  clinging  lightly  to  his

fingers, a sign that the atmospheric pressure in the compartment was  slightly

higher than the one-normal of the suits.  Lando  began  fingering  the  helmet

release with his other hand, absently betraying his thoughts.

It's not as if there's anything poisonous in the ship's air--it's just  a

bit on the chewy side. I held my breath for six minutes once in a  tank  test.

That's plenty of time to wipe my face and scratch my-Lobot's voice interrupted

Lando's thoughts. "I would like to know," the cyborg said, "which  agency  you

used to make the arrangements for this vacation.

The accommodations have not been up to expectations."

An easy smile creased Lando's face as he  turned  toward  Lobot.  "You're

just cranky because I ate your complimentary breakfast while you were sleeping

in."

"Which is just one of several hundred reasons  why  I'm  never  traveling

with you again." dren," Lando said. "I hear today's going to  be  one  of  the

highlights of the tour."

By mutual agreement, they activated Threepio first, so that  Lando  could

have  a  few  minutes  to  diagnose  his  status  without  Artoo's  protective

interference. It took only a short conversation with Threepio to discover that

the droid had regained most of his verbal faculties and with them, most of his

dignity. All that remained of his vocal injury was a background buzz  when  he

spoke, a rasp in the speech synthesizer that made it sound  as  if  the  droid

were suffering from a sore throat.

"Threepio, I'm very glad your language systems came around," said  Lobot.

"I may  have  to  raise  my  estimation  of  Bratan  Engineering's  cybernetic

productsg--my first neural interface was from Bratan, and I  had  nothing  but

trouble with it."

"Thank you, Master Lobot," said Threepio. "I, too, am greatly relieved. A

protocol droid with a malfunctioning synthesizer is hardly any use at all."

"Unless you want to do business in one of the nine  thousand  fifty-seven

sign languages," said Lando.

The droid looked down at his damaged arm. "In  my  present  condition,  I

would not be able to offer you even that service. If my synthesizer  fails,  I

would be nothing but a burden to you. You might as well cannibalize  my  power

cells and leave me behind. I'll understand--" "Don't worry, we're not going to

leave you behind," said Lobot. "I don't want  to  have  to  depend  on  me  to

communicate with Artoo."

"Why is that?" Lando asked. "You seemed to be  doing  fine  back  in  the

passage."

Lobot shook his head slowly. "Artoo thinks in that same  binary  polyglot

he speaks, and I can't understand a byte of it. He can leave short messages in

Basic for me in his memory registers, but that limits us to whatever he  knows

of Basic. And from what I've seen so far, he seems to have learned most of his

Basic vocabulary from a nerf-herder."

"Oh, he can be quite rude," Threepio agreed conspiratorially.

"He constantly says the most  outrageous  things--you  can't  imagine.  I

don't dare repeat half of his comments. Sometimes I think  that  he  means  to

trick me into embarrassing myself." Threepio looked past Lando to where  Artoo

was floating at an angle, his STANDBY lamp still glowing, and added worriedly,

"He hasn't been damaged, has he?"

"No--he's just the last one up this morning," Lando said. "I'm  going  to

take care of that right now."

"Perhaps it would be better if I did it," Lobot said, stopping him with a

touch. "Artoo may not have recovered  from  Threepio's  accident  as  well  as

Threepio has."

"Just how many diplomats are on this mission?"

Lando asked lightly. "No, if Artoo still has a problem with  me,  he  can

start getting over it right now. This is my mission, and I'm  not  handing  it

over to a petulant droid.

No offense, Threepio."

"None taken, I'm sure," said Threepio. "I know exactly what you mean."

Artoo's system lights came on all at once, and his sensor dome rotated  a

half turn in each direction. Rising, he  moved  away  from  Lando  and  jetted

toward Threepio, loosing an unusually long chatter of sounds.

"What's he saying?" Lando asked.

Threepio chattered back at Artoo in the same  dialect  before  answering,

and Artoo replied at even greater length.

"Well?"

A crackle of static made it sound as  though  Threepio  had  cleared  his

throat. "Master Lando, Artoo says that he  has  the  greatest  enthusiasm  and

confidence in the mission."

"Threepio--" "Lando, I suggest you take it at  face  value,"  Lobot  said

quietly.

Lando looked hard at Lobot for a moment. Then, frowning, he said,  "Thank

you. I have trouble sometimes hearing clearly over what's not being said."  He

reached for  his  control  pad  and  brought  his  helmet  lamps  up  to  full

brightness.

"Lobot, is there anything going on outside?"

"All of the limpet's sensors are clear. The vagabond's forward  speed  is

negligible."

"Just another oblong asteroid, drifting along a long way  from  anywhere,

eh? All right, then. Artoo, can you help us with some light? Let's see what we

have here."

What they had was a chamber fifteen meters long and nine meters wide, and

as infuriatingly seamless and featureless as the airlock.

"Kind of have the feeling  that  I've  been  here  before,"  said  Lando,

scanning. "And I don't mean yesterday, when I burned through here on  the  way

to the hull."

"I understand," Lobot said. "Perhaps the highest form of art on Qella was

the locked-room mystery."

Lando laughed. "Which would make this ship their hall of fame  anthology,

I guess. But it wants for variety."

"The  apparent  consistency  of  design  principles  should   serve   our

interests."

A grin appeared. "You want me to see if I can lose the other  glove  this

time?"

"The Qella esthetic demands that nothing be evident until it is  needed,"

Lobot said. "But how does the structure  know  when  a  concealed  feature  is

needed?

How do the Qella communicate their desires to their creations? We know at

least one answer--we know that it responds to touch."

The grin faded into a frown. "The last time I touched this ship, it tried

to leave us out as a meal for space slugs."

"I am not convinced that this vessel means to do us harm."

"What exactly would you consider compelling proof? A fatality?"

"I've been  reconsidering  the  incident  in  the  airlock  in  light  of

Threepio's accident," Lobot said. "It's possible that  we  misinterpreted  the

message which Artoo found in the airlock. It's possible that the  control  you

activated was an emergency lock close  switch,  which  functioned  exactly  as

intended."

"What? No, that doesn't make sense."

"It's even possible that we asked the vagabond  to  attempt  an  escape,"

Lobot continued.  "The  prominence  given  to  the  symbology  Artoo  detected

parallels the use of red and yellow as alert and caution colors, and arrows as

pointers, in human artifacts."

"You're saying that if Threepio could read Qella, we'd have seen  a  sign

saying 'In case of emergency, pull  here.""  Lobot  nodded.  "Isn't  the  most

prominent marking on the outside of a snub fighter the canopy release? What if

we walked up to one knowing the meaning of an arrow but  unable  to  read  the

word 'Rescue'?"

"Here's the problem with your theory that we hit the panic button," Lando

said. "The next time this ship had a chance, it tried to spit  u  out  again--

without us ever getting near that control yoke."

"That 'next time,' we were burning a hole in an element  of  the  primary

defense system--a hole that the repair mechanisms were unable to close in  the

usual amount of time."

"I take your point," Lando said. "But after we did that, the ship has  to

have known we weren't Qella and we weren't friendly."

"If the ship had the consciousness you attribute to it, and had formed an

intent to remove us, it could have done so at any time while we  were  in  the

accumulator," said Lobot. "It could have disposed of us while  we  slept  just

now. It could have opened the hull under your feet while you were placing  the

limpet. Yet it has done none of these things."

"Hmm. And what kind of security system would forget about  us  once  we'd

managed to break in, eh?"

Lando said. "As though once we'd put our weapons away, we were no  longer

suspect. 'Terribly sorry, forgot our keycode, had to blow up the entryway'-  -

'Oh, that's all right, come in and make yourself  comfortable--'"  "I've  been

asking myself from the beginning what kind of intelligence  we  were  facing,"

Lobot said. "It's the most interesting question before us--" "I'm still  going

with 'Where's my next  meal  coming  from?""  Lando  said.  "And  Artoo  would

probably vote for 'Who put him in charge, anyway?"" Lobot patiently waited out

the interruption, then went on. "I have projected how this ship  would  behave

if you, or I, or Artoo, or Threepio were its master. Its  real  behavior  does

not match any of these models."

"Pardon me, sir, but  why  should  it?"  asked  Threepio,  who  had  been

listening attentively. "This vessel was not built by humans, or droids. We are

not  its  masters.  Its  behavior  can  only  be  properly  evaluated  in  the

appropriate cultural context."

"I disagree, Threepio. The conditions of the test dictate the form of the

answers," said Lobot. "If that were not so, the millions of  species  in  this

galaxy would have so little in common that there would be  no  need  for  your

services."

"He's got a point, Threepio," said Lando. "No matter where I've gone,  or

who I've been dealing with, the one thing that holds the deal together is that

everyone's looking out for their own end. I call it enlightened self-interest,

and it's the motor that powers the universe."

"The conditions of the test are sentience and survival," said Lobot.

"The form of the answer is to identify and neutralize threats. This  ship

has failed the test.

trolled by sentient beings. It is a work of great ingenuity,  but  it  is

not intelligent."

"I see," said Threepio. "Master Lando, should I discontinue my efforts to

contact the masters of this vessel?"

"Just hang on, Threepio," said Lando. "I'm still not sold on this.

Lobot, a ship of this size and complexity, successfully  evading  capture

for more than a hundred years--there must be something or somebody in charge."

"Something, yes. But not something sentient. I believe we  were  deceived

by the apparent complexity into invoking a god hypothesis."

"A god hypothesis?"

Lobot nodded. "When we spoke of the masters of this  vessel,  we  assumed

there  was  a  consciousness  observing  us  and  controlling  events  in  our

environment,"  he  said.  "We  even  turned  to  these  masters  to  save  us,

respectfully offering entreaties and hoping  for  their  intervention  on  our

behalf.

"But there's no indication the ship is aware  of  us,  beyond  its  local

awareness of our effects on it. Its responses have the character of  autonomic

functions. I now believe the vagabond is an automaton of great sophistication,

employing rule-based responses incorporated into its fundamental structure."

"What rule could it have been following when it tried to suck me out into

space?"

"You were using a blaster, and caused a breach which did not heal,"  said

Lobot. "You could have triggered a rule specifying that fires be  extinguished

by exposure to vacuum."

Lando's cheeks wrinkled as he weighed Lobot's argument.

"So you want us to start pushing buttons at random, is that it?"

"We know it responds to touch. We were probably wrong to conclude that it

responds negatively."

Lando continued to vacillate. "Still quiet outside, Artoo?"

Artoo chirped a single beep, recognizable as "Yes."

Looking back at Lobot, Lando shrugged and gestured with an open hand.

"After you."

Nodding, Lobot unlocked and removed his gauntlets one at a time, clipping

them to tool stays on the contact suit. Then he jetted to the nearest part  of

the enclosing wall, reached out both hands,  and  pressed  the  palms  lightly

against the surface. When nothing happened, he started sliding  to  his  left.

The wall of the chamber began to rise under  his  hands,  as  though  it  were

shaping itself to an invisible mold.

"My goodness gracious!" Threepio suddenly cried out, "Artoo, do you see?"

Lobot  retreated  hastily  to  the  middle  of  the  chamber,   but   the

transformation continued. Broad disks appeared and grew into squat  cylinders.

Ridges defined long arcs across the display, shadowing  the  rippled  patterns

spilling down  the  curves  of  a  hemisphere.  Color  appeared  but  did  not

overwhelm--there were swirls of a pale blue and spikes of a soft  yellow,  and

none respected the boundaries of the geometries they overlaid.

Lando's eyes twinkled with  delight.  "I  'never  thought  you  were  the

artistic type, Lobot."

Returning to the wall, Lobot touched the drumlike surface of one  of  the

cylinders. The chamber was suddenly filled with  music,  a  haunting  duet  of

intertwined melodies that rose and fell like swells in a gentle sea.

"I'm not letting you have all the fun," Lando said with a  grin,  peeling

the makeshift glove off his right hand and jetting to the opposite wall.

It answered his touch with a great rectangle pierced by two long channels

and filled with finer detail than the sculpture it faced.

Lando did not know the meaning of the pattern, but he could see the  scar

his blaster had left in it--a circular bite out  of  the  upper  edge  of  the

rectan gle, obliterating twenty or more of the myriad smaller cells within it.

The damage did not dampen Lando's enjoyment for long. The  two  men  flew

about the chamber like nimble, persistent insects until they  had  tested  its

entire surface.

There was something marvelous about the way a simple touch  of  the  hand

brought the empty chamber to life.

But the most splendid discovery of all-in Lando's eyes, at least--was the

doorway that opened for him at one end of the chamber,  and  its  twin,  which

Lobot manifested at the other.

Lando did not know where either might lead them, but he much preferred an

uncertain choice to no choice at all.

In the captain's wardroom aboard Glorious, two pieces of metal rested  on

a table beside a contact suit gauntlet. The longer of them was badly  twisted.

The ends of both were scorched with matching burns.

Colonel Pakkpekatt held the  shorter  of  the  two  lightly  between  two

fingers, turning it over for examination.

"You're certain?" he asked.

"Yes, Colonel," said  Taisden.  "This  is  the  frame  of  a  Hired  Hand

CarryAll, a common self-stabilizing equipment sled."

"Ownership?"

"The registry code indicates it is the property of  a  Hierko  Nochet,  a

Babbet adventure guide and onetime acquaintance of Lando Calrissian.

We believe that the general acquired this and certain other property from

Nochet in a sabacc tournament two years ago."

"Have you had it analyzed for biological identifiers?"

"It was' swept immediately after retrieval," said Technical Agent  Pleck.

"There are trace markers consistent with human handling, but I cannot  confirm

that either Calrissian or the cyborg is the source."

"Why not?"

"Sir, it's, uh, a bit awkward--we have no bioprofile of  the  general  to

compare it to."

Pakkpekatt bared his teeth. "A flag officer of the Fleet? To say  nothing

of his history before joining the Rebellion, and since leaving it. How is this

possible?"

"I don't know, sir. We have found records that  indicate  his  bioprofile

was  recorded  at  least  three  times,  but  the  profiles  themselves   have

disappeared. And the clerk of records on Cloud City refuses even to answer our

inquiries, citing something he called the Founder's Contract."

Shaking his head, Pakkpekatt said, "Under his uniform, General Calrissian

remains a smuggler and a scoundrel. Was anything  else  found  in  the  sweep,

Pleck?"

The agent frowned. "Yes, Colonel--though I don't know  what  significance

to assign to it."

"Tell me what you can."

"Yes, sir. We recovered a relatively  large  amount  of  an  unidentified

biological material from the facing of the sled this area,  here,"  the  agent

said, pointing. "The quantity is on the order of two million  cells--I  should

say cell fragments, because most were mechanically damaged."

"Mechanically? As if these pieces had been used as weapons?"

"No, sir. The distribution was too uniform. More  like--well,  sir,  more

like you'd sat down and sanded the outside of the frame with a roughskin  rat.

I'm sorry, sir, I know that's rather unscientific."

"You said the cells were unidentified."

"Yes, sir. And they may stay unidentified. The  leading  theory  is  that

they may be artificial cells, a mechanism rather than an organism. The genetic

sequences are much too short and seem to have little extra material.

With your permission, we'd like  to  use  one  of  Glorious's  hyperspace

probes to send a sample back to the Exobi-ology Institute on Coruscant."

Pakkpekatt bared his teeth. "See to  it,  Lieutenant,"  he  growled.  "It

should have been done when you first thought of it."

The agent hurriedly left the room under the heat of  Pakkpekatt's  glare,

and the colonel turned his attention  back  to  Taisden.  "Was  anything  else

recovered from the location where these were found?"

"No, sir. Nothing else. Stendaff is still on station, sweeping the  area,

but it looks clean down to decimeter resolutions."

akkpekatt picked up the short section of sled frame. "A most curious kind

of flotsam, Agent Taisden.

Difficult to construct a scenario to account for it."

"Yes, sir."

"Are all of our people off Marauder now?"

"Yes, sir. The section came over with me, and Captain Garch had  quarters

assigned to them on X Deck."

"Then I suppose I have delayed as  long  as  I  can,  hoping  that  these

foolish orders would be withdrawn," said Pakkpekatt. "Advise  Captain  Hannser

that I am releasing Marauder from this command effective immediately.

He is to return his ship  at  best  possible  speed  to  Krenhner  Sector

Station and report to the commodore there."

Taisden nodded. "I'll see to it immediately, sir."

Left alone in the wardroom, Colonel Pakkpekatt slowly  cupped  his  right

hand and began to smack it  against  the  table,  driving  his  friction  pads

against the retracted points of his nails. The  pain  proved  unequal  to  the

anger he was wrestling, so  he  methodically  increased  both  the  force  and

frequency of the blows.

There was an  eerie  deliberateness  to  his  self-abuse,  and  his  face

remained expressionless throughout. He  did  not  stop  until  the  pads  were

swollen and pulpy-soft, and the pain shooting up through his arm and deep into

his chest had bled off the restless need that impatience and  frustration  had

bred in his pedrokk gland--the fighter's heart.

By that time Marauder was ready to depart, and Pakkpekatt waited until he

had watched it go, jumping  toward  Krenhner  the  moment  it  cleared  convoy

radius.

Then he turned to his recording log and began at last to dictate a report

he did not want to make for a supervising committee he no longer could say  he

respected.

Four little ships, groping through the dark for a few short days. That is

all your lives are worth to them. I never would have thought I would see  such

dishonor. I never thought I would feel such shame.

Over the next several hours, Artoo added twenty chambers to  his  map  of

the vagabond, numbering each in turn as the team  visited  it.  To  help  them

remember where they had been, he also recorded for each  a  fish-eye  holo  of

what Lando had dubbed "the pop-ups."

So far, they had discovered two basic patterns for the pop-ups. Eight  of

the chambers were like the first--one side of the chamber would reveal a large

figure that might have been a sigil, a sculpture, or symbolic writing.

The opposite face would reveal a finely detailed  geometric  design  that

Lando and Lobot both were convinced was the map of a  temple  or  small  city.

Somewhere in every map room was a key that triggered Qella music, though every

"song" was different from the others.

Apart from the music, the pop-ups in the map rooms appeared to be static.

They remained on display as long as the team lingered; when the team moved  on

to another chamber and the connecting portal closed, the pop-ups collapsed and

vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

Next in sequence after every map room came one  or  more  of  what  Lobot

dubbed "gadget rooms." In them the team found a variety of  mostly  mysterious

pop-ups that might move, change color, hum, or change shape when touched.  But

with a very few exceptions, the gad gets had  no  decipherable  function,  and

none caused any detectable change in the status of the ship.

"I still think these could be control rooms," Lando said as they prepared

to leave chamber 20. "We just don't know what we're controlling. We  could  be

driving the custodian crazy, lowering the heat in the 'freshers  and  changing

the channel on his CosmiComm service."

One  welcome  discovery  was  that  when  they  entered  a   chamber   by

conventional  means--through  the  por-tals-the  chamber  provided   its   own

illumination. Power had become critical enough for Artoo that, back in chamber

11, Lando had coupled him to Threepio for an energy transfusion. The  protocol

droid, carried everywhere by Lobot or Artoo, was consuming very  little  power

directly.

"Yes, by all means. You should take it all," he said, looking down at his

chest as Lando snapped the transfer cable into  the  recharge  coupling.  "I'm

nothing but a burden to you. I don't know why you  ever  brought  me  on  this

mission, Master Lando. I'm completely useless to you. Give  all  my  power  to

Artoo and go on without me.

Leave me here in the dark."

With a will, Lando resisted the temptation to take the droid at his word.

Chamber 21 was another  map  room,  the  ninth.  The  sigil  resembled  a

feathered embracing a cluster of fist-size spheres. The map was  an  irregular

pentagon, with one side twice as long as the others and the same shape  echoed

in the open area at the very center. Neither Lobot  nor  Lando  could  find  a

music key, but their attempts seemed to trigger something quite different, and

startling.

At first, there was just a pale pink glow slowly pulsing in  a  structure

near the long outer wall. Then, suddenly, that part of the map  erupted  in  a

gout of fire that leaped a full meter up from the wall.

The team fell back in surprise. "They've found us!"

Threepio cried. "Artoo, save yourself!"

"It's a holo--a recording," Lobot said.

"No, it's real," Lando said. "Look at your  suit  sen-sors--wait,  Artoo,

don't!" He lunged toward the droid, who was busily unlimbering the  nozzle  of

his fire extinguisher.

By the time the struggle was over, the entire map had been replaced by  a

five-sided black scar, and the chamber was half choked by a white-soot smoke.

Lando herded them back into chamber 20, where they waited the two minutes

they had learned it took for a room to reset.  When  they  reentered  2],  the

black scar was gone, and with it  the  smoke.  With  their  backs  practically

pressed 'against the sigil, they then watched a replay.

The initial blast came from the same structure, after  the  same  pulsing

glow. As the pillar of fire rose, the shock rippled out through  the  rest  of

the city, destroying the neat symmetry. The fire quickly fell back but  spread

into a firestorm that raced across the shattered city and consumed  it.  In  a

matter of seconds the wall was scorched black as before, the map destroyed.

"Artoo, please run an analysis on the atmosphere in here," Lando said.

Threepio  reported  the  results.  "Oxygen  five  per-cent--oxygen  eight

percent--oxygen eleven percentre would you  make  up  your  mind?"  the  droid

asked, clanging Artoo on the dome with his working arm.

"It's not him, Threepio," said Lobot. "The ship is restoring the  chamber

to its status before the fire, for  the  next  demonstration."  He  looked  to

Lando. "These are history lessons. Something terrible happened  to  the  Qella

city that was under this sign."

"Maybe this is our first clue about what happened to them," Lando said.

"But there's something else going  on,  too.  Artoo,  what's  the  oxygen

component now?"

The answer, relayed through Threepio, was fifteen percent.

"Son of a- - Lobot, Threepio, you stay here. Artoo, come with me.

There's something we have to check."

"Where are you going?"

"Back to chamber one, express lane. Sit tight--it won't be so long.

We won't be sight-seeing this time."

The patrol frigate Bloodprice bore the colors of the Prakith navy and the

crest of Governor Foga Brill. Both were more prominent than the sigil  of  the

Imperial Moff for Sector 5, which was consigned to the armor panel  above  the

frigate's chin turrets.

The displays mirrored the allegiances felt by Captain Ors Dogot  and  his

crew of nearly four hundred. The officers owed  their  commissions  and  their

postings to Brill, not to Grand Moff Gann. It  was  Brill  who  collected  the

commission fees and the annual posting assessments.

It was Brill who paid off favors to wealthy families with  command  ranks

that drew pay in goods and gold instead of Prakith scrip.

The specialists and ratings, draftees all, owed  the  security  of  their

families to Brill's promise of the  protection  of  the  Red  Police  for  the

daughters and wives of those who protected his power with their lives.

To be drafted into the navy was a far better thing  than  to  be  drafted

into the slit mines or the foundries, or to be one  of  the  hundreds  rousted

nightly from the riverbanks in Prall and Skoth to dig their own graves.

Graft and fear were inferior flavors of fealty, but they  were  the  best

Foga Brill could command, and they sufficed.

"Course change maneuver complete, Captain," the navigator reported  in  a

clear, loud voice. "Now heading nine-zero,  mark,  negative  four-five,  mark,

two-two at deep patrol standard."

"Towmaster, report," said Dogot.

The listening array Bloodprice towed behind  it  on  deep  patrol  was  a

hundred times longer than the ship itself.  It  was  a  spiderweb  of  passive

antenna cables, tiny noiseless amplifiers, steering jets, and  tension  vanes,

with a drag gondola the size of a troop transport at the end of the  antenna's

main cable. The three crew members in the gondola had  the  difficult  job  of

flying the array through the turn when Bloodprice changed heading.

If there was too little tension, the elements could tangle, or the  whole

array  could  tear  itself  apart  in  what   the   manuals   called   dynamic

destabilization and tow crews called tail whip. If there was too much  tension

through the turn, the likely result was an overstrain disconnect  and  a  two-

hour delay for the recapture procedure.

The towmaster on Bloodprice's last patrol had allowed two disconnects.

Along with the gondola crew, he had spent the last half of the patrol  in

the brig, awaiting the return to Prakith and a court-martial on  a  charge  of

treasonable incompetence.

So it was with great relief that his replacement  announced,  "The  array

turned cleanly and deployment is nominal."

"Very well," said Dogot. "Lieutenant Sojis, you are master of the bridge.

I will be in my quarters, working on crew reviews. Inform Yeoman  Cligot  that

she is to report to me there immediately."

"Yes, Captain."

When the portal closed after Lando and Artoo, Lobot watched,  fascinated,

as the smoke thinned and disappeared, the scar faded and vanished.

Even the tiny white bits of soot smudging the outside  of  his  faceplate

seemed to evaporate. He  watched  on  his  suit  monitor  as  the  temperature

plummeted thirty degrees, to the slightly chilly norm for the vagabond.

"Pardon me, Master Lobot--" "Yes,  Threepio,  what  is  it?"  Lobot  said

automatically, still distracted.

"I was  wondering,  sir,  if  you  could  tell  me--do  droids  meet  the

conditions of the test?"

Lobot'S head snapped around. "What did you say?"

"The test of intelligence," Threepio repeated. "Am I sentient, like  you,

or simply another work of great ingenuity, like this ship?"

Taken aback, Lobot looked away from the droid's waiting face as he groped

for an answer. "Ah--Threepio, you know, most droids are built  to  have  self-

aware artificial intelligence. Especially third-degree droids like yourself."

"But that must be something different than sentience," Threepio said.

"Otherwise, the Senate of the New Republic would not  consist  solely  of

organics, served by droids."

"It is different," Lobot said, as gently as he could.

"Artificial intelligence is programming. Wipe a  droid's  memory  and  it

disappears. Replace it with different programming and a translator  becomes  a

tutor, or a med droid becomes a chem droid."

"I understand, sir," said Threepio; he was quiet for a long moment.

"Then can you tell me how it feels to be sentient? How  is  it  different

from what I feel?"

"I'm not sure that I can say," Lobot replied slowly.

"Perhaps it is a thing that you just know, because you are an organic and

not a machine? Perhaps if I were sentient, I would not need to ask  you  these

questions. I would know who I was."

Lobot said nothing for a time. "What do you think, Threepio?" he asked at

last.

"I do not know, Master Lobot," the droid said.

"But I have noticed that when someone speaks of memory wipes, I am seized

by an inexplicable panic."

"I don't find that inexplicable," said Lobot.

"Really, sir?"

"Self-preservation  is  an  elementary   part   of   self-awareness--even

artificial self-awareness. It's the part of us that feels that awareness which

matters to us," Lobot said. "I expect you would give that up"--he  pointed  at

Threepio's  immobile  arm--"to  keep  your  programming  intact.  As  I  would

surrender this"--he pointed through his faceplate at his neural interface--"to

preserve my consciousness."

"I do not recall having this reaction when I was younger, sir,"  Threepio

said. "Why, I have seen many droids of my acquaintance taken for memory wipes.

I felt nothing but gratitude that their masters cared enough for  their  well-

being to schedule proper maintenance."

The droid cocked his head. "My own maintenance  record,  I'm  afraid,  is

something of a horror. It's a miracle that I can still function at all."

Lobot mused on that answer for a while. "Just out of curiosity, Threepio,

have you thought about asking other droids what they think about this?"

"Yes, Master Lobot," Threepio said. "But they seemed  not  to  understand

the question. Why, one even had the ill manners to  call  me  a  computational

defective with deviant specifications. Can you imagine?"

"I know something of such prejudice," said Lobot, then sighed.  "I  don't

have any answers for you, Threepio. All I can say is that the questions  would

seem to be worth revisiting when some time has passed."

"Thank you, Master Lobot," said Threepio. "I will do so."

Except for blind spots caused by Bloodprice and  the  drag  gondola,  the

towed array  could  scan  several  light-hours  in  every  direction.  As  the

outermost of Prakith's three concentric spheres of defense, the first  purpose

of the deep patrol was to detect possible military threats  long  before  they

could come near the planet. For that reason, the ship's patrol route  took  it

through the most likely final staging areas for an attack on Prakith,  outside

the range of its ground-based and orbiting sensors.

But an equally important purpose was to intercept and claim  as  a  prize

any merchant or private vessel unwary enough to pass within reach.

Ship seizures were not only an obligation, but  an  opportunity.  A  rich

enough prize could advance the entire crew to a better post.  And  every  deep

patrol captain knew stories of other captains who had come home with  a  prize

rich enough to earn the favor of Foga Brill himself.

So when Captain Dogot was called away from his examinations  of  the  new

female crew members and saw the size of the contact on the  optical  displays,

he quickly forgave the interruption. "What identification have you  made?"  he

asked, peering over the shoulder of the security master.

"None so far," said the officer. "The image is too crude, and the  target

is silent in all spectral bands except the optical."

"Interrogate the navigation transponder."

"There is no transponder response at that location."

"Range?"

"Three-point-eight light-hours--nearly at the limit of detection."

Captain Dogot weighed the possibilities. A warship of that size would  be

more than a match for a patrol frigate. He would need reinforcements from  the

inner fleet. But a freighter of that size would be a prize of the first  rank,

and one he would much prefer not to share with other captains.

For a brief moment he considered cutting the array  adrift,  rather  than

allowing the hour necessary to reel it in. Abandoning the array  would  ensure

that Bloodprice was the first ship to reach the target.  But  if  the  contact

proved spurious, or the target escaped, the loss of  the  array--or  even  any

substantial damage to it--would cost him his post, if not his life.

"Bring in the array,"  Captain  Dogot  ordered.  "Prepare  the  ship  for

hyperspace. Notify patrol command that we are in pursuit  of  an  unidentified

contact, vector zero-nine-one, zero-six-six, zero-five-three."

The navigation  master  turned  at  his  station.  "But,  sir,  the  last

coordinate for the contact is zero-five-five."

"I am sure you are mistaken," Dogot said evenly.

"Communications master, send the message as I instructed.

Patrol command will want to send additional ships to support us.

Navigation master, what would an error of two degrees over this  distance

mean?"

"The, uh--the ships would be hours away at sub-light, but  too  close  to

safely microjump." Understanding belatedly came to his eyes,  and  he  glanced

down at his console. "Yes, sir, zero-five-three. Thank  you  for  catching  my

error before it had any undesirable consequences."

"Sleeping on the job again, I see. Did you know that  you  snore  like  a

power saw in ironwood?"

Lando's voice, sharp and clear in the helmet's comm speakers, startled  a

dozing Lobot awake. He looked up to find Lando and Artoo back in  chamber  21,

the portal quickly closing behind them. Lando was holding his helmet under his

arm and grinning broadly.

"Lando--what are you doing?"

"Master Lando, have you gone mad?" Threepio demanded in alarm. "You  must

replace your helmet immediately, or you'll suffocate!"

"I've had it off for most of an hour now," said Lando. "Didn't you wonder

how anything could burn in an atmosphere that was ninety percent nitrogen  and

carbon dioxide?"

"It seems I did not have the necessary data to wonder," said Lobot.

"And I was thinking about other things."

"Well, the answer is, it can't," said Lando. "What I had to find out  was

whether it was just this room that had been oxygen-enriched."

"And it apparently wasn't."

"No. Something happened while we were sleeping.

Every chamber back to number one now has a breathable atmosphere. Go  on,

take your helmet off--try it."

The air was cold, dry, and sweet in Lobot's lungs.

He looked at Lando in puzzlement. "Why should this be?"

"You said it first--this ship isn't out to harm'  us.  It  was  expecting

visitors."

"But we took a wrong turn after we  entered,"  Lobot  said  thoughtfully,

scratching his bald head with vigor.

"We weren't supposed to be wandering through the  weapons  system,  which

has its own specific environmental needs. We were supposed to be going through

the museum."

"Which was in cold storage until  we  arrived,"  said  Lando.  "It  makes

perfect sense. Oxygen is highly reactive--a reducing agent. Keeping the oxygen

pressure low and the carbon dioxide high protects  the  ship  from  fire,  the

exhibits  from  corrosion.  Imperial  Star  Destroyers  flood  key   equipment

compartments with an N-CO2 mixture before going into battle."

"Then what happened to all the carbon dioxide that was in the air?

Scrubbers?"

"The original and best kind," Lando  said.  "The  ship  breathed  it  in,

locked up the carbon, and gave back the oxygen. Lobot, don't you see?

This ship is alive."

On Captain Dogot's orders, the Bloodprice began charging its primary  ion

cannon battery immediately after exiting hyperspace.

There would  be  no  negotiations,  no  warning  shots,  no  demands  for

surrender. Dogot did not intend to allow the captain of the  intruding  vessel

any latitude at all.

Unless a closer look at the target showed it  to  be  a  friendly,  or  a

warship of cruiser class or heavier,  Dogot  intended  to  use  the  big  guns

quickly. The talking could begin after his  gunners  had  disabled  the  other

ship.

"Target acquired," called the gunnery master.

"Twenty seconds to full charge."

"Target is confirmed unknown," called the senior analyst.  "Design  class

is unknown. Estimated displacement class,  gamma-plus.  Detecting  no  weapons

ports forward."

"Target real  velocity  is  fifty-two  meters  per  second,"  called  the

navigation master. "Target closing velocity is  one  thousand,  eight  hundred

sixteen meters per second."

Captain Dogot studied the image on his command display. It seemed  almost

too good to believe--a huge, unarmed and unprotected  vessel  barely  crawling

through space. "Are there any other Prakith vessels on the board?"

"Showing the light cruiser Gorath and the destroyer  Tobay  approximately

twenty million kilometers astern," said the navigation master. "They won't  be

here for a while."

"Very well," Dogot said. "Then we must do what we can ourselves.

Gunnery master, you may fire when ready. Ion batteries only--I want  that

ship disabled, not destroyed. Troop master, prepare your units for boarding--"

Lando and Lobot had both temporarily shed  their  contact  suits  to  stretch,

scratch, and even scrub away their accumulated annoyances, sacrificing some of

their precious water to restore a measure of dignity and comfort.

The convenience of the waste management facilities  in  the  suits  alone

dictated that they would eventually climb back inside  them.  As  a  practical

matter,  they  also  couldn't  afford  to  sacrifice   the   maneuvering   and

communications systems. But neither man was eager to give  up  his  unexpected

freedom. The pieces of both suits floated around the chamber like  dismembered

corpses while Artoo and Threepio looked on, nonplussed by the display.

tinue searching for the vessel's control room? I do not see that this has

significantly altered our situation--" Artoo suddenly began squawking shrilly.

"I'm talking to them now, Artoo," said Threepio.

"Just you wait your turn- - What? There's another ship?

Heading directly toward us? Oh,  Artoo--we're  saved.  I  knew  that  the

colonel would come for us--" "Slow down, Threepio--what's going on?"

"Artoo says that the sensors on the limpet are detecting another ship  on

an intercept course."

Grabbing his helmet as it floated by, Lando shot a  worried  look  toward

Lobot.  "What  ship?  Ask  him  what  ship--"   "The   holoprojector,"   Lobot

interrupted. "Artoo can relay the signal from the imager."

A few seconds later half the chamber was filled with the  limpet's  wide-

angle view of space outside the vagabond's  hull.  The  approaching  ship  was

clearly visible to the extreme left of the projection, toward the bow.

"Imperial escort frigate," Lando said immediately.

"The original KDY design, with the heavy stuff forward.

It looks like the gun ports are open, too."

"Shouldn't we signal it somehow, Master Lando?" asked Threepio.

"It's not from our armada, Threepio," said Lobot.

"The only signal I want to send that  ship  is  a  wave  good-bye,"  said

Lando, reaching out and touching the wall of the chamber. "Come on, old  lady,

don't wait around for an introduction."

"Master Lando, Artoo says that there are two other ships  approaching  as

well, but much farther away. Perhaps one of them is Glorious."

"Not coming from that direction, it isn't- - Oh, hell!"

The bow of the onrushing frigate  had  suddenly  disappeared  behind  the

yellow-white plasma bubble of an ion cannon burst.  A  fraction  of  a  second

later the holoprojection turned a crackling white, then  disap  peared.  Artoo

yelped unhappily. At the same time, the ship shuddered under them.

"The limpet's been fried," Lobot said, spinning in midair as he struggled

to pull the lower half of his contact suit up over his legs.

"Artoo isn't getting anything from it now."

Lando pressed his palm against the wall, hoping to feel the tremor  of  a

hyperspace jump beginning. "Of all the luck- - What's going on?" he  demanded.

"Why is she waiting so long to jump?"

They fell silent as one, listening to the ship, hoping to hear her sinews

groaning in protest as the jump engines punched her  across  into  hyperspace,

and fearing any sounds that might mean their journey would be ending  here,  a

long way from home.

The captain of the cruiser Gorath was cursing the name of the captain  of

the frigate Bloodprice even before his ship's forward scanners lit up with the

glow of a battle begun. When he saw the  frigate  open  fire  on  the  strange

vessel, his fury knew no bounds.

"I swear, this man will dig his own grave, and I will  see  his  children

bury him alive there," the captain said with an icy venom. "He will  hear  his

daughters screaming, his mother pleading, while his lungs fill with  dirt  and

his eyes are ground blind by sand."

They were too far away, the image too jumpy  and  coarse,  to  tell  what

effect Bloodprice's barrage had had on its target. But they were close  enough

to witness what followed--together with the crew of Tobay, they were the  only

witnesses.

The great hull of the target  brightened  fore  and  aft,  and  something

almost invisible struck out across the emptiness toward Bloodprice.

Seconds later, the frigate exploded with a ferocity that could only  mean

the ionization  reactor  had  gone  critical.  It  vanished  from  the  sensor

displays.

"Too quick for you," the captain of the Gorath said coldly.

Meanwhile, the intruding vessel was turning away from the shattered hulk,

away from Prakith and toward the Rim.

"Notify Tobay to prepare for hyperspace. Propulsion master, ready  on  my

mark!" the captain cried out.

"We will erase this humiliation and capture this invader ourselves."

A bright circle of light flared out around the vagabond.

"Now!" the captain screamed. "Match headings!

After them!"

The captain's crew was well trained to  his  voice.  Goratb  jumped  into

hyperspace close enough behind the vagabond to be able to  detect  her  quarry

ahead by its soilton wake.

"We have them," the captain said with grim satisfaction.

"Wherever they are going, we will be there.

They are ours."

Colonel Pakkpekatt's new orders read simply, MISSION TERMINATED EFFECTIVE

YOUR RECEIPT THIS NOTICE.

BREAK OFF ALL OPERATIONS IMMEDIATELY. NRI OPERATIONS CENTER.

"This will not do," he said, and swept out of his  quarters.  The  threat

ruffles blossoming down his back and the crimson expanse on his throat  warned

away any who might otherwise have tried to speak to him  on  his  way  to  the

bridge.

"Secure channel, isolation," he said as he  dropped  his  body  into  his

combat lounge. The enclosing shell came forward from the back of the chair and

closed him in. "NRI Operations Center, Coruscant, highest priority."

It took several seconds for the hypercomm link to be made and verified.

"Operations," said a briskly professional voice.

"Go ahead, Colonel Pakkpekatt."

"I need to talk directly to General Rieekan."

"I'll see if he's available, Colonel. One moment."

Pakkpekatt's impatience made the wait seem longer than it was.

"Brigadier Collomus, operations senior staff," said a new voice. "How can

I help you, Colonel?"

Pakkpekatt showed his teeth. "You can help me talk to General Rieekan, as

I asked."

"General Rieekan isn't available at the moment," said Collomus.  "If  you

have any questions about your orders, I should be able to resolve them. I  was

in the planning loop for the Teljkon expedition."

"I know who you are, Brigadier," said Pakkpekatt.

"When General Rieekan becomes available again, please advise him that his

last orders were garbled in transmission.

I will require a verified voice confirmation to proceed."

"I can give you that, Colonel."

"No, sir, I'm afraid you cannot."

Pakkpekatt relaxed into the cushions and left the isolation shell up.

The callback came twenty-four minutes later.

"General Rieekan," Pakkpekatt said with an acknowledging nod.

"Colonel, Brigadier Collomus tells me that you have a problem  with  your

orders which for some reason only I can resolve. Would  you  care  to  explain

what's going on?"

"Sir, I must contest the decision to terminate the  mission.  This  is  a

betrayal of---" "Colonel, this is not open for discussion."

"There are six men dead and a contact team still missing."

"Colonel, those facts are not relevant to the decision."

"Not relevant? You--" "No, Colonel, they are  not.  All  agents  must  be

considered expendable, always. And  your  ships  are  needed  elsewhere,  most

especially Glorious."

"With all due respect, sir, you  don't  understand  the  ramifications--"

"Colonel, I wouldn't finish that sentence," Rieekan said sharply.

"Your reports have been carefully reviewed.

The probability of any positive outcome at  this  point  doesn't  justify

further investment. The decision has been made, and your exception  is  noted.

The mission is terminated. Bring them home, Colonel."

"Sir, I request permission to take an all-volunteer team and continue the

search in General Calrissian's yacht, Lady Luck. This would not--" "Denied."

"Then I request immediate leave, in order to continue the  search  on  my

own."

"Denied. All leaves have been  canceled  due  to  the  crisis  in  Farlax

Sector."

"Then you leave me in an impossible position."

"Why is that, Colonel? Do you find it impossible to follow orders?"

Pakkpekatt bared his teeth. "General, a Hortek does not leave the  bodies

of comrades in the hands of the enemy--ever."

For the first time since the  call  had  begun,  there  was  silence.  "I

understand, Colonel. But I can't help you."

"I think you can, General."

"I'm listening."

"You said that all agents must be considered expendable.

I am  asking  you  to  count  me  among  the  missing  from  the  Teljkon

expedition. Because even if I did return, I would still be here in ways  which

would compromise my ability to do any other job for you."

"This is that important to you,"  Rieekan  said,  settling  back  in  his

chair. "Even though these missing men were not part of your  command,  flouted

your orders, and are principally responsible for the failure of your mission."

"One's comrades and allies do not come neatly out of  a  mold,  General,"

Pakkpekatt said. "They are inevitably a mixed lot, and  never  without  flaws.

And I find I often must hope for as much tolerance from them in that regard as

I am able to offer to them."

Rieekan pursed his lips. "Very well, Colonel. I will extend you a  little

tolerance. Lady Luck, no more than three additional volunteers,  and  whatever

unexpended mission supplies you choose and the yacht can carry.

Report any substantive developments promptly. And, Colonel--" "Sir?"

"My tolerance is fairly inelastic. Don't try to stretch it."

"Thank you, General."

Slightly more than an hour later, Pakkpekatt, Captain  Bijo  Hammax,  and

technical agents Pleck and Tais-den watched from Lady Luck's tiny flight  deck

as the cruiser Glorious and the escort Kettemoor turned  together  and  jumped

toward Coruscant.

"It begins," said Pakkpekatt to the empty sky.

Penga Rift found the pilot of IX-26  keeping  a  lonely  watch  over  the

bodies on Maltha Obex.

"What took you so long?" he demanded. "You were supposed to be here  days

ago."

"Copy, this is Joto Eckels," came the reply. "Sorry about the delay.

Frankly, we weren't even expecting you to still  be  here.  Our  original

sponsor withdrew just before we  lifted,  and  then  we  got  word  about  the

accident.

We were going to have to go to a contract ambulance  to  recover  Kroddok

and Josala when another sponsor came along and picked up the contract."

"This is all news to me," the pilot said. "I  don't  know  why  I  wasn't

recalled if the NRI pulled out. Who's sponsoring you now?"

"A private collector--name of Drayson," said Dr.  Eckels.  "He  hopes  to

authenticate some Qella artifacts. I think he's going to be disappointed,  and

very expensively so. But it helps us, and we'll do what we can for him. Do you

still have a good fix on the bodies?"

"Affirmative, Penga Rift," said the pilot. "Nothing's  moved  down  there

since the avalanche, unless you want to count the snow that's fallen  on  top.

You're in for a cold dig."

"We're ready for one."

"Then tell me how you want the data, so I can light this candle  and  get

out of here," the pilot said. "Because this is hands down the  creepiest  duty

I've pulled in sixteen years, and I have a great need to get myself  somewhere

warm and crowded--and soon."

"Understood," said Eckels.  "Ready  to  receive  your  coordinate  system

reference data. We'll take the next watch here at Maltha Obex."

II.

Luke

Chapter 5

The skiff Mud Sloth was outbound in realspace from Lucazec at top speed--

which, considering it was a Verpine Adventurer,  was  not  enough  to  satisfy

Akanah.

"Luke--can't you make it go faster?"

"How? Get out and push?"

"Why--yes. Can't you use the Force to speed us up?"

"You need a lever and a place to stand,"  Luke  said  wryly.  "The  Force

isn't a magic wand--there are limits."

"All limits exist in the mind,  not  the  Universe,"  Akanah  said.  "I'm

surprised your tutors never taught you that."

Luke shook his head. "Obi-Wan and Yoda both taught  me  to  see  that  we

limit ourselves by not trying and sabotage ourselves by believing we'll fail."

"Then why do you--" "--But even  Obi-Wan,  in  our  worst  moments,  with

millions of lives hanging in the balance, couldn't  make  the  Falcon  go  any

faster." He gestured at the navigational display. "Besides, it looks  like  no

one's taken enough interest in our departure to try to follow."

"They don't need to, yet," said Akanah. "We're  days  from  clearing  the

Flight Control Zone, aren't we?"

Luke glanced down at the controls. "Three days, more or less."

"Then they can just watch us for now, let us think we're  away  free  and

see where we're going, There aren't many ships that couldn't catch  us  before

we reach the jump radius."

"The agents who ambushed us are dead. No one tried  to  stop  us  at  the

port. The flight controllers gave us clearance without a peep. The  skies  are

empty. What will it take for you to feel safe?"

"I won't feel safe until we've found the  Fallanassi,"  Akanah  said.  "I

can't bear the thought of failing. I've waited so long--and so  have  you.  If

anything should stop us this close to the end--"  "How  close  are  we?"  Luke

asked. "What did the Current writing back there say?"

"I already told you--it pointed the way home."

"But you didn't tell me where that is."

"I was afraid to say anything  until  we  were  away  from  there,"  said

Akanah. "I couldn't risk having anyone else hear."

"We're alone now," Luke pointed out.

"But they could have placed a listening device in the ship while we  were

on the North Plateau. I want to wait until we're in hyperspace.

Then I know they won't be able to follow."

"No one's been in the ship but us," Luke said  firmly.  "And  this  isn't

going to be much of a partnership if you're keeping secrets from me.

Don't you trust me, Akanah?"

"I know you to be a good man," said Akanah. "But some of what you do  and

believe makes me uncomfortable.

In the long run, I have never known a  warrior  or  a  soldier  to  be  a

friend." saber now only comes to my hand to protect people I  care  about.  Is

that a warrior, or a friend?"

Akanah was silent, looking down at her lap. "We have to go to Teyr,"  she

said at last. "The circle may not have been able to stay there,  but  that  is

where they went from Lucazec."

"Teyr is--um, that way," Luke said, pointing up and to the right.

"More or less," she said, and reached out to raise his arm slightly.

"That's closer. I was planning on  a  double  jump,  in  case  anyone  is

thinking about following US."

Luke nodded his approval. "That's one of the  worlds  the  children  were

sent to."

"Yes," she said.

"Didn't you say you'd already been there, looking for them?"

"No. I said I couldn't find them there," Akanah corrected.

"I was never able to make the journey. I made inquiries,  from  Carratos,

when I could." She looked up then. "But the Fallanassi change names, styles of

dress, habits of speech, even the way we groom  our  hair,  to  blend  in,  to

disappear. Unless I can be face-to-face with them,  exchange  the  signs,  let

them feel me beside them in the Current, they would not reveal themselves, out

of fear that I was not what I seemed to be."

"You think they're still hiding?"

"After what just happened, can you not say we have reason?"

Luke nodded. "I think we need to talk about what just happened."

"So do I," she said. Her eyes flashed darkly. "But I would prefer not  to

have that conversation with an  Imperial  interrogation  team.  Can't  you  do

something so we can jump out of here sooner rather than later?"

"I don't really want to. I think so far, we've managed  to  slip  out  of

here without attracting any special attention," Luke said. "But if we suddenly

blast out of a

Flight Control Zone, especially in this bucket, we're going to  go  right

to the top of the alert list. And when we arrive at  Teyr,  they're  going  to

insist on talking to us.

They might even insist on inspecting our ship and pulling its license."

"I had not thought of that," she said, frowning.

"But what if you're wrong, and six hours from  now  an  Imperial  warship

comes out from behind Lucazec, or drops out of  hyperspace  in  front  of  us?

Wouldn't you like--" "To be able to show them our tail? Yes." He squeezed  his

eyes shut, as though  trying  to  visualize  something  without  distractions.

"Maybe there's a way to do this without getting near the  motivator.  What  do

you have for tools?"

"I--I'm not sure. I thought you would use the Force somehow,"  she  said.

"Bend a contact, or break a trace--" Luke shook his head. "You  have  to  know

exactly how something's put together before you try that sort  of  trick'  and

I've never even had my hands inside the access panel of an Adventurer."

"You're destroying all my illusions about the all-powerful Jedi,"  Akanah

said with a hint of a smile.

Laughing lightly, Luke climbed out of the pilot's  seat.  "The  truth  is

that, most of the time, the Force is no substitute for a tech droid or a  tool

kit. And I've never known a Jedi who wanted it to get around that he could fix

broken appliances."

Her smile broadened at that.

"Did you get a key to the equipment bay when you bought this thing?"

"No," she said, suddenly worried.

"It's all right," Luke said, touching her shoulder as he slipped by  her.

"I can handle an idiot lock without a tool kit. Stay here and keep an  eye  on

the nav scanner.

I'll see what I can do about giving us another option."

Luke sat on the edge of the open drive  compartment,  his  feet  dangling

inside, just above the fuel pumps for the realspace thrusters.  It  felt  both

strange and pleasantly familiar to be tinkering again. It took him back to the

hot breezes of Tatooine, to surprisingly fond memories of  his  years  in  the

Lars household.

"Boys and machines," he could hear his Aunt Beru saying with  bemusement.

"What is it about boys and machines?"

His life then had consisted of little more than tinkering.

The greater part by far of his chores on the farm had been trying to keep

Uncle  Owen's  motley  collection  of  secondhand  droids  and  second-quality

moisture v aporators running. After chores, Luke had invested his free time in

coaxing a little more speed from the XP-30 landspeeder he had rescued from the

Anchorhead salvage yard, and tweaking the performance  of  the  family's  T-16

skyhopper for those races in Beggar's Canyon.

Teenage impatience had made him view Tatooine as a wasteland and the farm

as a prison. But that world looked better seen through a filter  of  time  and

experience.

And he realized belatedly just how much he had enjoyed those  hours  with

his head and hands inside an engine service panel, in a simple, knowable world

of which he was the master.

"You look happy," said Akanah softly. She had returned  from  the  flight

deck without his noticing.

"I am," he said, twisting and looking up at  her.  It  was  a  surprising

discovery.

She nodded toward the drive. "Do you think you'll be able to fix it?

Or break it--I suppose that's more descriptive."

"It's already done," he said. "It wasn't that hard once I got into it.

The lockout doesn't go into the  drive  at  all--it's  here  at  the  nav

controller, see? If it doesn't get  a  signal  from  the  FCZ  interface,  the

controller can't enable  the  drive--"  He  saw  her  expression  and  stopped

himself.

"Anyway, I'm just studying up for the next problem now."

"Already done? That's wonderful!" she said. "I'm terribly impressed--I've

never had so much as a single home tech course, and when I look down in there,

I have no idea what I'm seeing. You could probably tell," she added.

"Well--we should test it before we need it. I need to know if any of this

was important," he said, letting a small handful of metal  plugs,  clips,  and

wires cascade to the deckplate.

When he saw the sudden alarm in her eyes, he laughed  and  quickly  said,

"Just kidding. About the parts, anyway. We ought to test it, though.

I was thinking we could jump  out  just  a  little  early.  Even  fifteen

minutes would be enough."

"What about the alert list?"

"The boundary of the FCZ isn't a hard line--there's a yellow zone. We can

jump out of there without attracting any attention, but it'll still be a  fair

test. I'm sure it'll work, though."

"So you do fix appliances," she said mischievously, sitting on  the  deck

in a spill of skirt. "What were you thinking about when I came in?"

"Home," he said simply.

She settled back against a wiring panel. "It's funny--I spent most of  my

life on Carratos, but 'home' always means Lucazec to me."

"Tatooine," Luke supplied. "Which I always said was a better place to  be

from than to be. I'm not so sure about that now."

"Almost all of my memories from Ialtra are good ones,"  Akanah  said.  "I

suppose that's one reason what you did there upsets me so  much.  Now  I  have

that memory, too, and I would rather not."

"At least you're here to have it," Luke said. "I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  not

going to feel guilty about saving you."

"What about killing those two men--do you feel anything about that?"

"One of them killed himself," Luke said, pulling his feet up out  of  the

hatchway and turning to face her.

"Commander Paffen."

Luke nodded. "He said something about poison, remember?

I didn't want him dead. I was trying to question him."

"And the other? The one you eviscerated with your  lightsaber?  Were  you

trying to kill him?"

"He had a personal shield," Luke said. "It takes a lot of  force  to  get

through one--and when your blade does pop through, it's hard to stop it before

it does a lot of damage."

"I understand. Were you trying to kill him?"

"Didn't I just answer that?"

"I don't think so," she said with a shy smile.

Luke eased  himself  back  against  the  bulkhead  on  his  side  of  the

compartment. "I guess the truth is that, at the moment, I wasn't  particularly

worried about whether I killed him or not."

She shook her head slowly. "That is so hard for me to understand how  you

could not be aware of the power in your hands."

"The power that mattered to me was the power to protect you  from  them,"

said Luke. "You told me afterward that you weren't in  any  danger,  but  that

wasn't how it looked."

"Yes," said Akanah. "I understand that. But, Luke,  there's  something  I

must ask of you that you never again kill to save me. I am glad that you cared

about me, but it makes my heart sick, my spirit heavy, to have the screams and

the blood of those men in my memory, in the ruins of a place that I loved."

"I don't know if I can make you that promise," Luke said. "I have my  own

conscience to satisfy. And sometimes it demands that I fight for my friends."

"That you kill for your friends."

"When it's necessary."

"Is that how you see the Jedi? Are they ready to kill  to  protect  their

friends on Coruscant?"

Luke's gaze narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to understand," Akanah said. "I want to know what  your  Jedi

mean to the New Republic, and what the New Republic means to you.

Are you training the Jedi Knights to be Coruscant's warrior elite?

What are you willing to do when the commander-in-chief calls on you?"

"That isn't the way it works," Luke said. "Leia doesn't  give  orders  to

the Jedi. She can ask us for help--one of us or all of us--but we can  refuse.

And sometimes do."

"But the Republic supports your academy. You had a military spacecraft in

your hangar. Can you afford to offend them?"

"The Jedi aren't mercenaries," Luke said, an edge in his voice. "When  we

fight, it's an individual choice--and it's in defense of the principles of our

creed. Coruscant supports the academy because the memory  of  the  Jedi  is  a

powerful force for stability. Our presence is what they want most."

"That's the part of the tradition that concerns me,"  said  Akanah.  "The

guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic for a thousand generations,

or so the legend has it. But if you cannot have both peace and justice,  which

will you choose?"

"Which would you have me choose?"

"I would choose for you to keep your great  gifts  beyond  the  reach  of

politicians and generals," she said.

"For you to owe them no debts,  and  take  on  no  causes--"  "I've  been

careful to protect our independence," said Luke. "Despite appearances."

"You aren't sworn to uphold the government on Coruscant? You've taken  no

oaths of allegiance?"

"No. Only those  few  who've  chosen  to  serve  in  the  Fleet,  or  the

ministries. It's not forbidden. But it's  not  common.  The  Jedi  aren't  the

Republican Guard. And never will be."

"That's something," she said. "But how much better it  would  be  if  the

most powerful symbol of your order--the very emblem of that long traditionmwas

something other than a deadly weapon."

"We didn't ask for that," Luke said. "It just happened.

Old weapons have a cachet."

"All weapons have a cachet," said Akanah with sorrow.

"Too many men want to either conquer the world or change the world.

The second is nearly as dangerous to living things as the first. Can  you

tell me why is it not enough to find a  safe  and  comfortable  place  in  the

world, or--at worst--to find shelter from the world?"

Luke frowned. "No. I can't." He nodded toward the work bay.  "But  I  can

tell you how to disable the FCZ lockout on a Verpine Adventurer.

Which I couldn't have told you this morning. Maybe tomorrow  I'll  figure

out something else."

She smiled ruefully at him. "I guess that will have to do for now."

In the end, three days of watching the nav scanner like a  nervous  mouse

watching for the predator in  the  dark  yielded  only  a  handful  of  wholly

innocent contacts.

No warships appeared, and the few private and commercial craft that  left

Lucazec after them or passed the Mud Sloth inbound took no  apparent  interest

in the little skiff.

"Whoever Commander Paffen was reporting to must have been far enough away

that his controller simply wrote him off," Luke said, leaning forward over the

controls.

"But they'll be looking for us everywhere now," said Akanah from  behind.

"For you in particular."

"Looking and finding are two different things. I've had to make  a  habit

of disguising myself in public just to be left alone, to  go  where  I  please

without being gawked at," Luke said.

"How do you do that?"

"Oh--I make myself look older where youth is honored, and  younger  where

age is honored, female where males are the ones who  strut,  male  where  they

aren't.  It's  the  nearest  thing  there  is  to   being   invisible,   being

unattractive."

"Show me."

Akanah saw his shoulders rise and fall, heard the deep breath  that  came

out almost as a sigh. When he turned his couch toward her and looked  up,  she

saw a sixty-year-old face that reminded her at once of everyone  and  no  one.

The eyes were unguarded but vacant, the expression open but bland.  There  was

nothing distinctive about his features, nothing at all to remember him  by  or

for.

"Very good," she said. "May I try something?"

He gestured silently with open hands.

Drawing a shuddery breath, Akanah closed her eyes and moved the focus  of

her senses behind where Luke seemed to be, groping for an anchor in  what  was

real.

When she found it, she opened her eyes again and blew away  the  illusion

with the soft breath of disbelief.

"There you are," she said, and smiled.

"Very good," he  echoed.  "It  takes  a  strong  mind  to  penetrate  the

illusion."

"I wanted to make certain I could find you, if  we  had  to  separate  on

Teyr. Do you change your voice, too?"

"I can. It requires more concentration, because the ear isn't  as  easily

fooled. I'm not sure why that is, but it is--with humans, anyway. Speaking  of

Teyr--we're in the yellow zone."

"Is it safe to jump out now?"

"I don't see why not," said Luke. "And we'll  pick  up  almost  an  hour,

jumping from this point. Assuming that I didn't break more  than  I  meant  to

back there."

She smiled. "Let's find out."

"Let's," he said, turning back to the controls. "Do  you  still  want  to

make a misdirection jump, or shall we go directly to Teyr?"

"I still want to," Akanah said, letting one hand settle  lightly  on  his

shoulder. "Someone could still be watching us from Lucazec. But a  short  one,

please. I want to get to Teyr as soon as we possibly can.

I just know that we'll find something more than ruins there."

Her touch caught Luke momentarily unguarded and made her mind open to his

as well. He felt the barely restrained urgency of her need  for  reunion,  the

brightness of her hope, the depth of her anxious fears.

"Well, better strap in, then--just in case," he said.

The jump-out was reassuringly uneventful. By the time the Mud Sloth would

have been released from the FCZ, it had already completed its first  jump  and

turned to the heading for Teyr.

Then there was time to think,  in  the  quiet,  undisturbed  hours  while

Akanah slept and nothing could touch them. Luke  thought  most  about  Ialtra,

returning to his mother's  dusty,  crumbling  cottage,  searching  his  sense-

memories again for her presence.

Luke knew he would have to return there when it was safe to  do  so,  and

wondered if something should be done to preserve the site. He wondered how the

authorities on Lucazec would react if he asked them to  protect  his  mother's

onetime home. If the burned-out ruin of the Lars farm could be  rebuilt  as  a

historic monument, perhaps the ruins of Ialtra could be rescued from a hostile

neglect by the Skywalker name. Perhaps the reputation of those  who  had  been

driven from there could even be rehabilitated.

But that would have to come later,  when  there  were  fewer  secrets  to

protect. For now, Luke would have to count on the shame of the  Fallanassi  to

shield Ialtra from being further disturbed.

Let the nackhawns take the bodies,  he  thought,  and  the  shadows  keep

Ialtra undisturbed. Let her memories sleep until I can return to awaken them.

When Luke heard Akanah moving in the bunk behind him, he planted  a  bare

foot on the control console and pushed off, spinning the couch around to  face

aft.

"Hey--are you awake?"

"It's hard to sleep," she said, invisible behind the privacy curtain.

"Perhaps we should change places."

Luke looked back over his shoulder at the displays.

"It's only two hours to the end of the jump," he said.

"And there'll be plenty of chance for me to rest up during the  crawl  to

Teyr."

"Couldn't we use your military waiver, now that you've  disconnected  the

interlock?" Her voice was clear and unmuffled, and Luke pictured her lying  on

her back.

"We could microjump right in, couldn't we?"

Luke's surprised laugh was a loud noise in the confined  space.  "Not  in

this bucket. The navigator won't take microjump parameters.  And  even  if  it

would, chances are the resonances would shake her to pieces.

There's an entry shock wave in hyperspace, and  when  you  microjump  you

have to let it catch you just when it's at its strongest. We'd arrive at  Teyr

as a bright smudge in the sky."

"Oh," she said. "But we could have jumped all the way in if we'd  planned

to back at the last waypoint."

"Right. If we were willing to answer all the questions and deal with  the

extra attention. I hate the crawl as much as you do, but, trust  me,  this  is

better."

Akanah sighed. "I'll try to sleep, then. It's the easy way  to  make  the

time pass."

"Good luck," he said, and started to turn back to the console.

Then he realized it had almost happened again--the  conversation  he  had

started for a specific purpose had wandered away  and  disappeared  before  he

could get to his question.

"Akanah?"

"Yes?"

"Before you fall asleep--there's something I've been wondering about."

"What is it?"

"Back at Ialtra--was there a date in that message you found?"

"A date? No."

"Could you tell how long it had been there?  Maybe  scribing  fades  with

time, or something like that--" "No--not if it's done well. I can't  tell  you

when the message was left--except  that  I'm  sure  it  was  left  before  the

Fallanassi left Lucazec. Why?"

"I'm wondering how two Imperial agents could hide for so long in a  place

where everyone knows everyone else and nothing  changes  very  quickly,"  Luke

said.

"I'm wondering why they would."

"Why--because they still want us--want the White Current as a weapon."

"But why would they think anyone would be coming back  there?  Why  would

they be expecting you?"

She was quiet for a time. "I've been asking questions for  a  long  time,

trying to find the circle," she said. "I haven't always been as careful  as  I

should have been, either in what I asked or who I asked."

"Who did you tell that you were planning to go to Lucazec?"

"Only you," she said. "But I tried sending messages  to  the  circle,  to

Wialu. I talked to the customs and immigration office on  Lucazec.  I  applied

for every starliner job posted on Carratos, hoping to get a working passage.

I checked open ticket  prices  constantly,  every  time  new  rates  were

posted."

"So people started to know who you were, and  something  about  what  you

were interested in."

"More than that," she said. "I made rather  a  pest  of  myself.  I  hung

around the spaceport dives when a ship came in, hoping the  crews  might  know

something. I found ways of getting passenger lists. I  talked  to  everyone  I

could who might know anything." Her smile was full of regret. "It wasn't until

later that I thought to be more discreet."

"The people you'd been left with--" "I didn't get any  help  from  them,"

she said. "They forbade me to speak to them about the circle, and punished  me

for looking on my own."

"They must have been afraid for you--maybe for themselves, too. They were

supposed to hide you, weren't they? And you refused to stay hidden."

"It's easier to understand than it is to forgive," she said.  "They  kept

me from being where I belonged. I can't forgive that until I find  the  circle

again. If I never do, I don't think I can ever forgive her."

"Her?"

"Talsava," she said. "My guardian on Carratos. But  if  I  start  talking

about her now, I'll never get to sleep."

"All right," he said. "Sorry."

"You didn't know," said Akanah. "I'll tell you about it, sometime."

"When you're ready."

He thought that had ended the  conversation.  He  heard  Akanah  changing

position and pictured her lying on her side, her head on her folded  arms.  He

was surprised when she spoke his name.

"What?"

"What do you think the chances are that someone will be looking for us on

Teyr?"

"Greater than zero," Luke said. "But we'll be careful.

Go to sleep, now."

She did not argue or answer,  and  Luke  lapsed  into  silence  as  well,

wondering why he felt as though none of his questions had been  answered,  and

the most important ones had never been asked at all.

Where Lucazec was rustic, Teyr was bureaucratic.

Located  near  the  juncture  of  three  busy  spaceways  and  wearing  a

spectacular four-thousand-kilometer-long canyon like a dueling scar, Teyr  was

one of the New Republic's boom worlds. Most of the boom was  in  visitors  and

vacationers. Fearing unbridled growth, Teyr's leaders purposefully discouraged

would-be immigrants with a maze  of  regulations,  a  series  of  successively

higher application hurdles, and  a  determinedly  officious  Citizen  Services

Corps. The unofficial tourism motto was "Come see spectacular Teyr Rift.  Then

go home."

While still inbound, Luke and Akanah were offered the unattractive choice

of parking their craft at one of the vast orbital parking areas and  shuttling

down to the surface, or paying four times as much in landing fees to bring the

skiff down at a spaceport of Teyr's choosing.

"I don't like the idea of being down there and having to depend on  third

parties to get back to our ship up here," Luke said. "If someone should decide

they want to delay our departure, I like our chances better if we  don't  have

to jump quite so high."

"But I don't have that kind of money, Luke," said Akanah. "You know that.

"

"I think Li Stonn is good for it," Luke said. He flashed a wry smile that

disappeared behind his illusion of age, then tapped the comm key.

"Teyr Flight Control, this is Mud  Sloth--I'd  like  to  request  landing

authorization."

"Copy, Mud Sloth, your queue number is alpha-three-nine, confirm."

"Confirm, alpha-three-nine," Luke said. "Could you tell me, is there  any

chance that we could possibly put down  at  Turos  Noth?  We're  going  to  be

meeting some friends--" "Landing sites  are  allocated  on  a  space-available

basis according to standard protocols. Ground transportation is  available  at

all spaceports. The Rift  Skyrail  connects  all  spaceports  with  all  major

population  centers  and  with  visitor  centers,   trailheads,   and   resort

destinations in the Rift Territory. Monitor this channel for  further  landing

instructions.

This is Teyr Flight Control, end transmission."

Luke and Akanah exchanged bemused looks.

"They wouldn't have dared give Luke Skywalker  number  thirty-nine,"  she

said.

"Too bad he couldn't join us for this  trip,"  Luke  said,  allowing  his

disguise to dissolve.

"I wonder how many times a shift they have to recite that," Akanah said.

"I don't think they care," said Luke, then explained, "It was a droid.

I couldn't touch it." He nodded past Akanah. "Are any of the stuffed koba

left? I think we might have time to eat before the skids get dirty."

As Luke had  suspected,  there  was  more  than  enough  time.  Following

directions from Flight Control, Mud Sloth joined a long queue  of  yachts  and

liners in a high orbit over Teyr. Six full revolutions later, they were  still

there, though most of the ships in front of them--and several behind  them  as

well--had already made their descent and been replaced by newer arrivals.

"Nice view," Akanah said. "Do you think they'll ever let us any closer?"

"No," said Luke. "I knew we should  have  told  them  we  had  eighty-two

paying customers aboard, all eager to start shopping."

"Eighty-two?" she said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Ewoks," Luke said, shrugging. "You should see the way they live.

It's nothing like in the holos. Twenty-four to a room, stacked in layers,

boy, girl, boy, girl--" "You've been in space too  long,"  she  said,  with  a

disapproving frown. "Maybe we didn't hear our call."

"--Queue number alpha-eight-one, proceed to approach-" "Eighty-one!"

Akanah exclaimed indignantly.

"Why is everyone going before us?"

"Because whatever kind of priority list they're using,  they  put  people

who own Verpine Adventurers at the bottom of it," Luke said.

"Will you please stop making jokes?"

"Sometimes there's no other recourse," said Luke.

"What happened to your implacable calm?"

"This is making me crazy," Akanah said.

"I can tell."

"Can't we just disguise ourselves as some other ship and take its landing

instructions?"

"There's a little problem about two objects occupying the same  space  at

the same time."

"Luke--" The tone of her voice made him look toward her.

He saw anguish on her face, anxiety in her pleading eyes.

"Do you think they might be  holding  us  up  here  until  they  can  get

everything ready  to  grab  us,  or  follow  us?"  Please  do  something!  her

expression cried.

"No," Luke said, and reached across to touch her  hand.  "Teyr  runs  the

shuttles themselves, and the space-lines have contracts with Teyr for priority

landing access.

They get to go first--we get to wait for an  opening.  It's  all  right--

they're treating us the way we want them to.

No special treatment, no special notice. They'll get around to  us  soon.

They want our money, too."

"--Queue  number  alpha-three-nine,  proceed  to  approach  corridor  for

landing at Prye Folas--" "There--see?" He squeezed her hand reassuringly, then

moved his own hands back to the flight controls.

Relief was evident on her face. "Prye Folas--that's good. It's a long way

from the Rift, but that doesn't matter to us--it's only one stop east of Turos

Noth."

"I'm glad someone studied their geography," Luke  said.  "Snug  up  those

straps, Lady Anna. Did you know that most  crashes  take  place  within  sixty

seconds of liftoff or touchdown?"

She frowned crossly at him. "Did you need to tell me?"

"I think I did," Luke said, firing the  braking  thrusters  to  drop  the

skiff out of her parking orbit. "You seem to need something to worry  about--I

thought it might as well be something real." He looked  sideways  at  her  and

grinned. "One way or another, we'll be on the ground in ten minutes."

"You think this is helping, don't you?"

"It's just my way of saying, relax--" "I can't," she said with a  nervous

sigh. "I've been waiting too long. I have too much at stake."

Luke nodded understandingly. "In that case, I promise to try for the soft

landing."

For just a moment, he thought Akanah was going to punch him.

Luke's landing at Prye Folas was better  than  soft.  It  was  flawlessly

smooth, the kind pilots call a first kiss.

It also put Mud Sloth right back in a line this time, the long taxi  line

leading to the vast field  of  open-air  tie-down  berths.  Teyr's  exorbitant

landing fee didn't buy "Li Stonn" a spot in a  docking  bay,  or  even  secure

covered stowage, for his ship.

"One good storm, and the shipbuilding trade has a record year next year,"

Luke said, surveying the expansive, and expensive, assortment of vessels.

When the tow droid finally reached the  assigned  berth  and  backed  Mud

Sloth into its space, its port wing nestled under  the  thrustpods  of  a  big

Toltax Starstream, the port manager's official voice--another droid--came over

the open channel.

"Welcome to Prye Folas. In  order  to  help  ensure  the  safety  of  all

visitors to Teyr, port regulations forbid occupancy  of  vessels  in  tie-down

berths," the droid said.

"Please remove whatever personal articles you will need during your  stay

and seal your vessel, then wait for the arrival  shuttle.  In  order  to  help

ensure the safety of your vessel, access to this parking area  is  limited  to

arriving and departing visitors. This area is patrolled by port security.

Thank you for including Teyr in your travel plans--" "I'm ready,"  Akanah

said impatiently.

Luke powered down the skiff's primary bus. "Let me grab my bag and put on

my face."

The arrival shuttle, a low-riding, slow-moving land-speeder, was  piloted

by still another late-model droid.

Akanah and Luke caught two of the last three open seats,  and  the  third

was taken by the Elomin who emerged from  the  airspeeder  parked  across  the

towpath from Mud Sloth. When the shuttle was  full,  it  rose  several  meters

above the ground and sped off in the direction of the terminal.

An empty shuttle immediately moved in to take its place.

"Quite an operation, don't you think, dear?" Luke said. The voice of  "Li

Stonn" had a little tremble, a little added huskiness. "When you see this many

droids, you know someone's doing well."

Akanah seemed inhibited by the other  travelers  close  around  them--the

Elomin, immediately to her right, towered over her by more than a head.

She answered only with a glance and a polite smile.

Luke  patted  her  hand  reassuringly.  "I  know,  you  don't  like  open

landspeeders. But we're almost there," he said. "Look--you can see  the  track

for the Rift Skyrail.

The guidebook said it's the fastest aboveground train in five  sectors--"

The last hurdle was Arrival Screening--another line, a droid greeter,  an  IRR

screening for their bags, a discreet security  sweep  of  their  persons,  and

three questions from a human examiner who had much the same  demeanor  as  the

district censor on Lucazec.

"How long do you plan to stay on Teyr?"

"We're not sure, are we, dear?" Luke asked. "How long  does  it  take  to

really see the Rift at its best? Our reservation is only for three  days,  but

we're hoping that we can extend it now that we're here."

"Three days," the examiner repeated. "Are you now, or have  you  recently

been, infected with any transmissible class B or class C agent?"

"No, no," Luke/Li said, smiling at Akanah. "We're fit as can be.  I  just

hate to travel when I'm sick, don't you?"

"Do you have in your possession any  lethal  weapons,  proscribed  drugs,

unlicensed technology, or other articles in violation of the  General  Visitor

Agreement?"

"Oh, gracious, no," Luke said. "We're here to have fun."

The examiner passed two traveler's aid cards through an encoder.

"Welcome to Teyr," he said, handing the cards to Akanah. "Enjoy your stay

with us."

Between the Prye Folas spaceport terminal and the Skyrail station was the

broad green expanse of Welcome Park. Luke and Akanah stopped at the first open

bench they spotted, tucking their bags protectively behind their feet.

"I think we're finally officially here," Luke said.

"How are you doing?"

"It's not what I expected," said Akanah, looking around.

Luke held out a palm. "Let's see  that,"  he  said,  nodding  toward  the

traveler's aid cards Akanah still clutched in her hand.

Distractedly, Akanah handed one of the cards to Luke, who began to  study

it. The card had a tiny display screen that took up half  of  one  side,  with

some universal-symbol command keys below. On the back was a  line  drawing  of

the structure that stood at the center of the park--a  ring  of  more  than  a

hundred small kiosks surrounding a two-story-high carousel display.

"I have to go do a Li Stonn thing," said Luke. "Stay here--I'll be  right

back."

When Luke got closer to the structure, he could see that the band at  the

top of the carousel said "Visitor Information Center"  in  Basic  and  several

other common languages.

There were short lines of people waiting at every kiosk for a  chance  to

select their areas of interest and have that information  transferred  to  the

cards, where they could browse it at their leisure. While  they  waited,  most

looked up at the carousel display,  which  was  offering  colorful  one-minute

documentaries on the geology of the Rift, the building of the Skyrail, and the

shopping opportunities in Prye Folas.

"Pickpocket's paradise," Luke muttered, and turned away.

Just then, Luke felt the momentary tickle in his senses that meant he was

being watched. He scanned the park carefully as he returned to the bench where

Akanah sat, but the feeling did not return, and  nothing  he  saw  raised  his

alarm.

"I need to know what region we'll--" He stopped as he saw  that  she  was

struggling against tears, her eyes faraway and forlorn. "What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong," she said. "I just know they're not here."

Luke sat down sideways beside her. "Why? You thought  you'd  be  able  to

feel them, and you can't?"

She was not too upset to be indignant. "No---we're not that careless,  to

broadcast our presence even on the Current."

"Then what's the matter?"

"I told you---everything's wrong." She shook her head sadly. "This  isn't

our kind of world. It's everything we're trying not to be. It's  too  crowded,

too loud, too organized and artificial. If they were  ever  here,  they  won't

have stayed very long." Bowing her head, she began to sob quietly.  "It's  too

late. It took me too long to get here--" Edging closer, Luke drew her  into  a

comforting embrace, brushing away the worst  of  her  despair  with  caressing

thoughts. "You don't know that," he said. "It's too soon to be giving up. Come

on, where do we start?"

Akanah rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry--I'm not doing a  very

good job of being invisible."

"No one cares," Luke said. "No one's  watching.  All  these  people  have

tunnel vision--all they can see right now are their own plans and worries  and

hopes. They're all eager  for  confirmation  that  this  really  will  be  the

vacation of a lifetime."

Raising her head, Akanah sought confirmation of his words. "On  Carratos,

everyone notices public tears," she said, wiping her cheeks.

"My ears expected to hear ridicule."

"Looks like you'll have to do without, this time," he said. "So where  do

we start? Who are we looking for?"

"The city of Griann," she said. "It's in what  they  call  the  Greenbelt

Region. That's where they were taken--Jib Djalla, Novus, Tipagna, and  Norika.

The first three are boys," she added. "Novus is Twi'lek, the others are human.

"

"Okay. Let's go see what the machines can tell  us  about  Griann,"  Luke

said, reaching down and shouldering both bags.

As they stood in line for an information kiosk, Akanah's mood  seemed  to

brighten, as though she were absorbing some of the joyful energy  around  her.

But Luke again felt someone's curiosity as a sudden shiver, as if someone  had

lightly touched his face, trying to recognize him.

Looking back across Welcome Park on a pretense of casual  crowd-watching,

Luke focused in on the tall, slender form of an Elomin male,  already  turning

his horned face away.  Luke  watched  his  quarry  move  aloofly  through  the

gathering until it disappeared behind the curve of the information center, but

the Elomin never glanced his way again.

You're getting twitchy, Luke told himself. There's no way that an  Elomin

would be working for Imperial intelligence.

But the fact  that  an  Elomin--perhaps  this  same  one--had  parked  an

airspeeder directly across from Mud Sloth would not leave his  awareness.  And

the noise and the bustle of the crowd in  the  park  suddenly  seemed  less  a

joyful party and more a potentially deadly distraction.

Maybe they were  holding  us  up  for  a  reason,  Akanah,  Luke  thought

worriedly, patting the bulge of his lightsaber along  his  thigh  to  reassure

himself that it was there.

But though he stayed protectively close,  Luke  said  nothing  to  Akanah

beyond the kind of inconsequential chatter a  couple  as  accustomed  to  each

other as they were to traveling might Share while waiting in line.

There's something here that I still don't understand---some question I've

failed to ask. He shook his head in annoyance, with  such  vigor  that  Akanah

noticed.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Oh--I've just done it again, that's all," said Li Stonn. "The  lines  on

either side are moving faster than ours. I shouldn't ever pick.

You pick the line next time, all right?"

She slipped her hand into his. "Be  patient,  dear,"  she  said  with  an

affectionate smile. "We're almost there--and maybe this will be the last  line

we have to stand in."

Someone behind them chuckled deeply. "This is your first  time  on  Teyr,

isn't it?" the stranger called out.

"You haven't seen anything yet. Wait until you get near the Rift."

"Oh, it'll be worth it, I'm sure," Akanah said brightly,  tightening  her

grip on Luke's hand. "I just know it will be worth the wait."

Chapter 6

Luke and Akanah rode the  Rift  Skyrail  as  far  as  Cloud  Bridge,  the

southernmost of the West Rim stops. That treated them to a  breathtaking  view

of the last eighty kilometers of the Rift--one of the narrow-est sections, and

consequently one of the most spectacular.

The elevated track was perched right on the edge of  the  chasm,  leaping

across side canyons that would have been major attractions in their own  right

anywhere else.

At Cloud Bridge, Li  Stonn  rented  a  bubbleback,  a  local  landspeeder

variant popular with visitors who wanted to explore the canyon bottom.

But instead of heading for the elevators at the Cloud Bridge Rift  Access

Point, Luke turned the bubbleback west along Flyway 120, toward the Greenbelt.

An hour and a half at the top speed allowed on the flyway brought them to

the intersection with Harvest Flyway, which Akanah's traveler's aid card  told

them was an important cargo route connecting the heart of the  Greenbelt  with

Turos Noth. There was no speed limit on  the  lightly  traveled  cargo  route,

which put the agricultural city of Griann not quite  two  hours  away  at  the

bubbleback's top speed.

"Need to stretch?"

"No," she said, pointing behind them. "I can manage."

As "getaway" vehicles, bubblebacks featured a compact waste  station  and

reprocessor, with a full set of standard humanoid fittings.  "Do  we  need  to

refuel?"

" No. Griann has fuel stops, I assume."

Akanah checked her aid card. "Yes. Though 'local  prices  may  vary  from

published visitor area rates."

Please, let's push on."

They had nearly reached Griann when Akanah finally noticed the outline of

the cylinder in the right thigh pocket of Luke's walk-arounds.

"You brought your lightsaber?" she asked, leaning toward him.

"Yes," he said. "You sound surprised."

"How did you get it through Arrival Screening? You can't fool  a  scanner

with Jedi mind tricks. Can you?"

"You can fool the person whose job it is to respond to  scanner  alarms,"

Luke said. "But even that wasn't necessary. Lightsabers are still  the  rarest

weapons in the galaxy. There's only one  model  of  general  security  scanner

that's programmed to recognize them, and Teyr doesn't use it."

"Then what do they think it is?"

Luke smiled. "Most scanners  misidentify  a  light-saber  as  a  type  of

shaver. Which I suppose it could be, in a pinch--if you were very,  very  good

with it."

She settled back in her seat. "I wish you had left it in the ship."

"That's asking too much," Luke said. "I don't carry it every minute,  but

I don't like to be that far away from it. I've  gotten  in  more  tough  spots

because of not having it close enough than I ever have for carrying it."

Looking out her window at the gently rolling fields and the day moon that

was setting over them, Akanah said, "Please remember what I asked of you--it's

important to me."

"I remember," Luke said. "I hope you remember that I didn't make you  any

promises."

"Is there that much  pleasure  in  killing,  that  it  becomes  something

difficult to give up?"

Luke shot a hard glance across the bubbleback at  her.  "What  makes  you

think I take pleasure in killing?"

"That you won't renounce it," she said, turning to meet his gaze.  "If  I

had caused a million deaths, I don't think I  could  ever  pick  up  a  weapon

again. I don't understand how you can."

With no ready answer, Luke turned his gaze back toward the flyway  ahead.

It wasn't until years after the Battle of Yavin that  Luke  had  first  become

aware that the Death Star he had destroyed at Yavin had a complement-officers,

crew, and support staff--of more than a million sentients.

In  retrospect,  it  was  something  he  should  have  realized   without

prompting. But it took a new Battle of Yavin display  at  the  Museum  of  the

Republic on Corus-cant to point it out to him. When Luke thought of the  Death

Star, he associated it with Vader and Tagge and Grand Moff  Tarkin,  with  the

stormtroopers who'd tried to kill him in its  corridors  and  the  TIE  pilots

who'd tried to kill him above its surface, with the superlaser gun  crews  who

had obliterated defenseless Alderaan.

But the signs at the massive cutaway model  of  the  Death  Star  in  the

museum had spelled out the numbers in its table of  specifications,  and  Luke

could still recite them: 25,800 stormtroopers, 27,048 officers, 774,576  crew,

378,685 support staff-"One million, two hundred  five  thousand,  one  hundred

nine," Luke said quietly. "Not counting the droids."

The calm precision of the recitation brought a look of startled horror to

her face.

"But you have to look at both sides of the ledger," Luke went on.

"Alderaan. Obi-Wan. Captain Antilles.

Dutch. Tiree. Dack. Biggs--" Luke shook his head.

"Sometimes your enemies don't give you much choice--kill them,  give  up,

or be killed. And if you think I should have done anything other than  what  I

did--" "The past is fixed, unalterable," Akanah said.

"What I care about is what you'll do today, or tomorrow.

I know your past--I know your heritage--and I have already seen you  kill

once. Can't you understand how alien and abhorrent this is to me--to those who

gave Nashira shelter?"

"You don't trust me."

She folded her hands on her lap,  and  her  voice  became  small.  "I  am

trying, Luke--but you don't know how hard it is for me to  trust  someone  who

believes as you do, and who has your power."

Luke stole a sideways glance to catch her expression.

"Are you saying you're afraid of me--because of this?" He rested his hand

over the concealed lightsaber.

"I suppose I am," she said. "I don't want to be."

"I would never hurt you, Akanah," Luke said. "I brought this with  me  in

case there were any surprises waiting--not to threaten you."

"I move through the world without one," she said.

"Could you not do the same?"

Luke slowly shook his head. "Not while I still call myself a Jedi.

It's more than a weapon--it's a tool for training the mind and the  body.

And it's become part of me--an extension of my will."

"And a way to enforce your will on others."

He shook his head. "Most of the discipline of the lightsaber  has  to  do

with defense."

"What about the rest?"

"The rest--the rest requires that you get close to your adversary,  close

enough to have to look them in the eye," Luke said.  "An  old-fashioned  idea,

and a civilizing one. If all you want is  to  kill  quickly,  efficiently  and

impersonally, a blaster is a much better choice--the  Emperor's  stormtroopers

didn't carry lightsabers, after all."

"All of my nightmares are of places where there are men who want to  kill

'efficiently,'" Akanah said, turning her face back to the viewpane.  "And  the

worst nightmare of all is to think that the only Universe that is, is  such  a

place."

Griann had been laid out on the plains of  Teyr  with  a  compass  and  a

square. Its regularly spaced streets of  regularly  sized  houses  intersected

with right-angle precision in a grid five kilometers square. At the  heart  of

the city was a small commercial  zone  serving  both  the  residents  and  the

traffic on the Harvest  Flyway.  Around  the  boundary  of  the  city  was  an

enclosing wall of silos, granaries, ag domes, sheds for the autoharvesters and

skyhoppers, control towers for  the  irrigation  system,  and  all  the  other

facilities necessary for servicing the fields beyond.

"Welcome to scenic Griann," Luke said,  guiding  the  bubbleback  into  a

refueling stall. "What now? Do you have a plan?"

"I have an address," Akanah said. "North Five, Twenty-six Down. My friend

Norika lived there."

Luke shot her a questioning look. "I thought the children  were  supposed

to be hiding. How did you get a lead as specific as an address?"

"From Norika," Akanah said. "I got one letter from her that first  month,

hypercommed to Carratos from a public terminal at  something  she  called  the

committee office. I wrote her back, a dozen letters at least,  but  she  never

answered--I never heard from her again."

"Hmmm. Someone probably enforced on her the idea that 'hiding' means  you

don't tell anyone where you are," Luke said.

"Or the circle came for them, and took them away."

Luke glanced out his window at the display on the refueling droid.

"It's been nineteen years--you may not know her even if she's still here.

"

"I would know Nori no matter how many years  have  passed,"  Akanah  said

fervently. "Wialu said we had the bond of twins. I've  never  been  closer  to

anyone."

The refueling over, Luke started the repulsorlifts.

"Well, let's go find out how close we are. North Five, Number Twenty-six?

"

"Yes."

"I think I can find that."

From city center to city  edge,  Akanah's  anticipation  built  until  it

bubbled over in nervous smiles and a restless bouncing in her seat.

But when the bubbleback turned onto North 5, her face went pale, and  her

hand shot out and clutched Luke's wrist tightly. A  strangled  noise  was  all

that escaped her parted lips.

Luke did not need an explanation--his eyes saw the same thing hers did.

The double row of lowhouses along North  5  ended  at  Number  22.  Where

Number 24 should have been was an expanse of  patchy  grass.  Beyond  it,  the

grass gave way to several lots' worth of bare, yellowish dirt. The next  even-

numbered lowhouse was at the corner of the next intersection, Number 38.

"Well, HI--there's  no  'there'  there,"  Luke  said,  peering  over  his

shoulder as he brought the bubbleback to the curb in front of Number 38.

Popping the bubble, Akanah jumped out before the landspeeder  came  to  a

stop. She ran back down the street in a staggered gait, hugging  her  arms  to

her chest, her gaze darting from one side of the roadway to the other.

Her steps slowed as she neared the lot opposite  Number  25.  She  looked

frantic and frail standing there, staring at the bare ground  and  the  broken

outline of a foundation.

Leaping out of the landspeeder, Luke  hurried  after  Akanah.  Before  he

could reach her, her legs buckled under her, and she dropped to her  knees  in

the dust-dry rain gutter.

"No!" she screamed, her anguish stretching the  single  syllable  into  a

wounded howl. "No! It's not fair!"

"Akanah--" She raised her head and turned her face toward him.

Her eyes were full of pain, her cheeks streaked with tears.  "I'll  never

find them," she whispered hoarsely.

"What am I going to do, Luke?"

"You're going to keep looking. All this means is that Nori's  not  here,"

Luke said, crouching beside her. "You weren't counting on that, were you?" But

he saw in her eyes that she had  been,  and  what  might  have  been  a  minor

disappointment was a bitter blow.

"Something the matter, folks?" a new voice said from behind.

Both Luke and Akanah turned their heads quickly to  see  a  stubble-faced

middle-aged man  in  blue-black  tech  coverails  approaching  them  from  the

direction of Number 27. Luke stood as the man neared,  and  offered  Akanah  a

hand to help her up. She remained on her knees and took Luke's hand to  steady

herself instead.

"Is the lady having  a  problem?"  the  man  asked  again,  a  hint  more

suspicion in his appraising look. "Do you want to call out to Medi-Aid?"

"No--she's all right. She just had an ugly surprise,  that's  all,"  Luke

said. "We're looking for someone who used to live in Number Twenty-six."

"Ah," the man said with a nod.  "Po  Reggis--Jiki  and  I  live  over  in

Twenty-seven Up. So you didn't know, did you? You must be visitors."

He glanced down the street. "Why, sure you are, and I'm a  fool  for  not

see-ing--bubbleback's not practical in a working city."

"Was it the war?" Akanah asked, her voice shaky.

"The war? No, Teyr was never bombed. Cyclone," Reggis said.

"Eight--no, nine years ago. Took out eight houses here, then skipped  and

hit another five over at the end of North Three. The committee  used  to  talk

about rebuilding, but there's no demand--half  the  houses  in  the  city  are

single-family now, Up and Down. It's all the field droids they've brought in--

-city's slow-dying, if you ask me."

Luke urged Akanah to her feet. "The people who lived here--"  "Kritt  and

Fola. Good folks. Our kids played with their kids, till they all moved to  ros

Noth."

"Kritt and Fola are in Turos Noth now?" Akanah asked,  a  spark  of  hope

entering her voice.

The spark was quickly extinguished by Po Reggis.

"What? No, dead, the whole family. Sorry. Killed by the cyclone.  It  was

the supper hour, and the weather radar failed. Fifteen  dead  on  this  street

alone--I knew them all."

Akanah sagged against Luke. "How long have you lived here?" Luke asked.

Reggis squinted. "Twenty-seven--no, twenty-eight years."

"The person we're looking for would have moved here nineteen years  ago,"

Luke said. "A girl, eleven years old. Akanah?"

"She was dark-haired. Willowy. Her name was Norika, or Nori."

"I don't know," Reggis said. "Maybe Jiki remem-bers--did you say the name

was Rika? Oh, Twenty-six Down. Who was it that lived there then?

Trobe Saar, I think was her name."

"Yes!" Akanah said eagerly. "You remember her?

Where did she go? Please tell me she wasn't one of the fifteen--"  "Sure,

I remember little Rika. She was shy as a shadow. Wasn't there  very  long--one

season at most.

The Dormand family moved into Twenty-six Down the spring I transferred to

Irrigation. I'm sorry--I don't know where they all went. That was all  a  long

time ago, you know."

"Is there anyone else on the street who  might  know  something?"  Akanah

asked, trying desperately to sustain hope.

"I don't think so," Reggis said slowly. "Jiki and I are the last  of  the

old crowd. I guess we're the only ones  who  could  take  looking  across  and

knowing what happened, what's down there. They just collapsed everything  into

the holes and covered it over with dirt, you know--"  "Thank  you,  Po,"  Luke

said. "You've been very kind."

"Sorry I couldn't be more help. Do you want to talk to Jiki? She'll be up

from her nap soon."

"Yes--" Akanah started to say.

"Thank you, no," Luke said, steering Akanah back toward  the  landspeeder

with firm pressure on her arm.

She looked up at him in puzzlement. "Li--the others-maybe  she  remembers

the others--" "We must have the wrong address,"  Luke  said,  gently  pressing

that thought into Po Reggis's consciousness.

"We'll try over on North Three."

"That's right," said Reggis. "There hasn't  been  a  Twenty-six  on  this

block for years."

"I think I hear Jiki calling you," Luke suggested.

"Well, I need to get back--Jiki's calling me,"  Reggis  said,  retreating

slowly. "Good luck, now."

"Thank you."

Akanah waited until the ag tech disappeared into his house,  then  turned

on Luke with fierce indignation.

"Why did you do that? He might have been able to tell us something more!"

"He already told us enough," Luke said. "Norika lived here for  a  little

while, in the underground half of the house, with a woman  named  Trobe  Saar.

And that structure is still down there--it's just filled in. Wouldn't she have

left a marker for you here when she left? Can you read  scribing  through  the

fill?"

"I--I don't know." She stepped forward, out of the street  and  onto  the

crumbly yellow dirt. "Maybe, if it's there. Let me try."

Luke waited and watched as Akanah slowly walked across the buried ruin of

the lowhouse several times, pausing here, crouching  there,  reaching  out  to

touch a small bit of foundation protruding up from the ground.

Her expression offered no encouragement, and in time she  sighed  deeply,

shook her head, and rejoined him.

"It's  the  deaths,"  she  explained  glumly  as  they  returned  to  the

bubbleback. "The Current is still tangled here. It's  as  if---as  if  someone

made a delicate sand painting, and ten minutes later a meteorite fell right in

the middle of it. If there was anything here, it's gone now."

"Don't give up," Luke said. "I've been thinking--a society as orderly  as

this one keeps records. Let's find the committee office. I'll bet  some  gray-

hair there knows everything about everyone who's ever lived in Griann."

The  Recorder  of  Assignments  and  Transactions  for  the  Supervisors'

Committee turned out to be completely hairless--a brand-new  fat-bodied  TT-40

library droid.

Like all factory-fresh droids, TT-40 was long on formality and  short  on

personality, lacking even a nickname.

They found it busily moving its three spinning data probes from  port  to

port in the U-shaped firewall switchboard that surrounded it.

"We need some information about--" Luke began.

"In  accord  with  Ordinance  Twenty  Twenty-five,  Privacy  of  Official

Records, all requests for current records must be approved by  the  supervisor

of your district, or, for nonresidents, by the general supervisor," the  droid

pronounced.

"That's nice," Luke said under his breath. "Nosy but discreet."

"--Commercial requests for historical records must be  accompanied  by  a

completed application and bond guarantee. Individual requests  for  historical

records for purposes of personal scholarly or genealogical  research  will  be

processed at no charge on a time-available  basis-"  "Who--stop  right  there,

Chuckles. That's us," Luke said. "What counts as 'historical'?"

"For income, sales, and employment data, all records one fiscal  year  or

older are deemed historical.

For birth, death, bonding, and dissolution certificates, all records  one

hundred days" "What  about  census  data--names  and  addresses,  residences?"

Akanah interjected.

"For biennial census data,  all  records  fifty  years--"  "Fifty!"  Luke

exclaimed.

To Luke's surprise, Akanah was unfazed. "Clerk,"  she  said.  "I  have  a

package to deliver to Po Reggis. Can you tell me his current address?"

The data probes spun. "Po Reggis resides at North Five, Twenty-seven Up."

"Clerk," she said. "I have a package to deliver to Trobe  Saar.  Can  you

tell me her current address?"

"Trobe Saar is not in the current city directory."

"Can you tell me her last known address in Gri-ann?"

"In revision eighty-one of the city directory, Trobe  Saar's  address  is

North Five, Twenty-six Down."

"Are other city directories available?"

"Yes." One of the data probes seated itself in a new port. "Connected  to

Central Directories."

"Can you tell me Trobe Saar's last known address on Teyr?"

"In Revision eighty-nine of the Sodonna city directory, Trobe Saar's last

known address is Kell Hath, Thirteen."

"Thank you," she said, taking Luke's arm. "Let's go, Li."

"Are you sure?"

"i'm sure."

Outside  the  committee  office,  Luke  tried  to  stop  Akanah  for   an

explanation, but she could not be headed off until they reached the spot where

they'd parked the bubbleback.

"Why are you in such a hurry? We could have tried the children's  names,"

Luke said. "Getting Chuckles to look in the city directories  instead  of  the

census was working like a charm."

"You can't search the directories with nothing more than the  first  name

of a minor," Akanah said, rapping on the landspeeder's dome with her knuckles.

"Would you open this up, please?"

Luke complied, and they climbed in  together.  "I  know  that  because  I

tried, from Cartaros, years ago," she continued as the  bubble  sealed  around

them. "It's impossible without knowing the family names they were  using.  Are

we going to get started, or not?"

"Started where?"

"Sodonna, of course."

"Revision eighty-nine was more than fifteen years ago. And we don't  know

that Norika went with this Trobe Saar, or even  if  Trobe  was  part  of  your

circle.

Chances are this is going to be another North Five--a disappointment."

"No," she said. "Not this one."

"Why are you so sure? An hour ago you thought this was hopeless. And this

morning you were sure they would never make their home on Teyr.

Why so upbeat all of a sudden?"

"Because Kell Plath is a Fallanassi name." She hesitated, then added, "It

means 'held breath'--an allusion to our meditation exercises.

Besides," she said, "what other leads do we have?"

"You've got me there." Luke fumbled in his pocket for the traveler's  aid

card. "All right, where is Sodonna, anyway?"

The river city of Sodonna was on the far side of Teyr from Griann and the

Rift, straddling the Noga River  at  what  traditionally  was  considered  its

upstream limit of navigability. Five hundred years earlier, Sodonna  had  been

the gateway to the entire Inner River District, with bustling docks and a  job

for anyone who wanted it.

Repulsorlift transports had taken the focus of  commerce  away  from  the

river, and in large part from Sodonna as well. The docks were  gone,  and  the

Noga River now tumbled through the city as an  elaborate  water  sculpture  of

falls, rapids, ponds, and fountains. So donna was the smallest Teyr city  with

a spaceport, and the terminus of the single-track River District spur  of  the

Rift Skyway.

Luke followed the Harvest Flyway to Turos Noth, paying  a  hefty  premium

for dropping the bubbleback at the Skyrail station there. As night closed  in,

he and Akanah boarded a westbound railtrain and found seats in the single  car

that was programmed to separate from the rest and follow the spur to Sodonna.

But that intersection was hours away in the darkness.

At Luke's urging, Akanah napped. She was not the only one in  the  nearly

full cabin to do so. The ride was smooth, with  just  a  slight  and  soothing

side-to-side sway, the cabin lights were dimmed to  unobtrusiveness,  and  the

individual self-adjusting tour couches cradled them comfortably.

Luke did not dare sleep. Only his consciousness could hold the  Li  Stonn

mask in place--there were suggestions in the old records of great Jedi Masters

who could cast illusions even when sleeping, but neither Luke nor any Jedi  he

knew had attained that level of facility with the Force skill known as  alter.

And Luke could not risk dropping his mask in  public---even  if  he  were  not

recognized as himself, shape-shifters and mentalists were so widely assumed to

be thieves, spies, and brigands that he could expect nearly as much commotion.

So he  sat  up  awake,  watching  over  Akanah,  listening  to  whispered

conversations, gently sensing the energies of those around  him,  looking  out

into the night as distant lights betrayed their swift passage and  the  cities

along their route embraced the railtrain with their restless energy  and  then

surrendered it back to the darkness.

He wondered if somewhere out in that darkness the woman Akanah had  known

as Nashira was  asleep  as  well,  peacefully  or  restlessly,  tranquilly  or

fearfully. What would my mother think of me?

he wondered, and it was the first time such a thought had ever confronted

him.

The thought perplexed and distracted him. He recalled Akanah's  words  on

the night she had appeared: "The gift of the Light came from your  mother--and

your mother was of our people. There is an emptiness inside you where memories

of your mother should be, a weakness where what  she  would  have  taught  you

would have strengthened you."

Presumptuous words, but knowing words.  In  that  moment,  he  felt  that

emptiness acutely, unable even to imagine what might fill it, or even that  it

might ever be filled.

Perhaps Nashira has stayed away because she's ashamed, Luke thought.

Perhaps she sees too much of Father in us, just-as this woman does.

You may have been right, Leia. If I do find the truth, I may not find  it

to my liking-Then Luke's sense skill tugged at his consciousness, calling  his

attention to a change in his surroundings.

Clearing all other thoughts from his mind, he swept his awareness and his

gaze together across the darkened rail-train.

Both quickly fixed on the same point--an Elomin passenger,  sitting  near

the front of the car on the opposite side. The Elomin's back was turned toward

Luke, his horned skull-crown just visible over the top  cushion  of  his  tour

couch.

Now, where did you come from? Luke thought, intent with suspicion.

You weren't there ten minutes ago--how could I have missed you coming in?

Something doesn't feel right about this-He  stole  a  quick  look  at  Akanah,

reassuring himself that she was sleeping blissfully. He wondered how badly his

attention had wandered, whether he had let his mask slip.

Everything I know about you says that this  isn't  really  your  sort  of

vacation spot, he thought, staring at the back of the Elomin's couch.

Even if the Teyria share your fetish for order, they keep letting in  all

these unpredictable alien types. And I can count on the fingers  of  one  hand

the number of times I've seen a solitary Elomin out in mixed company.  Two  of

you in one day--or the same one twice-This feels like more than a coincidence.

What I can't figure out is what would make an Elomin go rogue and hook up with

Imperial agents--or why someone else might be interested in us. And I just may

have to have a few answers-Just then  the  Elomin  left  his  seat  and  moved

forward with slow, long-limbed strides. He was empty-handed, as the Elomin  at

the spaceport had been. At the end of the aisle he paused  for  a  moment  and

looked back into the cabin. Then, ducking his  head,  he  passed  through  the

connecting doorway and was gone. Luke waited, torn between wanting  to  follow

and not wanting to leave Akanah.

The Elomin  had  still  not  returned  when  the  porter  droid  made  an

appearance, trundling down the aisle reciting a soft-spoken warning.

"Attention, passengers. If you are not continuing to River District  Spur

destinations, please move into one of the forward cabins.  This  car  will  be

separating from the train  at  Podadun.  Attention,  passengers--"  Still  the

Elomin did not return. As the chime sounded and the  status  light  above  the

connecting door changed to yellow,  Luke  reached  out  with  his  senses  and

searched the train for the Elomin. But Luke could  not  find  him.  Fearing  a

bomb, he rushed forward to where the Elomin had been sitting.

Luke stared. There were no bags or articles there--just a sleeping  Gotal

infant.

The chime sounded again. Luke looked up as the connecting doors slid shut

and  the  status  light  turned  red.  There  was  an   almost   imperceptible

deceleration as the cars separated and the lights of Podadun  began  to  flash

through the unfiltered viewpanes.

The infant stirred in its sleep, and Luke retreated. What is  wrong  with

me? he demanded silently as he made his  way  back  to  his  seat,  the  aisle

tilting under him as the car swung off the main line and onto the banked  spur

to Sodonna. Why am I jumping at shadows?

Akanah had slept through it all, oblivious. When she finally woke to  the

spectacular salmon-and-pink sunrise warming her face, Luke said nothing to her

about it.

He didn't know what he could have said, except that he  had  had  another

waking dream and still didn't know its meaning.

The name Kell Plath no longer appeared in the  Sodonna  directories,  but

not because Teyr's winds had ripped it from the map or because  the  name  had

become burdened by shame. An hour at the city library uncovered not  only  its

location, but also the petition under which its new owners had asked  for  the

more marketable name of River Gardens.

Kell Hath had been a commonal---a walled  and  gated  space  enclosing  a

group of small residences surrounding a common green  space.  The  design  was

popular in Sodonna. Standing in front of the gate to River Gardens,  Luke  and

Akanah could see more than a dozen other  commonals  along  the  road  winding

along the high bank above the river.

According to the traveler's aid card, the commonal was  a  piece  of  the

region's history, as well--a reminder of rougher days when the walls and gates

protected un-mated children and other valuables from the  less  refined  types

who came to Sodonna to work the docks.

As a matter of form, Luke and Akanah approached the security droid at the

gate and asked after Trobe Saar, Norika, and the other children.

In each case, the answer was the same:  "I  am  unable  to  identify  the

resident requested."

"I'm interested in purchasing a  share  in  River  Gardens,"  Luke  said,

trying another tack. "Who could arrange a tour of the facilities for us?"

"No shares are currently available  for  purchase,"  the  security  droid

said. "When shares become available, they will be listed with Indal Properties

of Sodonna."

Akanah stepped forward. "I'm researching the  history  of  commonals  for

Teyr Tours subscribers," she said.

"I'd like to know more about the history of this  site--is  the  property

manager available to talk to me for a few minutes?"

Directed for a second time to Indal Properties,  they  retreated  to  the

other side of the street to regroup.

"So much for the front door," Luke said with a sigh. "I  hate  trying  to

wiggle past a security droid.

They're too dumb to deceive and too single-minded to finesse."

"We have to get inside."

"They're not theretoyou know that. They've been gone for fifteen years."

"But they were here," she said. "And the way will be marked."

Luke  looked  back  over  his  shoulder.  "You  don't  think  they   were

considerate enough to leave their mark on the outside of the commonal, do you?

"

The wall of the commonal was  three  meters  high  and  slippery  smooth,

curving slightly outward and topped with a line of  sharp-edged  fracturestone

that was both decorative and functional.

"I can vault this," Luke said. "It isn't a problem."

"It is for me."

"I can get us both over."

"Give me a chance to read here first."

She moved down the wall at her own pace, trailing  her  fingertips  along

the surface. Luke followed a few steps behind, trying to sense the interaction

between her and the wall, to understand what opening she was  looking  through

in search of the Fallanassi scribing.

When they rounded the third corner, Akanah cried out in surprise and fell

back a step. With two quick strides, Luke was beside her. It was then that  he

saw the security droid blocking her way.

"This is your only warning,"  the  droid  said.  "You  are  loitering  on

private property. Your likeness has been recorded.  Your  suspicious  behavior

has been documented.

Remove yourself from this vicinity immediately.

If you do not, you will be detained, and a complaint will be made against

you. If you return to this vicinity, a complaint will  be  made  against  you.

This message constitutes a lawful and sufficient notice under Article Eighteen

of the Criminal Statutes of the Sodonna Syndic."

Akanah opened her mouth to protest, but Luke knew better than to argue.

"We're leaving," he said, pulling her along by the arm.

Unswayed  by  the  promise,  the  droid  followed  them  back  to   their

landspeeder and waited until they moved off to return to its post by the gate.

"Have I mentioned that I hate security droids?"

Luke grumbled. "How are you going to check the other side and a half now?

Did you find anything?"

"There was writing by the front gate," Akanah said.

"It marked this place as Kell Plath."

"That's all?"

"That's all. What we need is inside." She looked back to see if they were

out of sight of the gate at River Gardens. "Stop here."

"Why?"

"I have to go back."

"And do what?"

"What I did the night we met," she said. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten that you  never  explained  how  you  got  into  the

sanctuary without me sensing you."

"Are you going to stop?"

Frowning, Luke brought the landspeeder to an abrupt halt.

"Thank you," she said, and tipped open her door.

"You're not going to explain?"

"No, I do not intend to explain."

"Wait--" he said. "What can I do?"

"I do not expect to need anyone killed," she said,  clambering  out.  "Do

what you just said wait. And try not to attract the suspicions of  any  droids

in this neighborhood.

Our ship is halfway around the planet, and it might be difficult  to  get

back to it if we're criminal fugitives."

He stared after her as she strode back down  the  street,  wondering  how

many different women he was traveling with, and whether he  would  ever  learn

all their stories.

"Let's go," she said as she climbed in.

"Did you get inside?"

"Let's go," she repeated insistently.

Luke looked back along the street. "Is someone following you?"

"I got inside. No one is following me--yet. Now, can we go?"

The landspeeder surged forward. "And?"

"I found it," she said. "We're done here."

"Are you going to tell me this time?"

"When we're away from here, and I know it's safe."

"So it's not me you don't trust."

"These things are never to be spoken to one who cannot read them," Akanah

said. "To tell you at all violates an oath. To tell you now, here, when  there

are so many ways a secret can escape, compounds  that  offense  with  needless

risk."

Luke frowned. "Is there any reason we can't return by Skyrail?"

"No," she said, looking out her side viewpane. "I wasn't seen."

She seemed determined not to talk, but there were things Luke  needed  to

say before they reached the terminal.

"You weren't the only one who was successful," he said. "I turned up some

information, too. And I'll even tell you now."

"Please don't. Whatever it is, it will keep," she said.

"All that matters now is to get away from here."

"Knowing where we're going next matters a tiny bit," Luke  said.  "I  got

curious about how your friends left."

"It's of no consequence. We leave no trail that an outsider can follow."

"You may think so," Luke said. "But I found out some interesting  things,

all the same. Like the reason they sold the commonal."

She looked at him disdainfully. "That's no mystery-to buy passage.

They had no more use for it except for any value  they  could  take  with

them."

"Akanah, they bought a starship." Luke waggled the traveler's  aid  card.

"Can't judge things by their size.

In addition to the maps, the food guides, the attraction lists,  and  the

ads, this has a wireless link to the Teyr Commerce Bureau and  an  information

hotline. Your friends may be  long  gone,  but  there's  still  a  corporation

registered here called Kell Plath. And it owns a starship named Star Morning."

"It must have taken everything they had," Akanah said.

"And a little more," Luke said.  "Star  Morning  is  a  Koqus  liner--the

better part of fifty years old, mind you, and too small to  compete  with  the

big Expo ships, but still no small purchase."

"How many could it carry?"

"A Koqus? Maybe sixty, depending on the cargo allocation."

Akanah nodded. "That would be enough."

"You don't seem overly surprised by this," Luke said, raising an eyebrow.

"I was. I thought we were trying to track down refugees, not stockholders."

"Just because we choose to live simply doesn't mean  that  we're  without

resources," Akanah said. "To be poor is to be powerless. The Fallanassi are as

old as the Jedi, and we've hidden and husbanded our resources well."

"Then why were you left on Carratos?" Luke asked.

"I can see that they might not want to risk bringing their ship there  to

pick you up, but why couldn't passage be bought for you?"

"You forget that Carratos fell under Imperial control soon  after  I  was

sent there," she said. "There were head taxes that had to be paid at the  port

by anyone leaving--high taxes, to discourage people from fleeing the planet."

"Then why couldn't the tax have been sent for you?"

"I don't know that it wasn't," said Akanah, her eyes  misting.  "I  don't

know that Talsava didn't keep it for herself."

"Your foster mother?"

"My custodian. She was never more than that." She tried  a  smile,  which

fell short of conviction. "There was a morning, you see, when I  woke  up  and

she was gone."

"Gone?"

Bitterness owned her voice. "Her clothes, her  little  precious  geegaws,

every personal possession small enough to pack in a bag and carry away in  the

night, all gone. I never saw her again. She abandoned me  there  to  fend  for

myself--at fifteen, in a port city that made your Mos Eisley  look  quiet  and

genteel."

The unvoiced suspicions behind Luke's questions left him feeling ashamed.

"We'll find them," he said firmly as the Rift Skyway  appeared  ahead  of

them. "When we get back to Mud Sloth, I  can  access  the  New  Republic  Ship

Registry's traffic logs. We should be able to find out where Star Morning  has

been, and when. We can surely find out where she is now."

"That isn't necessary," Akanah said. Reaching  out,  she  laid  her  hand

across his, as though she were trying to reassure him. "Atzerri. We need to go

to Atzerri now.

And I know that it may not, but I pray this ends there."

Chapter 7

For hours after Mud Sloth lifted from  Teyr,  Luke  sat  at  the  pilot's

station studying the traffic leaving the planet behind them.

The traveler's aid card helpfully informed him that there was  no  direct

regular service between Teyr and distant Atzerri by any commercial  spaceline.

So Luke concentrated on the private vessels, monitoring  and  logging  the  ID

profiles their transponders sent as  they  passed  the  inner  Flight  Control

buoys: Star Hummer, RN80-440330, owner]oa Pqis, registry Vobos, Tammuz-an-Rode

to Ruin, RN27-382992, owner Fracca, registry Orron III Amanda's Toy II,  RN18-

950319, owner Unlimited Horizons Inc., registry Kalla-"What  are  you  looking

for?" Akanah finally asked him. "No one bothered us on Teyr. No one saw me  in

the commonal."

"I'm just being cautious," Luke  said,  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  code

reader. "Just because no one confronted us doesn't mean no one  was  aware  of

us."

"Aware of us--what does that mean?"

"Whoever those men on Lucazec were working for, they wanted what you know

as much as they wanted you. I don't know what they think they can do with you,

but the Fallanassi are the prize."

"I would never betray the circle. And there is nothing anyone could do to

compel me. Not even you."

"But you're taking me there," Luke said. "And if they simply  keep  touch

with us, you'll take them there, too. All they have to do is follow us, and be

patient.

That's what I'm looking for--someone following. If  any  of  these  ships

leaving Teyr now show up at--show up later, we'll have to do  something  about

it."

"The circle can protect itself."

"I'm sure the Jedi thought they were safe, too,"  said  Luke.  "But  they

were wrong."

"The Jedi faced a terrible enemy, and the betrayal of one of their  own,"

said Akanah.

"There are enough enemies left," Luke said. "All the  assorted  dictators

and warlords in the Imperial sectors-including Admiral Daala, who isn't likely

to have found a new hobby.  Then  there  are  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of

inhabited systems in the Borderlands, the Corporate Sector--"  "And  there  is

the New Republic."

Luke turned toward her. "What?"

"The New Republic stands now where the Empire stood--as the single  great

power in the galaxy," said Akanah. "They have the most to lose if their  power

is successfully challenged. And their power is the greatest  threat  to  those

who choose to stand apart, who take a different view."

"You can't think that the New Republic is hunting the Fallanassi."

"Why not?" she asked calmly. "It was you who decided those men on Lucazec

were Imperial agents. How do you know they weren't from Coruscant? How do  you

know they weren't from your NRI?"

The suggestion was absurd, laughable--but it silenced Luke all the  same.

He looked back to the con trols, trying to sort out  his  thoughts.  For  some

reason, he couldn't now remember why it was he had been so  sure  the  men  at

Ialtra were Imperial sleepers. And Akanah's suggestion offered an  explanation

for something he had no explanation for--the Elomin were  so  principled  that

the prospect  of  one's  working  for  an  Imperial  spy  network  was  beyond

imagining. But the NRI-Out of  Touch,  RN40-844033,  owner  Tok-Foge  Pokresh,

registry Bothawui-"They would have to have been tipped off by me,"  Luke  said

finally, then shook his head. "But I only spoke to Leia and  Han  that  night.

And Leia didn't even give me a chance to tell her what little I knew.  No  one

knew I was going away, or why."

Akanah touched his shoulder. "Please don't think that I  suspected  you,"

she said. "The men at Ialtra were not expecting  you--and  if  the  NRI  could

count on your assistance, they would have no need to shadow us."

"I don't know that anyone is shadowing us," Luke said. "I  just  want  to

make sure that no one tries--and if they do try, that they don't  succeed.  We

can jump out of here at any time if we need to. And before we make  our  final

jump, I'm going to go over this ship from bow to  baffles  and  make  sure  we

didn't acquire a tracking device while we were parked on Teyr."

"I trust you to take the right precautions. I know you have  as  much  at

stake as I do," she said. "Do you mind if I go lie down? I did not sleep  well

on the Skyrail."

Adela, RN32-000439, owner Refka Trell, registry Elom-"Sure," Luke said.

"Go ahead. I'll call you if anything unexpected shows up."

Akanah squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you," she said, and started to  turn

away.

"Akanah?"

"What?"

"How much do you know about our destination?"

"I know it's a Free Trader world--not much more."

"I didn't even know that much," Luke said, turning toward her. "I'd  like

to query the Ministry of State atlas on Coruscant  and  request  a  diplomatic

backgrounder."

"You can do that?"

"I think so," Luke said. "I'd be  using  a  point-to-point  channel,  not

broadcasting, so no one else will be listening in."

"But they'll be listening in on Coruscant," Akanah said.  "You  might  as

well be announcing where we're going."

Luke shook his head. "I know what you just said, but I can't treat  those

people as the enemy," he said.

"But I could make a series of queries, so the one for Atzerri is just one

in the crowd. Would that make you feel any more at ease?"

"Do what you think is necessary," she said with a small, quick smile.

"There are risks in ignorance, too.

Balance them against the risks of showing our  hand.  If  you  think  the

weight falls in favor of making the query, and you'll wait until we've  jumped

out from Teyr to do so, I won't question your decision."

Shortly after the reorganization of the government, Nanaod Engh had given

Luke keys to most of the real treasures of the New Republic--the central  data

libraries maintained by various branches of the General Ministry.

Thanks to Admiral Ackbar's intervention, Luke also carried  the  highest-

grade security clearance held by any civilian.

Between the two, Luke had--potentially--a great deal  of  information  at

his fingertips. But the access he had been  granted  was  a  courtesy,  not  a

necessity. Luke's most urgent curiosities were in areas of little interest  to

bureaucracies, and he had never found reason to make much use  of  the  favors

extended him.

But he found himself with reason now.

So far, it seemed, his contribution to the expedition had been modest  to

the point of  invisibility.  Luke  was  completely  dependent  on  Akanah  for

information, and it was difficult to see what she needed from him.

Companionship, perhaps, and a bit of piloting, but not protection-she was

emphatic about that.

She had offered him a gift of great value by coming to him, and had  gone

to some lengths to do so. Luke felt himself not only uncomfortably  dependent,

but also involuntarily in her debt. And he had little to offer  to  right  the

balance.

But the lead on Star Morning gave him an opportunity to make himself more

useful.

If asked, he would have said that suspicion had no part in  his  decision

to contact the New Republic Ship Registry under his military access code. Even

though Akanah had plucked their next destination from  the  Current,  a  great

deal of time had passed since the Fallanassi had left Kell Hath. The  prospect

of another Gri-ann causing them to lose the trail was reason enough to  follow

up on his discovery.

Still, Luke waited until Akanah was asleep to open  the  hypercomm  link,

and his reason for doing that wasn't entirely clear to him.  True,  he  didn't

want her to think he was checking up on her. But Luke was also aware  that  he

didn't want to think he was checking up on her. He had to  be  able  to  trust

her. Everything he had done, his very presence, was predicated on that.

"Ship Registry."

The Adventurer had no secure-entry touchpad, so Luke  had  to  offer  the

voice codes.

"Authorization verified," said the registry clerk.

"Go ahead."

"I need a report pulled on a private vessel."

"Yes, sir. Quick or comprehensive?"

"The difference is--" "The comprehensive includes  everything  that's  in

all of the linked databases--taxes, transfers,  ports  of  call,  whatever  we

have. On anything but a brand-new ship, that can be quite a bit."

"Comprehensive," Luke said. "The ship is the Star Morning, Teyr registry,

owned by--" "I have it on my display, sir," said the clerk.

"It takes up to an hour to  pull  a  comprehensive.  Would  you  like  it

forwarded to your current hypercomm identifier when it's ready, or  held  here

for your next call?"

"Forward it," Luke said.

"Very well, sir. Is there anything else?"

Luke looked back over his shoulder and extended  his  senses  to  confirm

that Akanah was asleep. "Yes," he said on impulse. "I'd like  a  comprehensive

pulled on a skiff, a Verpine Adventurer, registration number  NR80-109399,  no

name currently profiled, owner and home port unknown--" "I have it, sir. Would

you like this report forwarded with the other?"

"No," Luke said. "Hold this one for me."

"Very well, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Clear to close link."

"Closing link," Luke said, and reached for the controls.

Then he wondered why what he had just done made him feel so unclean.

Akanah's nap lasted more than three  hours,  but  the  report  from  Ship

Registry had not yet arrived when she stirred. She said nothing  to  him  when

she emerged from the sleeper, disappearing  for  several  minutes  behind  the

privacy screen of the refresher unit.

When she emerged, she had forgone the more flowing, multilayered  garment

she had worn on the planet for the simple,  close-fitting,  long-sleeved  one-

piece she had worn for much of the jump to Teyr. When she joined  him  at  the

flight controls, he caught the faint scent of the  freshener  cabinet  on  her

clothing.

"So, have we a shadow?"

"None clumsy enough to give itself away yet, anyway," Luke said.

"There are eighteen ships--make  that  nineteen,  now--in  this  outbound

corridor. In theory they're all heading for  the  Foless  Crossroads,  or  for

Darepp."

"In theory?"

"Under free-navigation rules, they don't have to file  flight  plans  and

announce their destinations--they just have to  announce  themselves  as  they

leave here and when they get there."

Akanah leaned forward to study the navigational  display.  "How  did  you

make it display those identifiers?

When I was coming into Coruscant, all it showed me were those green bars-

-it didn't tell me what they were."

"The display options are on the command menus.

But the basic display really tells you all you need, most of  the  time,"

Luke said. "A green bar means a ship  that  is  a  safe  distance  away  on  a

noncollision course. Yellow bar,  a  ship  that's  closer  than  the  standard

spacing, but not on a collision course. Red bar,  something  on  an  intercept

course. Same rules for rocks, except the symbol is a circle--like that one."

"So any red symbols mean danger."

Luke nodded. "I'm sure this ship has some fairly  obnoxious  alarms,  and

collision-avoidance protocols."

"What if someone fired a missile at us? Would it show up as a red bar?"

Frowning, Luke considered. "Probably as a circle, as  though  it  were  a

fast-moving asteroidal body. Missiles don't send out recognition signals,  and

skiffs don't have threat-recognition modules in their scanners."

"I have never been in a warship," Akanah said.

"Tell  me--how  does  this  compare  with  the  cockpit  of  a   military

spacecraft?"

"Oh--worlds apart," Luke said.

"How, exactly?"

"Well--in a military ship, the automated systems are there to support the

pilot--most everything that matters is done with your hands on the  controls,"

Luke said.

"A ship like this is designed to have the expert  systems  take  over  as

much as possible, to protect casual pilots from making mistakes."

"So there are more controls in a fighter."

"A lot more. Heck, a combat flight stick has almost as many  controls  on

it as there are on this whole panel," Luke said. "Most of what this ship  will

let you do by yourself is buried three  levels  deep  in  the  command  option

displays."

She nodded. "Tell me, if we were pursued by a warship, or intercepted  by

a fighter how much could you do?"

Luke ran his fingers back through his hair. "Less  than  you're  probably

hoping," he said. "It's not a test I'd look forward to."

"Not even with your reputation as a pilot?"

"She's underpowered for realspace, which means we  can't  run  away.  She

doesn't have true vector thrusters, which means she's not very agile,  despite

her low mass. The nav shields would pop on the first hit, and the  hull  would

breach on the second--unless the second hit was from an ion cannon."

"What would happen then?"

"All the systems would sizzle, and we'd be dead in space."  He  showed  a

rueful smile. "Piloting ability doesn't count for much then.  And  reputations

count for even less."

"So our only hope would be to jump to hyperspace before we were hit."

"That's about the size of it."

Just then a  sweet-toned  signal  sounded  from  the  console,  startling

Akanah. "What is it? What's that?"

"Nothing to worry about," Luke  said  as  he  leaned  forward.  "Incoming

hypercomm file transmission. A re port on the Star  Morning.  I  requested  it

from Coruscant while you were napping."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "I asked you to wait until we'd jumped."

"You also asked me to use my judgment," Luke said. "We can't do  a  quick

jump-and-go if we're sitting out there somewhere waiting for a report to  come

in.

And I thought this report might have information we'd want in hand before

we commit to Atzerri."

"We're already committed to Atzerri," she said stiffly. "That's where the

scribing at Teyr told us to go."

"I want to look at the report," Luke said. "The way I see  it,  the  more

information we have, the better."

"All it can do is mislead us," Akanah said. "I told you that we leave  no

trail an outsider can follow."

Another, low-pitched tone signaled the end of the transmission.

"Then I'll count on you  to  keep  me  from  getting  lost,"  Luke  said,

bringing up the secondary display panel. "You can look at this or  not--but  I

have to. I never have liked making decisions in the dark."

Luke had anticipated two possible reasons for the delay in  the  report's

arrival--and either a very thin or a very thick file, depending on  which  was

to blame.

It was a thick file, almost overwhelming with detail. Star Morning,  a.k.

a. Mandarin, a.k.a. Pilgrim, a.k.a. Congere, had had  a  long  history  before

passing into the hands of the Fallanassi and a busy history since.

Built by the Koqus Design Syndic as a variation on an even older Republic

Seinar design, it was classed as  a  short-route  liner  despite  the  sleeper

configuration of its fifty-eight-passenger main cabin.  At  forty-four  meters

long and twenty-eight meters across the spade-shaped twin-deck main  hull,  it

was readily capable of planetary landings at even the smallest spaceports  and

a good pilot might even try a dirt-field touchdown and get away with  it.  The

hyperdrive was a rather ordinary Block 1, with dual fusion generators. But the

ion engines, a pair of SoroSuub Viper 40s, would have been adequate for a ship

with a keel mass half again greater.

With legs like that, she could give the Falcon a run for her money,  Luke

thought.

More interesting than the specifications, though, was  confirmation  that

Star Morning was still the property of Kell Hath Corporation of Teyr, and  had

been so continuously for the past fifteen years. The port call list  for  that

period ran to more than two hundred entries, with  no  single  port  appearing

more than three times, and most entries unique.

You've tramped around, Luke mused as he skimmed the list. I haven't  even

heard of most of these places.

The list was spotty, obviously incomplete. There were many stretches of a

month or longer--well more than the ship's rated  stand-alone  endurance--with

no port calls listed. But a footnote explained that early  records  from  some

Alliance worlds were unavailable, records from worlds heavily involved in  the

war were incomplete or had been destroyed, and some recently acquired  records

hadn't yet been processed.

"THE ABSENCE OF DATA SHOULD NOT IN AND OF ITSELF BE CONSIDERED INDICATIVE

OF PROSCRIBED TRAVEL OR ILLEGAL ACTIVITIES," read the disclaimer at the top of

the port call list.

That didn't stop Luke from wondering and speculating.

The longest gap, a few days short of a year, started  just  three  months

after the name Mandarin had been burned off the  hull.  The  gap  began  weeks

before the Battle of Endor and continued through the worst of the fighting  of

the last year of the war against the Empire.

According to the record in front of Luke, Star Morning  had  left  Motexx

fully loaded, heading for Gowdawl under a charter license.  The  liner  wasn't

seen again until she turned up, cabin and cargo holds  empty,  at  Arat  Fraca

some three hundred days later.

All things considered, that was a good time for an unarmed liner  to  lie

up in port or another safe haven. But where had  she  gone?  Motexx  and  Arat

Fraca lay nearly two sectors apart, separated not only by thousands of  light-

years, but also by the unnavigable Black Nebula  in  Parfadi,  with  its  twin

supermassive neutron stars. And what  had  happened  to  the  passengers  from

Motexx?

There was no record that Star Morning had ever berthed at Gowdawl.

Another port conspicuous by its absence was Atzerri. Star Morning's first

destination after Teyr had  been  Darepp.  In  the  weeks  that  followed,  it

wandered erratically toward the Rim, stopping at colony worlds named 23  Mere,

Yisgga, New Polokia, Fwiis, and Bab-badod before turning back toward the heart

of the galaxy and, in time, its appointment at  Motexx.  As  best  Luke  could

determine with the Adventurer's navicom, the closest Star Morning had come  to

Atzerri was en route to Fwiismbut without enough unaccounted time  for  it  to

have made a 150-light-year side trip.

Luke felt himself girding for an argument  with  Akanah.  The  Fallanassi

didn't go straight to Atzerri from Teyr--so why is it so important that we do?

Did they know when they left that they would end  up  there?  Why  didn't  the

pointer point to Darepp? I wish  I  knew  exactly  what  the  message  at  the

commonal said.

But it was the third discovery Luke sifted from the  report  that  seemed

the most urgent. That was the one that prompted him to leave his couch and  go

back to the service access compartment, where Akanah was  putting  on  a  good

show of being otherwise occupied.

Akanah's vehicle for that was what Luke  thought  of  as  her  stretching

exercises and what she called active meditation. At that particular moment she

was sitting with eyes closed and, without  evident  stress,  with  her  ankles

crossed behind her neck. A light touch of the tips of her forefingers  on  the

deck pad maintained her upright balance.

"Found something," he said quietly, and waited  for  her  to  acknowledge

him. When that acknowledgment was slow in coming, he added, "Akanah?"

Drawing a deep breath, she let her body roll forward and unfold, then sat

back up in a more conventional position. Her eyes opened slowly, and her  gaze

was steady. "What did you find?"

"Star Morning," Luke said. "For most of the last few months,  she's  been

way over in Farana, on the far side of the Corporate Sector. But she put in at

Vulvarch not twelve hours ago."

"Why do you think that that's important?"

"Vulvarch is just thirty-four light-years away," Luke said. "We could  be

there in half the time it would take us to get to Atzerri. Less than half."

"The ship is not important," Akanah said. "Our path leads to Atzerri."

"That path's overgrown with fifteen years of bramble," Luke said.

"Look at what's happened so far--the chances are that all we'll  find  on

Atzerri is another message telling us to go somewhere else, to Darepp, or Bab-

badod, or Arat Fraca. Star Morning's been all over the galactic map."

"The ship is not important," Akanah repeated. "It's a tool--property.

We were told to go to Atzerri."

"Anything or anyone waiting for us on Atzerri has  been  waiting  fifteen

years and can wait a few more days," Luke said, growing  frustrated  with  her

stubbornness.

"But this lead is only twelve hours old. If we jump right now, we  should

be able to reach Vulvarch before Star Morning lifts again."

She shook her head. "We won't find the circle there."

Luke's tone betrayed his impatience. "The same pilot's  been  listed  for

the ship since Kell Plath took it over.

She has to be one of you, or at least in the know.

Akanah, we could spend  months  following  the  circle's  movements  over

fifteen years. But Star Morning could send us--maybe even  take  us--right  to

where the Fallanassi are today. I thought that was what you wanted."

"I'll follow the way left for me," Akanah said. "It's what I know.

It's what I was promised--the way home will be marked."

Luke turned his face away, one hand clenched in a fist at his side,  then

retreated to the forward compartment.

When he had shed the anger, he returned.  She  had  already  resumed  her

meditation.

"Will you at least talk to them before we jump out of here?" Luke  asked.

"I have Star Morning's hypercomm receiver address--I can set up a secure  link

for you.  You  can  have  all  the  privacy  you  want  to  exchange  whatever

recognition signs you need to with the crew. Maybe they can save us  at  least

one wasted trip."

"No," Akanah said without looking up. "They can't."

"Why not?"

She paused and turned her face to him. "Even if the crew of the  ship  is

of the circle, they will never reveal themselves to a stranger such a distance

away. As I will not reveal myself to anyone I cannot feel in the Current.

The outward signs and spoken words are only ritual--the recognition  lies

in sensing another adept beside you.

I'm sorry."

Her refusal left Luke wordless with frustration, and she saw  it  in  his

eyes.

You should understand," she said. "It's the same with you and those  like

you. The only recognition that matters is what you feel here."

She tapped between her breasts with three fingers of her left hand.

"That is the truth that can never deceive."

The dispute hung in the  air  between  them  as  unspoken  suspicion  and

resentment.

Akanah did not try to forbid Luke to contact Star Morning on his own.

But she hovered close enough to the flight stations to make it impossible

for Luke to do so without her knowledge. It  was  absolutely  clear  that  she

meant to prevent any more surprises like the one that had  greeted  her  after

her nap.

For his part, though  he  had  said  nothing  of  it,  Luke  had  already

concluded that hailing the other ship without Akanah's cooperation could  only

be counterproductive.

And since he had reluctantly accepted her decision and  resigned  himself

to taking Mud Sloth to Atzerri, he resented her vigilant scrutiny.

Her scrutiny also prevented Luke from collecting the report  on  the  Mud

Slotb's history, which was surely ready for him  in  Ship  Registry's  Pending

queue. His discoveries in the Star Morning report  and  Akanah's  stubbornness

over Atzerri made him more curious than ever to see it.

But that curiosity was being thwarted, leaving him doubly  resentful  and

harboring some suspicions of his own.

When the time came to jump  out  from  Teyr,  Luke  handled  the  details

without announcing them to Akanah, then climbed into the bunk to sleep through

the short hop he had programmed. When he did, he purposefully  left  the  Star

Morning report open on the flight station's secondary display. Whether  Akanah

was tempted by that invitation, he did not know. Opening wide  his  connection

to the Force, Luke allowed the discordant emotions to bleed away, and  he  was

asleep within minutes.

Three hours  out  from  Teyr,  the  Verpine  Adventurer  dropped  out  of

hyperspace as programmed. Climbing out of the  bunk,  Luke  found  a  friendly

smile for Akanah, who managed a quick, somewhat tired smile in return.

less you know some reason not to," Luke said, sliding  into  the  pilot's

seat.

"No," she said. "Do you need privacy?"

Luke shook his head and keyed the hypercomm.

"Nothing secret here--just limited access." He tried  another  smile  and

found it still felt sincere. "There's a shortage of privacy here, anyway."

It took only a few minutes to put in  his  requests,  and  the  responses

started coming back immediately.

Luke chose not to mention that all seven additional worlds for  which  he

requested backgrounders were onetime ports of call for Star Morning.

If she recognized the names from reading the report, she would  know  his

reason.

If not, it would never be an issue.

"I'm going to start my inspection," Luke said, standing.

"May I look at these files?"

"Of course," Luke said. "It's better if you do, in fact. As  I  said,  no

secrets. I'll be in earshot--feel free to talk to me if you find something you

think I should know."

The interior inspection took nearly an hour. Beginning at the rear of the

skiff's small service compartment, Luke systematically opened every  removable

panel and access door inside the ship, searching for anything that  looked  as

if it might not belong. His examination turned up a  clumsy  retrofit  to  the

water recycler that accounted for one of the Adventurer's eccentricities,  and

half a dozen lost  objects  of  the  slipped-through-the-cracks  variety,  but

nothing more.

"I don't understand why the spaceport wouldn't allow service work in  the

parking area," Akanah said when he rejoined her.

"Probably protecting the interests of the ship services licensee. Have to

keep those  maintenance  bays  full,  you  know."  Luke  gestured  toward  the

displays. "Interesting reading?"

"There's no Flight Control Zone at Atzerri," she said. "We can jump right

into orbit if we like and pick our own landing site--all  the  spaceports  are

indepen dent. There's not much government of any kind there, it seems."

"I've been on Free Trader worlds before," Luke said.  "Free  Traders  are

the closet anarchists of the galaxy.

If they could figure out how to do without any government at all and  not

risk losing their finer things to bandits, they wouldn't hesitate.

Even as it is, they tend to tolerate a lot of fighting over the scraps.

You don't want to be poor or slow on a Free Trader world."

Luke missed the look that crossed her face, but he  felt  the  shiver  of

revulsion. "Carratos was a lot like that, after the Imperial  garrison  left,"

she said. "I should feel right at home."

"But would the Fallanassi?"

"What do you mean?"

"It just doesn't strike me as any more your people's sort of  place  than

Teyr was," said Luke. "Did you find anything in the background to suggest  why

they would go there--much less stay there?"

"They're your people, too," she said with a sad little  smile.  "I  don't

have an answer to your question. Perhaps being what it is  made  it  a  better

place to disappear."

"I suppose that could be an answer."

"Let's not guess," she said. "Is the ship clean?"

"I couldn't find anything."

"Then let's go. Let's go directly to Atzerri."

"I'm not saying there aren't people who  could  hide  things  I  couldn't

find," Luke warned.

"I know that."

"Well--let's see if a direct route is available from  here,"  Luke  said,

turning to the astrogator. "I'd been planning to line it up with the next one.

"

They jumped out twenty minutes later, with the report on  the  Mud  Sloth

still waiting for him on Corus-cant.

The skiff had a way of getting smaller the longer they were  in  it,  and

the recent tensions had accelerated the process. As soon as they were on their

way to Atzerri, Akanah and Luke resumed sleeping in shifts.

It worked largely because the active noise-canceling system in  the  bunk

was effective enough that the curtain divided the ship into two  worlds,  dark

and light, awake and asleep. For most of a day's cycle, no matter  which  side

of the curtain they were on, both Luke and Akanah could enjoy the illusion  of

being alone on the ship. They allowed just enough  time  between  shifts  with

both awake to avoid  military-style  hot-bunking--though  Luke  could  usually

catch Akanah's gentle scent on the pillow even after he turned it.

The jump to Atzerri was a long one. The travelers did not  have  much  to

say to each other at the first turn--she was impatient for bed and he to  read

the diplomatic files. It was little different at the  second  turn,  when  the

conversation was polite and perfunctory.

By the third, they were both just lonely enough  again  to  welcome  some

company and to linger together in idle talk. And by the fourth, Luke  ventured

to broach a subject that had kept touching his thoughts in the time  he  spent

alone.

"Akanah--if telling me what the scribing says violates your oath, why  do

you do it?"

"Because I consider you one of us," she said, her expression  carrying  a

hint of surprise. "You are  un-trained-you  are  not  an  adept--but  you  are

Fallanassi."

"Why? Because my mother was--is?"

"That, and because of the potential within you, given proof by your skill

with the Force."

Luke returned to the pilot's couch and curled up sideways in it. "How  do

people become part of the circle?"

"Curiosity is not sufficient--which I hazard you know. Some are  born  to

it. Some come to it. Is it any different in your discipline?"

"Born with the gift, do you mean, or born to someone who already belongs,

to a trained adept?"

"Is the gift not in the blood?"

"Sometimes it seems that way. Sometimes it seems as if  the  talent  goes

wild, almost as if the Force chooses its own," Luke said, turning on his  back

and propping one foot on the control panel.

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Look at the way the Jedi are coming back," said Luke. "The Empire hunted

us so relentlessly that most everyone who escaped thought they were  the  only

Jedi left. But it isn't just that  a  few  solitaries  who  were  hiding  have

resurfaced. I've found students with no family history whatsoever, in  species

that were never represented before in the Order."

"Some of your number may have been adventurous travelers," said Akanah.

"On Carratos, I  heard  many  jokes  about  how  the  Emperor  spent  his

evenings. If a Jedi sleeps alone, surely it must be by choice, as it  is  with

you."

"Are you saying that you expected me to warm a bed with you?" Luke  said.

"I didn't think that was our bargain."

"No," she said. "I never expected that."

"Then what are you saying?"

"That Luke Skywalker could have a hundred children by now. A thousand."

"That's crazy."

"No---that's the simple truth. There are different rules for  heroes  and

royalty, and you're seen as a little of both. You can't be unaware of that."

Luke frowned and looked away. "I don't know how to be  a  father  to  one

child, much less a thousand."

"You wouldn't need to know," she said. "Their mothers wouldn't expect it.

They would be grateful enough for the gift."

"I'd expect it of me," he said, and firmly steered the conversation  back

on course. "We were talking about my being an honorary member of the circle--"

"Not honorary," she corrected.

"Novice."

"Novice, then. But there's an exception in your oath for people like me?"

"Every adept has the right to judge and the duty to teach," she said.

"I've made my judgment."

"And the rest?" Luke asked. "We've had many hours  together--why  haven't

you started to teach me?"

"But I have," she said. "I've asked you to think about what you know  and

believe. To go beyond that, the novice must ask for the door to be opened. But

you aren't ready to think of yourself as a student again--not yet. You run too

well and easily to go back to crawling."

"No," Luke said, shaking his head. "To be a Jedi is to  be  a  seeker.  A

Jedi is always learning. It's only on the dark side that one becomes  obsessed

with knowing, and impressed with doing."

"There's a touch of the dark side," Akanah said slowly, "in the  way  you

cling to the privilege of killing, and resist the teaching I've offered you. A

hint of a mind that has settled on answers and resents being  challenged  with

new questions."

Luke toyed with the lacing on his longshirt as he considered her words.

"You may be right," he said finally.

"I found the Force at a time when what I needed was  power.  I  wanted  a

weapon to protect my friends, not enlightenment. I was thinking of war against

the Empire, not peace with the universe. Perhaps something of that lingers  in

how I see myself. I'll think on it."

"Good," she said. "Your words give me hope. And hope is the beginning  of

everything worthwhile."

Luke sat up and turned toward her. "Akanah--I do want you to  teach  me,"

he said. "I want to learn to read scribing. You were able to help me  see  it.

Can you teach me to see it without your help?"

"Yes. But that isn't the first lesson," she said. "That will come later."

"Don't you think there's reason enough to change the curriculum?"

"What reason?"

"Insurance," Luke said. "If we're going to follow your  way,  the  marked

way, to the circle, finding and reading the  signs  left  in  the  Current  is

crucial. But if only one of us can read them--"  "I  won't  miss  any  signs,"

Akanah said, shaking her head. "Or misread them."

"What if we become separated? You said that in your mind, I'm Fallanassi.

If that's so, then these signs are meant for me as well."

"Commitment must be based on more than need," Akanah said. "I'm sorry.

The time isn't right for what you ask."

Luke frowned. "Are you afraid that I'll go off and  try  to  finish  this

journey without you?"

"No," said Akanah. "Would you allow your student's impatience to  dictate

the sequence and timing of his instruction? Would you give him the secret that

could most compromise you before he had  affirmed  the  principles  that  most

define you?"

"Do you want me to take the oaths of the circle, tOO?"

"Yes," she said. "But only when you're ready, and you are not  ready--and

only for the right reason, and this is not the right reason."

"Then how can I give you the assurances you want?

How do I show you that I'm ready?"

"Choose to leave your weapon behind when we land at Atzerri," she said.

"If you do that, you will have  shown  me  something.  That  would  be  a

beginning."

Resting his elbows on his knees, Luke pressed a fist into a  cupped  hand

and stared down over it at the deck.

"I'll have to think about that, too," he said finally, standing. "If I do

it, I want it to be for the right reason--not just to pay a tutor for my  next

lesson."

She smiled warmly. "I knew I was right about you," she said. "You will be

welcomed by the circle, when the time comes."

He nodded, lips pressed together, as he edged  between  the  couches  and

toward the bunk. But his face must have said something more to  her,  for  she

stood and called after him, "Are you having doubts about me, Luke?"

Luke paused, one foot in the bunk's step-up, and looked back. "There  are

things I don't understand, and things I wonder about," he said.

"Is that the same as 'having doubts'? I don't know."

"It is," she said. "Why don't you ever ask me about these 'things'?

I'm not afraid of your questions. Are you afraid of my answers?"

"Hardly that."

"Of giving offense with your curiosity, then."

"Perhaps."

"I'm not easily offended. Ask me something now, and perhaps  there'll  be

one less mystery to trouble your sleep."

Luke turned toward her, bringing both feet back to the deck. "All right,"

he said. "How is it you came to buy this ship? Why didn't you  go  to  Lucazec

when you'd saved the price of passage? That had to be far less than the  price

you paid for this ship. It seems you could have gone there years ago. I  don't

understand why you didn't."

"I almost did, six years ago," she said, with a wistful smile. "I had the

price of passage, as you say. I  could  have  gotten  myself  to  Ialtra.  The

temptation was almost beyond resisting."

Luke gestured with one hand. "And?"

"If I had gone, I would have been trapped there," she said.  "I  would've

been on Lucazec, yes, but I would've been poor again. On Carratos,  at  least,

there were busy ports, and I knew how to earn enough to  keep  some.  You  saw

Lucazec--there's not enough wealth there to take by theft  or  marriage,  much

less by honest work."

"So you waited."

"There was really no choice," Akanah said. "I realized I  needed  to  buy

myself more than passage off Carratos--I needed to  buy  myself  freedom  from

ever living like that again. I have nothing but this ship,  Luke,  and  a  few

credits--but I have this ship. Though with your perquisites as a hero, you may

not understand how much that means to me."

"No," Luke said. "I understand. I  remember  what  it  felt  like  to  be

trapped on Tatooine."

"Then have I answered your question? Do you understand now?"

Luke nodded. "All except for this--when you finally got the ship, why did

you come for me first? Why Coruscant and not Lucazec?"

"Because when I dreamed of returning to Ialtra, you were  always  there,"

Akanah said gently. "Which puzzled me, until I realized what it meant  that  I

was supposed to take you with me. That I was to bring you to the circle.  That

you belong there."

Almost to his surprise, though not to his displeasure, Luke found that he

believed her answers. They had the simple directness of emotional truth.

But for some reason, they did not make it any easier for him to sleep.

Chapter 8

"-Talos Spaceport, Atzerri."

Akanah glanced sideways at Luke. "May I? she asked.

"Of course," Luke said with an offering gesture,  settling  back  in  the

pilot's couch.

"Talos Spaceport, this is Mud Sloth," Akanah said.

"What's your berth price for twenty meters and under?"

"What currency will you be paying in?"

"New Republic credits," she said.

"Nine hundred for the first two days, including landing fees and  topping

your consumables. One hundred a day beyond that. But if you're staying  longer

than ten days, we can start you with long-term rates from the third day."

"Talos, you must have mistaken me for  a  rube,"  said  Akanah.  "Because

those can't be anything but rube rates."

"Those are the published rates  as  of  the  first  of  the  month,"  the

spaceport controller said. "Nine hundred to plop and fill, a hundred a day for

the lockup. I don't have any latitude on that."

"Talos, I said twenty meters, not two hundred,"  said  Akanah.  "And  I'm

only renting the berth, not buy ing it. So why don't you start again, and this

time try not to be insulting."

"Nine hundred to plop, a hundred a day for the  lockup,"  the  controller

repeated. "Do you want it, or not? There aren't that many spaces available."

"Really? I would have thought all your berths would be empty,  seeing  as

Skreeka is landing the little stuff for six hundred, with  five  days'  lockup

included."

"Skreeka is run by thieves," the controller said.

"Their lockups have the worst security on the continent."

"You'll have to give us a better reason  than  that  not  to  go  there,"

Akanah said. "After all, you've already tried to rob me."

"One moment, Mud Sloth." A yellow light glowed on the comm display.

"Watch," Akanah said to Luke. "He'll come back with a  better  offer  and

say his supervisor authorized it.

But it's all a matter of how much of his margin he's willing to  give  up

to keep us from going to Skreeka.

Whatever he comes back with, you  can  be  sure  it's  above  the  port's

internal rates-he'll make sure he gets something out of this."

"I didn't think you were so well traveled."

She smiled. "I stayed close to the ports  on  Carratos,  and  I  listened

well."

"When did you get the quote from Skreeka?"

"Oh, I made it up."

The yellow indicator winked out and was replaced by a green one.

"Talos Spaceport. We see this is your first  visit  here.  My  supervisor

doesn't want to see you taken advantage of by  those  scoundrels  at  Skreeka.

He's authorized a one-time courtesy rate---five hundred to land and  load  up,

seventy-five a day. That's the very best I can do for you, and I'd take it, if

I were you. Trust me when I tell you, we're  not  making  a  credit  at  those

prices. And I don't care where you go, anyone who asks you for less  is  gonna

find some way to get the difference back from you."

"Thank your supervisor for me," Akanah said. "We accept."

"A good decision," the controller said. "As soon  as  you  transmit  your

authorization, we'll put you on the beam."

The indicator turned red, then blacked out completely  as  Akanah  turned

her head toward Luke. "All yours, dear," she said, smiling sweetly.

"We have a reservation."

Docking Bay A13 reminded Luke of a smaller  version  of  the  Mos  Eisley

facility in which he first encountered the Millennium Falcon. The  design  was

similar, and the amenities were as old-fashioned--hand umbilicals,  a  machine

shop without a single tool-and-die  droid,  mechanical  locks,  and  no  storm

cover.

"I can't believe I paid them five hundred for  this,"  Akanah  said  with

disgust, raising her hands wide. "This berth must be a hundred years old. It's

been paid for twenty times over."

"Discount rates," Luke said, securing the last of the umbilicals  to  the

Adventurer's three propulsion systems.

"Can't expect luxury accommodations."

"Or to be dealt with honestly. We overpaid by half, or more. I hope  they

enjoyed their little joke."

"It doesn't matter," Luke said. "This will do. Shall we take  a  look  in

ship's supplies and see if there's a food pack old enough to fit  Mud  Sloth's

reprocessor?"

"I'll leave that to you," Akanah said, shouldering her bag.  "I  have  to

go."

Luke emerged from under the repulsorlift "wing" of the skiff.  "What  are

you talking about?"

"I have to do this by myself," said Akanah.

"Why?"

"If the Fallanassi are here, I must approach them alone," she said.

"If I take you with me, they won't let themselves be  found.  They  won't

see you as I see you.

They'll only see you as an outsider."

"What am I supposed to do while you're off by yourself?"

"You can stay here. I'll come back for you if I  find  them--you  know  I

will. And I'll come back to you if I don't."

"What if I don't want to stay here?"

"Then do your own exploring in the city.  Go  where  you  like.  Do  what

pleases you. If you're not here when I return,  I'll  wait  for  you,"  Akanah

said. "All I ask is that you not follow me.  You'd  only  hinder  our  purpose

here."

"This doesn't feel right to me," Luke said. "Why can't  we  go  together,

like we did on Lucazec, and Teyr?"

"Because I knew that the circle had left Lucazec,  and  Norika  had  left

Teyr," she said. "But I do not know that they have left Atzerri."

"I didn't realize you were embarrassed to be seen  with  me,"  Luke  said

wryly.

"Please understand--if you leave the docking bay, it will be as Li Stonn.

Yes?"

"Yes."

"But the others can pierce that illusion, just as I did," Akanah said.

"If we're seen together,  or  you  follow  me,  they'll  think  you're  a

deceiver, a threat. They'll wait for a chance to approach me when  I'm  alone.

But if you're recognized, I don't know what they will do. They might decide to

stay hidden from me, fearing I've been turned. They might even decide to leave

Atzerri. We can't risk that. I have to go alone."

A deep frown creased Luke's  face.  Everything  she  said  was  perfectly

reasonable. But everything she said felt Completely wrong. "I don't  like  the

idea of us being separated. Especially here."

"Do you still think I need your protection?" she asked. "I've been living

around this kind of petty evil for  most  of  my  life.  I  know  them--street

bangers, body slavers, drug dealers,  turf  warriors,  blackmailers,  and  the

cold-eyes who just enjoy making someone scream.

I got caught a few times and hurt a few  times,  but  I  learned.  I  got

stronger, I got smarter, and I became my own protector.

I'll be fine, Luke."

"All right," Luke said, reluctantly surrendering.

"But I should at least know where you're going--in case  you  don't  come

back. In case you run into something you're not expecting.  Something  not  so

'petty'."

"That's fair," she agreed. "But give me enough time to do what I need to.

Promise that you won't come looking for me until--let's say  until  I've  been

gone three days with no word."

Luke shot her a disbelieving look. "Three days?

That's long enough for someone to grab you and be  halfway  to  the  Tion

Hegemony."

She laughed. "The last man who tried to grab me only wanted to take me as

far as the alley," she said.

"Three minutes later, he knew he'd made a mistake."

"All right," Luke said. "But I still don't understand why you need  three

days."

"I shouldn't," Akanah said. "That's why you should come look for me then.

I'm going to the Pem-blehov District, north of the park."

"That's all you're going to tell me?"

"That's all I can tell you," Akanah said. "Good-bye, Luke. I'll  be  back

for you as soon as I can."

After Akanah left, Luke first took some time to explore  behind  all  the

doors of the docking bay.

The public showers and refresher were overdue for a  cleaning,  no  doubt

due to the fifty-credit cleaning fee.

But the prospect of a real six-head unlimited-water  space"s  shower  was

too appealing to resist. Luke vouched for the additional  charge  and  secured

the door so that the automated scrubdown and sterilization could begin.

Luke tried to get even on the day rummaging through the lockers of ship's

supplies. To his surprise, there were two K-18 food packs--both out  of  date,

but not too badly so. He installed  the  older  of  the  two  in  the  skiff's

reprocessor and tested it, then found stowage for the  other  in  the  crowded

belly bay. The portmaster would nick his account again for returning only  one

empty, but not enough to dissuade him.

When scavenging paled, Luke turned to tinkering.

The control systems terminal offered an extensive list of  flight  system

upgrades, with a data card burner right beside it. Most of the skiff's  flight

systems were out of date, but Luke located half a dozen  aftermarket  upgrades

and coaxed Mud Sloth into  taking  them.  All  of  them  came  up  virus-free-

something he hadn't expected,  considering  the  source.  But  the  navigation

upgrade spotted Luke's handiwork on the FCZ interlock, forcing him to  restore

the original, blissfully unaware package.

In time Luke had done all the tinkering he could without  risking  having

something crucial arrayed in pieces on the  bench  or  the  bay  floor  at  an

awkward moment.

He then took advantage of the open space inside the bay to work his first

complete set of Jedi training drills since leaving Coruscant.

Working both with and without his lightsaber, he patiently  went  through

the complex exercises which  brought  him  to  a  profound  state  of  restful

clarity.

It was in this state that he felt most keenly the truth and the wisdom of

the simple words: There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no  ignorance;

there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity.

There is no death; there is the Force. The peace, the knowledge, and  the

serenity were gifts that came with his surrender to the  Force  and  with  his

connection through the Force to all that was.

Sustaining that clarity was always the challenge. In the isolation  of  a

Dagobah, the Jundland Wastes, or a hermitage on a frozen shore, an experienced

Jedi could preserve that inner state indefinitely.

But the chaos of the real world was another matter.

When ego returned,  so  did  will.  The  surrender  became  tainted,  the

connection flawed. The clarity gradually slipped  away  under  the  continuous

assault of elementary drives and passions. Even the greatest  of  the  masters

needed to perform the practice regularly lest they lose  the  discipline  that

made them what they were.

The drills were as much a test for the body as  for  the  mind,  and  the

docking bay's newly sanitized shower brought a blissful peace to muscles  that

were telling Luke they had not been properly exercised in too long.  He  stood

for a long time in the place where the six needle jets converged, letting  the

water flowing down his body become another meditation.

When Luke finally emerged from the  shower  and  once  again  donned  his

clothes, he allowed himself to check the skiff's chronometer and see how  long

Akanah had been gone.

Barely six hours had passed.

Standing beside the skiff's bow, Luke looked around the bay.

Inexplicably, it seemed much smaller when viewed through the prospect  of

spending the next several days there.

Donning his hooded cloak, Luke secured the skiff, locked the docking bay-

-bending a pin so that only he could unlock it again--and went  out  into  the

night.

As he looked out across the spaceport and at the lights of Talos  beyond,

his hand--out of habit--went to the place at  his  hip  where  his  lightsaber

usually hung.

His fingers found only air, which puzzled him for just an instant.

Then he drew the face of Li Stonn down over his own and walked on.

It was a much-remarked irony that very little was free on a  Free  Trader

world. Walking and breathing were among the few  activities  without  a  price

tag--though some said that was only  because  the  Traders'  Coalition  hadn't

figured out how to deny those amenities to those who wouldn't pay.

But there was a twenty-credit service fee to enter Talos,  which  crowded

up against the spaceport boundary in classic Free Trader fashion.

Virtually anything could be bought on Atzerri, and no small part  of  the

catalog could be had within five hundred meters  of  Talos  spaceport's  three

entrances. Every major trader in the city had at least one of  the  kiosk-size

satellite storefronts that crowded along the broad boulevards leading  to  the

cabs and hire shops along the flyway ramp.

The narrow little stores were aggressively  gaudy  and  loud.  Multistory

display panels above their doorways graphically hawked their wares while  door

barkers made promises and entreaties shoppers were  well  advised  to  ignore.

Every shop along the boulevard was willing to refund service fees and  provide

express transport to the sponsor's main location. Some sent  small  armies  of

droids out to stand outside competitors' doorsteps with even sweeter offers.

The entire purpose of Traders Plaza was to snap up as many newly  arrived

"greens" as possible. Once they were safely away from competitors, they  could

be worked at leisure or steered to other  members  of  a  trading  alliance--a

scratchback, in Atzerri argot. The scratchback networks were elaborate.  There

was nothing a Free Trader hated more than having a willing buyer and seeing  a

competitor get the sale.

Luke surveyed the offerings in Traders Plaza with a mixture of wonder and

horror. The last time he had been on a Free Trader world, it had been  to  try

to buy weapons for the Rebellion, and there had been no time for browsing  the

commercial districts. Few of the offerings in the plaza had any appeal to  him

now, but his curiosity went beyond the personal.

Information brokers offered religious, political, and technical  secrets.

The forbidden vices of ten thousand worlds were available openly  and  without

shame.  Traders  who  called   themselves   facilitators   arranged   personal

experiences.  Embargoed  technologies   were   readily   available   alongside

unlicensed copies of commercial products.

Librarians sold entertainments in every known medium without  respect  to

content or copyright.

Though Luke 'had prepared himself to  resist  the  blandishments  of  the

sellers on Traders Plaza, his resistance was broken  down  by  one  unexpected

offering on the display board of The Galactic Archives. He accepted  a  credit

tab from the barker outside, then stepped into the tiny storefront.

"Welcome! Welcome to The Galactic  Archives,  your  one-stop  source  for

everything that's worth knowing," said the hook, greeting him  with  a  broad,

oily smile.

"Whatever you want, we havemor we'll get it for you, free. What  did  you

say your name was?"

"Li Stonn."

"Li Stonn, walking through that door is going  to  be  one  of  the  best

decisions you ever made. When you leave us, you're going to leave  satisfied--

but you're not going to want to leave, because we have everything. Did you see

something particular that you were interested in?

Don't be shy about asking--" Luke pointed upward. "You had an ad up  just

a few moments ago. Something about  the  lost  secrets  of  the  Jedi--"  "Oh,

excellent choice--a real find. We just added that to  our  catalog,  and  it's

already  a  best-seller.  Absolutely  authentic  material,  answers  all   the

questions we all have about the  secret  masters  of  the  galaxy."  The  hook

pressed a bright blue tab the same.

size and shape as the credit tab into Luke's hand. "For security reasons,

all our sensitive  documents  are  available  only  at  our  central  archives

location. Just give these tabs to any trading agent when you arrive. Would you

like a courtesy cab?"

Dual display screens  in  the  back  of  the  cab  subjected  Luke  to  a

concentrated dose of Galactic Archives advertising-advertising that seemed  to

be tailored to the request he had made at the satellite shop.

The offerings included Emperor Palpatine's Principles of Power, a private

publication for Imperial Moffs; the Sith book of offerings  and  rituals;  the

H'kig book of laws; and the secrets of forming Bilar-type  claqa  group-minds,

among others--with a special discount if Luke took any three or more. Most  of

the documents were undoubtedly frauds,  and  none  tempted  Luke  beyond  idle

curiosity over the skillfulness of the fraud.

When Luke reached the traders' central site, negotiating the price of his

purchase required most of an hour, two attempts to leave empty-handed,  and  a

promise to bring a friend back to The Galactic Archives with him.

The final agreement brought the price down from two thousand credits  for

the Jedi file to nine hundred for the file and a pocket datapad.

By then night had settled solidly over Talos, and the bustle of  activity

had shifted away from the commerce district, leaving  the  flyways  and  walks

there nearly empty. Luke walked west, drawn by a bright nightglow in the  sky.

Twice he was approached from the shadows, but the weak minds of  his  would-be

attackers were easily influenced by a simple projection  of  doubt,  and  they

retreated to await' easier prey.

The nightglow  came  from  the  lights  of  a  sprawling  and  boisterous

entertainment district, The Revels. He could hear that it was well named  long

before he reached the district boundary and paid the general admission.

The walks were jostling-full with visitors bent on pleasure, and the  air

was full of loud voices, laughter, and the music escaping from dozens  of  rec

centers, casinos, and club bars.

Li Stonn wandered The Revels looking for a place to sit  undisturbed  and

read about The Secrets of Jedi  Power.  Luke  Skywalker  wandered  The  Revels

listening, watching, and trying to understand what drew so many and stirred in

them such a desperately fevered energy.

With the effects of his exercises lingering, the pleasures offered on the

banner displays of the clubs and rec centers seemed shallow and uninviting.

Be a pirate for a night at Tawntoom Territory-Play Point 5 where  it  was

invented! New games every five minutes! Ninety-percent payoffs!

Near-Death Experiences! Walk Right to the Edge with our Master  Torturers

and Million-Credit Insurance!

Melee!  -  -  Any  Weapon,  Any  Target!  The  Ultimate  Personal  Combat

Simulator!

The Daughters of the Erapath Princess Know Exactly  What  You  Need-Arena

Shock-Ball Now with Ultracharge!

Li Stonn was no more interested than Luke. But there were  no  places  to

sit outdoors--not even a half-wall or a ledge--and no peace from the crowd  or

the hookmen. The managers of The Revels had cannily decided that if a  visitor

needed to rest, it should be somewhere indoors, where the average seat  turned

a hundred credits an hour in drinks, food, and services.

Facing that prospect, Luke decided to leave The Revels and return to  the

docking bay. It was possible that Akanah had already returned--and if she  had

not, he would at least have quiet for his reading.

But making his way to the outgate, Luke turned a  corner  and  was  taken

aback by the brilliantly lit exterior of a  club  bar  called  Jabba's  Throne

Room. Performing Nightly--The Original Max Rebo Band, said the  scroll.  Visit

Jabba's Guest Quarters with a Pleasure Slave. Face the Mighty  Rancor  in  the

Pit of Death-Driven by an outraged curiosity, Luke joined the  line  and  paid

the membership charge without haggling.

Inside, he descended  a  curving  flight  of  stairs  into  a  remarkably

faithful copy of the throne room in Jabba's desert palace on Tatooine.

Some of the dimensions had been stretched to accommodate more  tables  in

front of the bandstand and around the rancor pit,  but  the  architecture  and

atmosphere were authentic.

"Why, it's just like the Palace Museum," Li Stonn said to  the  tall  and

elegantly dressed Twi'lek barring the way at the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm afraid my master Jabba is away on business," said  the  Bib  Fortuna

look-alike, nodding toward the empty dais. "But I'm having a little  party  in

his absence, and I hope you'll enjoy  yourself."  His  head-tails  stirred  in

signal, and one of the scantily clad dancing girls hurried to him.

"Yes, Lord Fortuna," the server said.

"Oola, this is a friend of mine," said the major-domo.

"Treat him well. Find him a seat at my best table."

The  same  fiction  was  carried  through  everywhere  else--an   Ortolan

keyboardist leading a jizz-wailer trio on the bandstand, the  roaring  of  the

rancor underfoot, an annoying Kowakian  monkey-lizard  skittering  around  the

room stealing food and cackling rudely, even a carbon-frozen Han Solo  hanging

in the display alcove. But a busy kitchen was concealed down the  corridor  to

the servant's quarters, and the  price  card  "Oola"  left  for  him  included

various services available upstairs in the guest quarters  and  downstairs  in

Jabba's dungeon.

It was  tasteless  and  exploitative,  but  the  music  was  surprisingly

agreeable, the roast nerf was tantalizing, and the clientele was markedly more

subdued than their counterparts out on the walks. Li Stonn ordered a drink and

the executioner's cut of nerf, refused all other offers with a  polite  smile,

and settled in to discover the truth quotient of The Secrets of the Jedi.

Shortly after his meal  arrived,  Luke's  consciousness  was  pricked  by

hearing a familiar name spoken at  a  nearby  table:  Leia's.  He  looked  up,

fearing that the evening's entertainment at Jabba's Throne  Room  would  be  a

dance by a slave-girl-Leia look-alike. But the band was on  a  break  and  the

transparisteel dance platform over the rancor pit deserted.

Luke extended his awareness, seeking the voice and the conversation  that

had intruded.

"This'll lead to war," the woman was saying. "And  bravo  for  that.  The

Republic has every right to slap the Yevetha down for what they've done."

"That's nonsense," her companion--a slender Lafran--retorted. "It's  like

going into someone else's home to break up an argument.

Completely inappropriate."

"We're not talking about an argument. We're talking about murder."

"It's still their business, not ours."

"You can't just let them get away with murder."

"What does it matter to us what anyone does outside our  borders?  If  we

try to police the whole galaxy, we'll always be at  war.  Organa  Solo  should

just grow up, and accept that the universe is an imperfect place."

"That's awfully cold," the woman said, "It sounds like if  you  heard  me

screaming next door, you'd just complain about having your sleep disturbed."

"We're all responsible for protecting ourselves--and no  one  else,"  the

Lafran said, shrugging. "We have no business going into Farlax to pick a fight

over someone else's business. If a single Fleet pilot dies there, the Princess

should be put on trial--for murder and treason."

That brought a chilly end to the conversation. The woman  left  the  club

alone; shortly after, the Lafran disappeared up  the  stairs  leading  to  the

guest quarters. Luke returned his attention to his meal.

But when "Oola" came by with an unordered second drink, Li Stonn asked if

it would be possible to get a newsrecord on the troubles in Farlax.

She smiled as though he had asked a foolish question, and  returned  with

it before the last bite of nerf disappeared. The price of that convenience was

added to his bill as a stiff service charge, along with the cost of the drink.

Shortly after, a holographic Jabba made an appearance on the  dais  above

the main floor. That signaled the start of an elaborately scripted  show  that

promised to involve not only "Bib Fortuna" and  the  dancers,  but  additional

actors and the audience as well.

Luke took that as his cue to  leave.  His  decision  was  affirmed  when,

climbing up the curving stairs to the street, he encountered the bounty hunter

Boushh coming down them with an unconvincing Chewbacca in tow.

"Aren't you a little short for a Wookiee?" he muttered under  his  breath

as they passed.

When Luke reached the docking bay, the door was still locked,  the  skiff

was still secure, and Akanah was still away. Nor was there any  sign  she  had

returned and left again. Checking the chronometers, he found that she had been

gone more than sixteen hours.

Where are you? he thought. What are you doing so long out there? You have

so little money, and asked me for none--and that's all this place respects-But

Luke resisted the impulse to collect his  light-saber  and  head  off  in  the

direction of the Pemblehov District. Climbing up to  the  Mud  Sloth's  flight

deck, he settled in the flight couch with his reader and  two  expensive  data

cards. As the balance of the night slowly ground by, he diverted himself  with

absurdities about the Jedi and the troubling news about what  sounded  like  a

coming war--hoping that wherever they were at that moment, neither Akanah  nor

Leia needed his help more than she needed him to stay away.

Akanah stood before the housing block known as Atrium 41  and  viewed  it

with dismay.

Even in the  forgiving  early-morning  light,  the  fif-teen-level  tower

looked like a home for people who had made a habit of leaving everything  they

had in the casinos.

Every other letter was missing from the unlit sign, and the entry  arch's

security doors were propped open with metal  bars.  There  was  an  unpleasant

smell in the air that seemed to arise from the sun shining on the stone.

Akanah's journey to reach this point had  taken  her  through  dozens  of

shabby clubs, shops, and nightspots in  the  second-tier  outer  districts  of

Talos--the optimistically named New Marketplace, the tawdry flesh auction that

was Pemblehov, the rough-tempered Demon's Lair.

She had bought and traded information as she could, walked long distances

on now aching feet, fended off three attacks and at least twenty  propositions

without drawing blood, and been granted an unexpected measure of compassion by

a street captain, who gave her a sheltered place  to  rest  without  expecting

anything in return.

Now she stood before her objective brushing a streak of alley grime  from

the sleeve of her dar-cloak and trying to fight off disappointment. She  found

herself hoping that her last informant had lied to her--it would be better  to

be played for a fool than to have to accept this as the  truth.  It  was  that

hope, as much as anything, that finally moved her forward through the entrance

arch.

The tower's 'atrium was barely deserving of the name.  Just  four  meters

across and ten meters long, it  was  more  truly  an  open  stairwell  with  a

skylight at the top.

Metal-grate balconies with bent and broken railings circled the atrium on

each level, linked up and down with companionways at the narrow end.

Triangular doors aping the gratings led to each level's four apartments.

Akanah made her way to the third level unmolested, but there her way  was

blocked by a gray-furred Gotal wearing a black Imperial Navy  officer's  tunic

with a blaster hole scorched through it, and a vibroblade slung in a smuggler-

style hip belt.

"Nice trophy," Akanah said. "Vice admiral, isn't it?

Did you take him yourself?"

The Gotal answered with a wordless growl.

"What's your business?"

"Does Joreb Goss live here?"

"Who asks?"

"I am Akanah."

"Who sends you here?"

"I am here on my own, on business of my own, in search of Joreb Goss."

"Master Joreb owns all of  this,  and  by  his  graciousness  allows  his

friends and servants the comforts of his domain. Are you  to  be  one  of  his

girls?"

"Yes," Akanah said. "I am."

"You're early," the Gotal said. "Don't be disturbing the Master. Wait  in

the playroom for the others."

"I'm not part of the morning auditions," Akanah said, growing  impatient.

She  washed  the  Current  gently  across  the  Gotal's  sensitive   head-cone

receptors, hoping to make him more pliant. "Take me to him, please."

"When the Master rises, I will tell him  that  the  woman  Akanah  comes,

asking after him on business of her own," said the guard. "He will decide what

meaning that has to him." The Gotal pointed at a door  one  level  up  on  the

Opposite side. "Wait there."

Joreb Goss had the swagger of petty self-importance and the  presence  of

someone who believed he was the power in the room. Tall and  trim,  with  pale

blue eyes in a lined but otherwise unmarked face, Joreb was  handsome  despite

his age. His long, thick silver hair was swept back to  a  vertical  comb  and

hung to the small of his back.

But his mock flight suit was gaudy and cheap, his black boots  buffed  to

an unlikely shine. His smile had the same false cast,  and  those  alert  blue

eyes appraised Akanah familiarly before meeting her gaze.

"So you are my visitor," Joreb said.

"No," Akanah said, holding herself erect. "I'm your daughter."

Joreb's eyes widened, but he said nothing at first.

Clasping one wrist behind his back, he circled her slowly. "My daughter,"

he repeated. "Who is your mother?"

"My mother was Isela Talsava Norand," Akanah said. "She's dead now."

Completing his circuit, Joreb stopped facing Akanah and leaned in  toward

her. "I don't know this name," he said. "What is  it  you  want,  daughter  of

Isela?"

"That you not lie to me," Akanah said. "You knew my mother  well--let  me

remind you when. You met her on Praidaw, came to  live  with  her  on  Gavens,

where she had a house in Torlas--the house in which I was born.

You moved with us to Lucazec. And within the year, you left us there."

"You speak of things older than my memories," Joreb said. "How  am  I  to

know the truth of them?"

"What do you mean?" Akanah said, a sudden flare of anger in her eyes  and

her tone. "I was the child, not you. I'm the one who had to learn about you in

a story told by my mother."

"I have not heard this story," said Joreb. "Perhaps you will tell  it  to

me."

"I came so far to find you," she said in a small voice.

"How can you be so cold to me--" "You are not unattractive,  and  perhaps

there is something about your eyes I find familiar," Joreb said.

"But, you see, I have developed a fondness for Rokna blae." His tone  was

sorrowfully apologetic. "Do you know it?"

"It's a deadly poison," Akanah said. "From a tree fungus  that  grows  on

Endor."

Joreb brought one hand forward and waggled a finger at her. "Yes,  that's

right--Endor. I had forgotten.

But you see, Rokna blue is not so deadly as some think.

The smallest amount brings an exquisite state of bliss. It magnifies  all

other pleasures for hours--indescribable.

You must try it to know. I would be happy to stand you to  your  first--"

"No, thank you," Akanah said curtly. "What does this  have  to  do  with  your

memory?"

Joreb looked momentarily lost. "What- - Ah, yes. I  was  saying,  in  the

proper doses--a microgram, no morerathe blue is not deadly. But it still  does

demand a price for its blessings."

"A price?"

Joreb touched his temple with two fingers of his left hand. "My  memories

do not go back even as much as a year. Everything is new to  me.  No,  do  not

pity me--I have chosen to live in a vivid present rather than hold on to  what

is now the forgotten past."

Akanah wore her horror openly. "How could you make such a choice?"

A smile spread slowly across Joreb's face. "Bliss beyond  imagining,"  he

said. "I could show you."

"No," she said firmly.

Joreb shrugged. "I find your choice as puzzling as you find mine. Do  you

have memories worth treasuring?

It seems I did not."

"I would have treasured them," she said, and tears ran  freely  from  her

eyes. "I came here to find my father.

What am I to do now?"

"You can stay if you like," he offered. "There  are  rooms  open  on  the

upper levels. Or, at least, I think there  still  are.  Trass  will  know  for

certain. But I'm afraid I will never be able to add anything to the story your

mother told you. You may be my daughter, as you say," Joreb said,  then  shook

his head regretfully. "But I am not your father."

(Chapter 9

Akanah returned to Docking Bay A13 twenty-two hours after  she  had  left

it, her face pale, her clothing dirty, her eyes dull.

"They aren't here," she said wearily  as  she  climbed  into  the  skiff,

waking Luke from an unplanned nap in the pilot's couch. "We can go."

Then, without saying anything more, she tried to crawl into the bunk  and

draw the curtain against Luke.

But he followed close behind her, unwilling to settle for so little after

so long.

"Go where?" he said, catching the curtain with a  hand  and  throwing  it

aside. "Did you find anything?"

"I found enough," Akanah said, turning her back to him.  "I'll  tell  you

when we're outbound."

"You said you'd come back for me. I'd like to see the scribing. I'd  like

to see where they lived. There might be something I can pick up."

"I'm too tired," she said.

"You're a mess, too, but I'm not keeping score," Luke said. "Look, I paid

to have the shower cleaned. I think you should go make  it  dirty  again,  and

we'll talk after. You'll feel better, no matter what comes next."

To Luke's surprise, Akanah allowed herself to be directed. She lingered a

long time under the water, longer than Luke himself had.

When she emerged, she was standing a bit straighter, with better color in

her face and a little life in her eyes.

But it seemed to Luke that whatever strength the shower had  returned  to

Akanah went directly into stubbornness.

She flatly refused to take him back out into the city, or to  talk  about

what she had done and where she had gone.

"I want to sleep," she said, standing at the foot of the mounting  ladder

with her soiled dar-cloak draped over one arm, the sun glistening in the  last

drops of water beaded on her bare shoulders.

"I'm going to sleep, or I'm going to fall down where I'm standing."

"I'll hire a speeder--" "No!" she said sharply. "We're  finished  here--I

didn't miss anything, and I can tell you everything I found when  I'm  rested.

Just take us away from here. Lift ship and jump us  a  few  hours  toward  the

Core. I should be human again by the time you're done doing  that.  But  right

now, I need to be alone, and I need to sleep. And that's what I'm going to do.

"

Brushing close enough past him that he caught the scent of  soap  on  her

hair, Akanah clambered back up the spindly ladder into the skiff.

Frowning resignedly, Luke walked to the bow of the skiff and started  his

preflight inspection. By the time he made his  way  up  the  ladder  into  the

flight compartment, the bunk was sealed as tight as a cocoon, with  as  little

clue to what would eventually emerge.

He slipped back into the pilot's couch with a  sigh,  switching  off  the

datapad and tucking it under a tie-down. "Mud  Sloth  to  Talos  tower,"  Luke

said. "Departing A-Thirteen, requesting clearance to orbit."

"Talos tower. Please hold, Mud Sloth. There's traffic ahead of you."

Luke glanced at the chronometer and shook his head with a wry expression.

They had been on Atzerri a few minutes short of a full day. His reply was  far

more Luke than Li Stonn.

"Talos tower, copy, I have the traffic on my sensors, and it  looks  from

here like a slow accountant making an extra pass," he said. "Do you think it'd

help him along if I rattle the walls with my thrusters while I'm  waiting  for

him to count to one?"

Clearance to lift came a few moments later.  But  Luke  was  not  greatly

surprised to find that the final bill, transmitted to him as  he  cleared  the

atmosphere, still assessed him for two days' berthing.

Free Traders, Luke thought with disgust. Thieves with business cards.

Just before jumping the  skiff  out  from  Atzerri,  Luke  remembered  to

retrieve the report on the Mud Sloth from the New Republic  Ship  Registry  on

Coruscant.

It was much shorter than the report on Star Morning, as befitted  a  ship

that Luke guessed had probably spent most of its  life  grounded.  The  little

ship was impractical for  anything  more  than  the  occasional  businessman's

vacation or off-the-spacelanes sales call. Most of its value was as  a  status

symbol, something a Have could talk about where the Have-Nots could listen  in

envy.  To  judge  by  the  skiff's  lines  and  detailing,  Verpine  had  very

consciously traded comfort underway  for  a  design  that  looked  fast  while

sitting still.

But Luke's only interests were the ownership records and the most  recent

entries in the traffic log.

After Akanah's behavior on Atzerri, Luke had developed a renewed interest

in independent confirmation of the things she had been telling him.  He  still

wanted to believe her, but was no longer sure that he could. And, one  way  or

another, he had to know.

Luke also found he had developed a renewed  curiosity  about  the  things

Akanah was not telling him. It had occurred to him, for instance, that  almost

every time

Akanah spoke about her past, she spoke about her life  on  Carratos,  not

Lucazec. Knowing how hungry he was for information about his  mother,  he  had

expected Akanah to be generous with anecdotes and remembrances about the  part

of her life she claimed to look back on most fondly.

But such remembrances had been few,  and  Nashira  had  figured  in  even

fewer. It made  Luke  wonder,  and  wondering  led  to  doubt,  and  doubt  to

suspicion--a highly undesirable state of affairs.

So Luke was relieved at first when  the  initial  screen  of  the  report

informed him that NR80-109399, a Verpine  Adventurer,  Model  201,  production

group E, belonged to: Akanah Norand Pell, being an adult resident of Chofin, a

settlement belonging to the autonomous state of Carratos, under the  authority

of which this registration is granted.

And the recording date for the articles of registration  was  recent--not

quite half a year past.

Turning to the traffic log,  Luke  found  more  welcome  news.  The  only

planetfalls recorded for Mud Sloth since Akanah had taken  ownership  were  at

Golkus and Coruscant, and Golkus was near enough  to  being  on  a  line  from

Carratos to Coruscant that a  stop  there  en  route  needed  no  explanation.

Curiously, though, there was no record of their departure from Coruscant,  nor

of their stops at Lucazec, Teyr, or Atzerri.

The latter omission Luke could explain by the update  cycles--there  must

not have been time for the routine transmission  of  data  from  those  flight

control centers to Coruscant, or for the addition of that data to  the  master

record. But the former omission was puzzling.

Luke's cloaking work as they left Coruscant should  only  have  concealed

their point of origin from watching eyes and discouraged curiosity  about  any

out-of-trajectory alarms at Flight Control.

But as far as Coruscant was concerned, Mud  Sloth  had  never  left.  The

skiff had never requested clearance to lift  to  orbit,  had  never  requested

clearance through the planetary shield--except  they  never  could  have  left

without it. And shield passage required not  only  that  the  skiff  answer  a

transponder interrogation, but also that Ship Registry verify the ID.  It  was

impossible to imagine how their passage had gone unrecorded.

Luke wondered what would happen when the out-world  updates  arrived  and

Mud Sloth was suddenly in two places at once.

Then, just for a moment, he toyed with the idea  that  both  places  were

really the same--that they were still on Coruscant, perhaps even still in  his

hermitage, and some elaborate deception was under way.

He quickly rejected the idea as too extreme a solution to the mystery.

But it left a worrisome question  in  its  wake:  Just  what  was  Akanah

capable of? What were the limits of her power?

May I cloak us as we leave? she had asked.

And he had not thought to question it.

What had she done? Something that could hide  them  completely  from  the

best planetary security the best engineers could devise? He  realized  he  had

missed a pattern.

How had she gotten into his hermitage without his knowing it? How had she

gotten past the security  droid  and  into  the  commonal  on  Teyr?  All  the

questions pointed toward the same answer--some gift of deception, illusion, or

concealment that went well beyond what he himself could call upon.

She can pierce my projections, he realized. I  wonder  if  I  can  pierce

hers. I wonder if I can even tell when she's using one.

Distracted by such thoughts, Luke almost overlooked the other surprise in

the report from Coruscant.

It waited for him in the section on ownership history, and fell under his

eyes while he was wondering why, if she had such  a  talent  for  concealment,

Akanah had needed to buy a ship at all.

You could have stowed away on any ship at any time, he was thinking.

You wouldn't have been trapped on Lucazec. Stang, you could  have  stolen

the price of passage, even the price of the shipm Then  he  noticed  that  the

sole prior owner of the skiff was a  man  named  Andras  Pell,  and  that  the

transfer category given was: CLASS III NONTAXABLE--INHERITANCE BY MARRIAGE  He

rose out of the couch and turned to stare at the closed curtain screening  the

bunk. Just how did you buy your freedom? he thought at Akanah. And  what  else

are you keeping from me?

Akanah hibernated--or hid--for nearly ten hours.

But rather than frustrating Luke's curiosity, her absence redirected  it.

For the last five hours of her isolation, Mud Sloth drifted  in  realspace  on

the fringe of Atzerri's Oort Cloud with only the cold methane-ice  comets  for

company.

With all his inhibitions about  making  inquiries  behind  Akanah's  back

gone, Luke made full use of the time, his credits,  and  his  priority  access

codes.

From Carratos he  requested  any  information  available  from  newsgrid,

political, or police records on Akanah Norand Pell, Andras Pell, and  Talsava.

He sent the same query to Coruscant's  criminal  records  office  and  citizen

registry and to the home offices of both the Coruscant Global Newsgrid and the

New Republic Prime Newsgrid.

From the New Republic Reference Service, he requested  a  quickreport  on

naming conventions on Lu-cazec and Carratos, thinking he might  parse  another

lead from the names in hand.

A second request to the same source asked for five-hundred-word  excerpts

from all matches on the key words "Fallanassi" and "White  Current."  After  a

short  debate  with  himself,  and  despite  the  pathetic  and  sensa  tional

inaccuracies of Secrets of the Jedi, Luke also contacted an information broker

on Atzerri and paid a hundred credits for a search on the same keys.

He also requested a Current Terms & Conditions brochure  from  the  chief

librarian's office on Obroa-skai.

The library computers there  were  the  only  resource  offering  both  a

greater variety and a greater volume of records than those held by Coruscant.

But Obroa-skai's generosity with its planetary treasure was limited.

To protect against theft of the library, and  to  provide  the  resources

needed to maintain it, accessing the records meant either going to  Obroa-skai

or hiring one of the library's own trained contract researchers.

In either case, Obroa-skai was not a resource one  turned  to  for  quick

answers. The official language of New Republic recordkeeping  was  Basic,  and

everything held by Coruscant was kept in one  of  several  readily  searchable

data specifications. But the Obroa-skai library was a  collection  of  primary

documents, in ten thousand storage formats and uncountable languages.

The most complete general index  covered  only  fifteen  percent  of  the

library's holdings, and all the specialty indexes combined added  only  a  few

percent to that.

Those were the principal reasons why  the  brochure-which  Luke  received

within minutes of  requesting  it,  as  the  first  response  to  any  of  his

inquiries--reported that a normal single-part  library  search  was  averaging

eight days. The waiting list for terminal time was holding  at  fifteen  days,

and the backlog for contract researchers had climbed to seventy.

Discouraging as those numbers were,  Luke  dispatched  a  command-control

message to Artoo and Threepio on Yavin 4, instructing them to go to Obroa-skai

and search the library on his behalf, as they had done once before.

The only request he made that was refused  outright  was  for  the  Fleet

Office's daily Tactical Briefing Memo randum, also known as the trouble map--a

compendium of situation reports from all the various Fleet and base  commands.

Unlike that aboard his E-wing, Mud Sloth's  hypercomm  wasn't  military-rated,

and there was no persuading the Intelligence Section to send a white-star file

to what they considered an unsecured receiver.

Luke thought about comming Admiral Ackbar directly to ask  his  appraisal

of the trouble in Farlax--the news digest Luke had picked up  on  Atzerri  was

almost as sensational and unbelievable as the  Jedi  document.  But  doing  so

promised to invite questions Luke wasn't ready to answer, and possibly force a

decision he wasn't ready to make.

Instead, he chose to contact the public information offices of  both  the

Senate and the General Ministry. He asked for the official record of the  past

twenty days, hoping he could read between the lines well enough to know if  it

was time to head home.

Then he lowered the lights in the flight compartment,  stretched  out  on

the deck behind the control couches, and closed  his  eyes.  All  his  pending

requests required patience, from minutes to hours to days. But  just  reaching

out had left him feeling better about his circumstances.

Even if some of his efforts returned nothing useful, the next time he and

Akanah talked, he expected to be in a much stronger position.

Sorry as I am to say it, what I have to have now is reason to trust  you,

not just reason to want to, he thought. If we're going to go  on  any  farther

together, you're going to have to start trusting me.

Prompted by a sensation like a  feather  tickling  somewhere  inside  his

skull, Luke became aware of two things at once: that he had fallen  asleep  on

the deck, and that he was being watched.

He turned his head in the direction of the sensation and opened his eyes.

He found himself looking directly at Akanah. She was sitting on  the  edge  of

the bunk, hands folded on her lap, her hair bed-tousled.

"Hi," she said. "I'm sorry I monopolized the bunk for so long.  I  didn't

mean to do that."

Taken aback by her apology, Luke pulled himself up to a sitting position.

"

"'s all right," he slurred. "You must have needed it. You looked like you

did, anyway, back at Talos."

She nodded. "About Talos--there's some things we have to talk about," she

said. "You've been very patient with me, and I've been terribly unfair to you.

You deserve to know what's been happening with me."

Having had his own opening speech preempted, Luke could find nothing more

to say than "Go on, then--I'm listening."

Akanah nodded toward  the  foredeck.  "You  have  some  messages.  You'll

probably want to look at them first."

Eyeing her quizzically, Luke moved to the copilot's couch and browsed the

list of waiting replies.

There was an acknowledgment from Streen on Yavin 4,  which  Luke  skipped

for the moment. He also skipped the press folders from the Senate and  General

Ministry, which were irrelevant for the moment.

The New Republic Reference Service had responded with a short  precis  on

naming, ending in the messages: Search Key: FALLANASSI--Not Found Search  Key:

WHITE CURRENT--Not Found As Single Term Search Key: FALLANASSI + WHITE CURRENT

Not Found It was the same with the response from  the  information  broker  on

Atzerri--an apologetic note and an offer to apply half of the  search  fee  to

Luke's next request.

With increasing agitation, Luke skimmed through half a dozen more replies

from various agencies and companies on Carratos and Coruscant.

All were singularly uninformative--a few dates, a  few  facts  that  fell

into the category of vital statistics, and several NO  RECORD  and  NOT  FOUND

messages, with a pair of REQUEST DENIED rebuffs scattered among them.

"Let me tell you what your messages say," Akanah said  gently.  "My  full

name was Akanah Norand Goss, now Akanah Norand Pell. I was married on Carratos

to Andras Pell, a man thirty-six years my senior. Andras died  a  year  later,

and I inherited this ship and a few thousand credits.

His obituary says it was an innocent death, and no one official seems  to

have taken any notice of his passing, but you wonder  if  I  might  have  both

married and killed him to escape from Carratos. And no matter  who  and  where

you asked, there's nothing at all to be found about the Fallanassi."

"How do you know?" he demanded, twisting around to  face  her.  "Did  you

read my mail?"

"No. I didn't need to."

"You knew I was going to check up on you," he said.

"Oh--I thought you would,  eventually.  I  rather  thought  it  would  be

sooner."

"So you checked yourself, and you knew how little I'd find."

"I checked for myself," she corrected. "You're not the only  one  looking

for pieces of your past."

He sat down on the edge of the copilot's couch.

"Why are there so few?" he asked, the accusatory tone leaving his voice.

"Talsava and I lived in the shadows on Carratos. We came in unregistered.

We lived in a part of Chofin where people come and  go  without  notice.  When

Tatsava left, I became one of the invisibles--I  owned  nothing,  did  nothing

that put my name in the identity records of the occupation. The  only  time  I

ever lived above the line on Carratos was the last two years--the years I  was

with Andras."

"No one questioned who you were, where you came from?"

"No. The old records were  seized  by  the  Empire,  and  the  occupation

records were destroyed by the liberty movement. Everyone  was  given  a  fresh

start. I took a name in the local custom for women--given name, mother's name,

father's name. But it means nothing anywhere but there, anytime but then."

"So there's no reason for it to be anywhere in Coruscant's records."

"Or Lucazec's, or Teyr's. It's not that  there  are  other  names  behind

which the records hide--" "As far as the bureaucrats  and  census-takers  were

concerned, you didn't exist."

She smiled. "On Carratos, the census is of property  and  the  owners  of

property," she said. "When I owned nothing, I did not count. When Andras  took

me, I was his property. Now that I own this"--she raised her hands to indicate

the skiff "I am a person."

Luke nodded slowly. "I guess that all makes sense, the  way  you  explain

it," he said. "But something else I learned still doesn't have an explanation.

The traffic records say we're still on Coruscant, and I'm  starting  to  think

that we're still going to be there no matter how many systems we visit."

Inexplicably, Akanah giggled. "Did your tracking report mention  a  visit

to Golkus?"

"Yes!" Luke said. "On your way to Coruscant."

"And did it say why I went there?"

"No. I didn't think about it much, either," Luke  admitted.  "I  guess  I

figured that, it being your first trip in the skiff,  there  was  either  some

little problem you needed fixed, or you just didn't like being alone out here.

"

"Well--the second is true, absolutely true. But  so  is  the  first.  The

problem I needed fixed was the ship's identification transponder. I told you--

we leave no trail that an outsider can follow. There was someone on Golkus who

could help with that."

"Someone? Altering ID profiles is no mean trick."

"His name would mean nothing to you but could harm him," Akanah said.

"I believe he once worked with---or for--Talon Karrde."

"How do you know him?"

"He came through Carratos once, years ago," she said. "When I heard  why,

I arranged to meet him and to do him a favor. But the price was still dear.  I

paid him with most of the credits I had, plus  favors  I  had  collected  from

others."

"So he changed the profile--what, to some other Adventurer? So some other

ship left Coruscant."

"Oh---he did more than change it," Akanah said.

"If that's all I'd asked for, it wouldn't have been quite so dear. No, he

put what he called a smuggler's kit in the transponder."

"This ship's black-boxed?" Luke stared wonder-ingly.

"I guess that's what  it's  called.  Every  time  we  jump,  the  profile

changes--to something that looks legitimate but isn't. If I'd had the price, I

could have bought bootleg IDs instead of counterfeits."

"And I suppose the system doesn't activate until after you've jumped  out

from wherever the work was done, so the  trail  doesn't  point  back  to  this

gentleman."

Luke frowned. "Stang, the days we've wasted--we  could  have  jumped  out

from Lucazec, or Teyr--" "I encouraged you to," she protested.  "I'm  the  one

who asked you to disable the interlock."

"Yeah, but you neglected to mention that it'd be safe  to  do  it,"  Luke

grumbled. "We blast out of one system under one ID, tiptoe into the next under

an-other--and no one connects the two. Very sweet. This fellow  on  Golkus  is

going to do a brisk business."

"He chooses not to," Akanah said. "I  had  the  impression  he  considers

himself retired. He says he's very selective about who he'll do this  kind  of

work for."

"Well--I guess the fact he's on Golkus and not in Tatos backs  that  up,"

Luke said, shaking his head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did," she said. "Just now."

"That's a cheat," Luke said.

"Yes," she said. "The truth is I wasn't ready  to  trust  you  with  that

information. I didn't really know whether I might need to hide myself from you

at some point. I have a lot to protect."

"But you're ready to trust me now."

"If I don't trust you, I'm completely alone," she said, a hint of an  old

sorrow in her eyes. "And I can't do that anymore. I never wanted to, and now I

just can't. I can't hold you out when what I need is to be  close  to  someone

again."

"Akanah--" "Secrets are like walls, aren't they? They separate people.

And I've been alone behind these walls for as long as I  can  bear,"  she

said. "I'll teach you to read scribing, Luke. And if  you  want  it,  and  you

allow me enough time, I'll teach you the rest. You will become one  of  us  in

full measure--an adept of the White Current.

You will finally walk your mother's path."

Luke understood the significance of what he  was  being  offered.  "Thank

you," he said in a voice drawn tight by emotion. "Even the chance that I might

find her--I want to bring as much of her into my life as I  can--I  want  that

balance--" "But you still have questions," she supplied.

"Yes."

"Please don't hold them back because you don't want to seem ungrateful.

Ask them."

Her words captured the flavor of his reluctance exactly.

"Is telepathy one of the adept's skills?"

She laughed lightly. "Are people now so afraid to 'look closely  at  Luke

Skywalker that ordinary attentive-ness seems remarkable?"

Luke's smile was rueful and faintly embarrassed.

"Perhaps."

"They should not be," she said. "Now ask me the real question.

Something else in those reports, I think."

"Something that wasn't there," he said. "You were right. There  wasn't  a

word about the Fallanassi-not on Lucazec, or Teyr, or Coruscant,  or  Atzerri.

Not that word."

"You must wonder whether there really is a circle," she said, "or if this

is just a fable spun by a lonely mad-woman to lure you  away  with  her."  She

showed a small smile, inviting him to demur.

"I  just  expected  there  to  be  something.  Rumors,  myths,   legends,

superstitions---it's hard to understand  how  a  people  as  powerful  as  the

Fallanassi, with as long a history as you've suggested, could leave  no  trace

of yourselves!"

"Because we have made it so," she said quietly.

"--Or are the traces there, and I don't  know  the  right  names  to  ask

after- - What did you say?"

"Because we have made it so," she repeated. "When such traces appear,  we

remove them. But there are not many to remove, because we have not made it our

purpose to leave a mark."

Luke nodded slowly. "Not to conquer--not to  con-vert--but  to  find  the

place where one belongs--" "Yes. If you understand that,  you  understand  the

most important truth of the Current," she said. "If you let it, it will  carry

you to where you need to be, for the lessons you need to learn, the  work  you

need to do, and the people who need you in their lives."

Nodding, Luke slid across to the pilot's seat.

"Speaking of which--we've been sitting here a long time.

We should get going," he said. "But I need to know where."

"J't'p'tan," she said. "The world is called J't'p'tan."

Luke turned away toward the controls. "Well--you've stumped me again.

I'll have to look that one up in the navigation atlas."

"Luke--" "What?"

"Isn't there a question you haven't asked?"

Luke thought for a moment. There were many he still could  ask,  but  the

urgency had left them. He believed she would answer them all, in  their  turn.

"Yes, one," he said finally. "Did you love Andras?"

"That isn't the question I expected," Akanah said, and bit her lower lip.

"Yes. I loved him. He held me lightly.  He  found  something  in  me  that  he

thought was beautiful, and he never tried to  change  me.  And  he  was  never

cruel. It was like being a child--like being a child should be. I wish that it

could have lasted."

Curiously, J't'p'tan wasn't in the skiff's navigational database.

Since the spelling was so odd, he pressed Akanah about it.

"It isn't a Basic word," she  said,  calling  forward  to  him  from  the

refresher. "It's the Basic transliteration of four mystical glyphs in  H'kig--

'jeh,' the immanent; 'teh,' the transcendent; 'peh,' the eternal;  and  'tan,'

the conscious essence. Only 'tan' may  be  written  out  in  full.  The  H'kig

consider the others too sacred. The spelling I gave you is the convention that

respects that belief."

"You could have just said 'I'm sure,'" he said with mock grumpiness.

"Next time, I will."

The failure of the skiff to identify their  destination  forced  Luke  to

make a query to Coruscant, and Mud Sloth to linger a  while  longer  near  the

Oort Cloud. When the Astrographical Survey Institute  returned  the  requested

coordinates, they caused Luke's eyes to widen.

"A long way," he said, zooming and scrolling the  nav  chart  across  the

primary display. "And we can't go there directly, because that'd put us on the

wrong side of the Borderlands for the whole middle third of the trip."

"Which would be unsafe, I take it."

"There are Interdictor patrols all in through  there,"  Luke  said.  "But

that's okay, because it's too far to go in one jump  anyway.  We'd  be  twenty

hours over the skiff's endurance. I'm going to have to pick a  stopping  place

somewhere along the way." He waggled a finger over one  section  of  the  map.

"Somewhere in here--that'll keep us on the right side of the line."

"I'll leave that decision up to you."

Luke drew a small square around their destination and zoomed the  map  in

to a more familiar scale. Legend marks and other identifiers popped into view.

"Farlax Sector," he said under his breath.

"What?"

"Talking to myself," Luke said. "I'm tired. My mind's already lying  down

in the bunk."

He zoomed the map another order of magnitude. Not just  Farlax--Koornacht

Cluster, he realized with a troubled frown. Pulling the datapad from the  tie-

down keeper, he brought up the news abstract and searched it for J't'p'tan. It

was a relief not to find it listed among the worlds involved in the fighting.

Still frowning, Luke next turned to the PIO reports still waiting in  the

message queue. Skimming, he found confirmation for the key element in the news

reports--some colony worlds within Koornacht  had  been  attacked,  and  their

populations exterminated, by the Yevetha. Some colonies were  given  by  name,

some only by the origin of the colonists.

But J't'p'tan was not mentioned.

Nor were the H'kig.

He zoomed the navigation map once  more  and  studied  the  geography  of

Koornacht Cluster. J't'p'tan lay in the interior, out of scanning range for  a

ship on the edge of the Cluster. If something had happened  there,  Corus-cant

might not have any way to know.

Do I tell her? Do we wait here until we know more, or do we go?

As he plotted an alternate course--one that would take them as  close  to

the border as possible  without  crossing  the  line--he  allowed  himself  to

consider the horrendous possibility that the Yevetha had fallen  on  J't'p'tan

and exterminated the Fallanassi. It was possible that he and  Akanah  had  set

out on their journey too late--by no more than a few  tens  of  days.  It  was

possible that Nashira had been alive that short a time ago--and was now dead.

Akanah emerged from the refresher, and Luke pushed the  datapad  back  in

the keeper as she came  forward.  I  can  carry  this.  I  can  tolerate  this

uncertainty--she can't, he told himself as he blanked the secondary display.

"We have a good line to Utharis," he said to her. "A Tarrack world,  just

inside the border. We should be able to take care of the skiff there  with  no

problems."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No," Luke said, sending the coordinates to the autopilot. "You?"

"No."

"Can't get a  better  recommendation  than  that,"  Luke  said,  suddenly

feeling as tired as he had pretended to a short  time  before.  "When  we  get

there, I'll buy you a souvenir hat."

He did not wait for Akanah to settle in her couch.

Thumbing the hyperdrive safety and throwing the actuators  forward,  Luke

bent time, stretched the stars, and hurled the ship toward Utharis.

Lying on his back in the bunk, Luke stared up into  the  mesmerizer  that

covered the bulkhead above the bunk.

The thin panel offered several holographic depth  illusions  intended  to

combat shipbound claustrophobia, an array of hypnotic sleep-inducing light and

color patterns, and several other displays of a  purely  recreational  nature.

Playing before Luke's eyes was the slowly spinning disk  of  a  great  spiral-

armed galaxy as viewed from outside, a thousand light-years above the galactic

plane.

Luke had seen such a  sight  once  before--from  the  Alliance's  medical

frigate, at the deep rendezvous point they had  code-named  Haven.  The  sight

took him back.

That had been after the debacle at Hoth, after the escape from Bespin.

He held his right hand, the bionic hand, up before his  face  and  flexed

the fingers, remembering--trying to remember.

Even more than leaving Tatooine in the Falcon with Han  and  Obi-Wan,  it

was his encounter with Vader, there in Cloud City, that divided his life  into

two halves.

Before that, Luke had been little different from any of the Empire's many

casual victims--uprooted from his home by Imperial  brutality,  recruited-into

the Rebellion more by rage and tragedy than ideology.

The blaster boltg that killed Owen and Beru had destroyed one future  and

sent him tumbling into another. But it had seemed  a  matter  of  chance,  not

destiny.

His meeting with his father, though, had laid a  greater  weight  on  his

shoulders. Not until he was hanging from the power gantry, hearing  the  voice

from behind the black mask speaking unthinkable words, had he understood  what

was being asked of him. Not until then had he known that he and  no  one  else

could carry that weight. Looking back to that moment was looking back  to  the

moment  he  became  himself.  Looking  back  beyond  that  moment  was  almost

impossible.

You can hardly see twenty-one from thirty-four, he thought.

The soft click of the curtain release interrupted  his  introspection.  A

moment later, Akanah slid the sections apart.

"Somehow I knew you  were  still  awake,"  she  said,  showing  that  now

familiar quick smile. "What did I leave you wondering about?"

He shook his head. "I was just thinking about when I stopped being a kid.

And how long ago it seems."

"What if you live to be as old as Yoda?"

He smiled ruefully. "Then I'll probably laugh at myself for  feeling  the

way I feel right now."

"It's not the time. It's the responsibility," she  said,  and  the  smile

left her eyes. "Luke--I'm sorry to intrude on you  this  way.  But  there  was

something I didn't tell you, and should have. And I didn't feel right  letting

it wait."

Luke sat up far enough to prop himself up on his elbows. "Okay."

She sat down on the wide sill at the edge of the bunk where  the  curtain

track ran. "Even though I held back some things you might wish I'd  told  you,

I've tried to always tell you the truth," she said. "But  I  did  lie  to  you

about Atzerri."

Luke sat up a little farther. "Oh?"

"I took you to Atzerri under false pretenses," Akanah said.  "The  circle

was never there. You were right about Star Morning. The writing at  Teyr  said

to go to J't'p'tan."

"Then why?"

"I had to," she said. "I had to try to find my father."

Luke looked hard at her for long seconds, but his words were surprisingly

soft. "Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"I was afraid of what I might find," she said, dropping her eyes. "I  was

afraid of what you might think of me if my father turned  out  to  be  someone

even I can't respect."

"Well--I understand that, too," Luke said. "I think Leia's been afraid to

look for our mother. Maybe if I were Leia, I would be, too."

"Why?"

Luke considered for a moment  before  answering  "Her.  memories  of  our

mother--few as they are, and little as they've told us--are very  precious  to

her. They're a child's memories, innocent, idyllic. And she's protecting them.

"

"Protecting them? From what?"

"Reality," Luke said. "There's nothing Leia could  possibly  learn  about

Mother that could improve on those memories--and a lot she  could  learn  that

could damage them. Leia's never  had  to  consider  our  mother  in  her  full

complexity. What kind of relationship did she have with Vader?

Why did she have his children? Why did she give us  up?  When  you  start

letting yourself ask questions like those, you  risk  getting  an  answer  you

don't like."

"But it's different for you?"

"I don't have any memories to protect," he said, with a hint  of  wistful

regret in his voice. "I just want to know who I come from what  else  I  carry

inside me. I'm not as worried about  being  disappointed."  He  smiled  wryly.

"Though if I discovered that Mother had something to do  with  turning  Anakin

Skywalker into Darth Vader--" "Oh, no," Akanah said, looking up  and  touching

his hand reassuringly. "I promise you--Nashira is nothing  like  that.  Please

believe me."

He nodded. "I do."

"That's so important to me--and I'm afraid I've destroyed it," she  said,

her voice quivering with anguish. "I didn't want you to  have  any  reason  to

doubt me, any reason to question coming with me." She smiled sadly.

"So, of course, I lied to you. I'm so sorry, Luke. I knew better. I  knew

I would never be able to deceive you."

Luke folded his fingers around hers and squeezed.

"Did you find him?"

"Yes," she said, and her eyes began to glisten. "In a way, I did. I found

him in Trasli District. He's the very minor chief of a  shabby  little  tribe,

puffed up with flattery and brain-burned on Rokna blue.

He didn't remember my mother. He didn't know  he  had  a  daughter."  She

bravely tried a smile. "These little pieces of  us  that  others  hold  inside

them--some know their value, and others are careless with them.

When you find Nashira, I know that she will have more to  give  you  than

Joreb Goss did me."

"You didn't have much time," Luke said. "You can go back." one else lives

in his body. I will never speak to that person again."

Luke could tell that her composure at that moment was simply an  exercise

of will. There was a tremble in her hand, her eyes were tear-bright with loss,

and her skin was hot with her misery. But she would not let  herself  ask  him

for anything but forgiveness.

"I understand that, too," he said gently. "I know how that feels, to have

that door locked, and only an empty space beyond. I'm sorry. I know it hurts."

"He was my last hope for a key," she said, unable to keep the  pain  from

her voice. "They're both gone now--my mother and my father. If we  don't  find

the circle, I'm always going to be alone."

Words no longer offered any hope of comforting her, and her need was  too

acute to ignore. With a gentle tug on her hand and  a  meaningful,  confirming

look, Luke invited her into the bunk with him.

After a moment's hesitation, Akanah climbed in through  the  gap  in  the

curtains and curled up against him, nestled in the crook of his arm.

Before long, she was sobbing quietly, her body shaking beside his.

But the tears felt to Luke more like welcome relief than distress.

Saying nothing, he held Akanah close and tried to wrap her in  a  blanket

of comfort.

The galaxy turned like a wheel high above them, all its tumult  far  away

and, for the moment, forgotten.

III

Leia

Chapter 10

Viceroy Nil Spaar returned to the spawnworld of the Yevetha as more  than

a hero and just less than a god.

On the day of his return, more than three million of the Pure gathered to

watch the gleaming sphere of  Aramadia  descend  through  the  leaden  sky  of

N'zoth. By means of Imperial hypercomm and planetary net, the vast  throng  at

Hariz was joined by the entire population of the Twelve and the new worlds  of

the Second Birth.

The consular ship was so brilliantly lit by spotlights that it seemed  as

though a fragment of a star were delivering the architect of the  Purification

back to his people.

"Ni toi darama," they whispered. "The Blessed comes to us."

Overhead, smoke generators on the escort fighters  flying  cover  created

descending spirals of crimson and purple. The roar  of  Aramadia's  undampered

pulse-lifters beat down on the upturned faces of the vast  gathering,  lifting

their hearts. They embraced the concussion waves as though they were  caresses

by the viceroy's own hands.

"Hi noka daraya!" they cried. "The Brightness  touches  me!"  cades  were

struck deaf in the last seconds before Aramadia touched down  on  the  landing

baffle, the fine haircells sheltered in the line of pits  along  their  temple

ridges shaken until blood ran from them. The maimed fell  to  their  knees  in

joy, screaming the viceroy's name as  they  ecstatically  daubed  their  blood

across their chests as a badge of honor.

"I was there at Hariz to welcome darama Spaar," the deaf would  say  with

pride in the days to come. "My ears remember the glorious sound  of  his  pure

and loving power, and no lesser sound will ever make them forget it."

Aboard Aramadia, Nil Spaar stood at the curving viewport in  the  gallery

of his quarters and looked out over the throng. The viewport's security screen

concealed him from their eyes, but he could see that his Yevetha carpeted  the

landscape nearly to the horizon.

"Viceroy," said his aide, Eri Palle, standing a few steps behind. "Let me

tell you how beloved you are today.

Each and every nitakka below would gladly give his  blood  to  feed  your

nesting. Each and every marasi would gladly offer  herself  as  your  breeding

mate."

"You flatter me with exaggeration," said Nil Spaar.

"No, etaias," the aide protested. "I have been told  by  the  proctor  of

labor for your office here that they have been overwhelmed by offers.

The gate guard at your estate counts more than a thousand hopeful  marasi

who have shown themselves there."

"Indeed," Spaar said, glancing back over his shoulder.

"If you hear that he took any for himself, I trust you will see  that  he

pays for his error publicly and painfully."

"He wouldn't dare show such disrespect to you," Eri Palle said, aghast.

"He is as loyal to you as any of us--as I myself am."

"There is always someone who will dare, Eri,"  said  Nil  Spaar,  turning

away. "In that way ambition makes a place for itself. I dared, once.

Or do you forget how it was that Viceroy Kiv Truun left the palace?"

The ship shuddered under them as the landing pads touched  down  and  the

stabilizers took up the weight of the vessel. Then the distant rumble  of  the

lifters ceased, and the smaller sounds of  Aramadia's  systems  and  machinery

became audible once more.

"I remember," said Eri. "I still have my tunic, stained with Kiv  Truun's

blood, to remind me."

Nil Spaar nodded, then drew himself up to  his  full  height  before  the

viewport. "Have the spotlights dimmed, and drop the screens, Eri. Let them see

me."

The aide turned away to the viewport controls. A few  moments  later  the

crowd saw a narrow band encircling the ship  at  its  middle  draw  inward  to

create a balcony.

Standing on that balcony was a tall Yevetha in  ceremonial  scarlet,  who

raised his hand to them in salute.

The projected, polarized image was repeated at intervals around the ship.

No matter where the faithful stood, each could look up at Aramadia and see the

Yevethan leader.

The crowd roared its welcome with one fevered, joyful  voice.  The  sound

they made rivaled the noise of the ship's lifters and set the hull of Aramadia

vibrating in sympathy.

Nil Spaar basked in their devotion. The feeling  was  almost  as  sweetly

intense as the embrace of his nesting but left  him  shimmering  with  desire.

Both his fighting and his mating crests were vividly swollen.

The roar went on and on, with no sign of abating.

Finally Nil Spaar could stand it no longer  and  stepped  back  from  the

viewport, gesturing to Eri.

The aide quickly closed the screens, making the gallery a  private  place

again. Then he retreated before the viceroy, mindful of the engorged  fighting

crests.

"You see, etaias," said Eri, backpedaling. "How glorious for you."

"I want to go down to them. Is my skimmer ready?"  cessional  car,  built

for this occasion by the guildsmen of

Giat Nor as a gift to you. I am told that the craftsmanship is flawless."

Then I shall go accept this gift,  said  Nil  Spaar,  moving  toward  the

entry. "Thank you, Eri. Please see that my family is transferred to the palace

after the crowd clears."

"Yes, Viceroy," said the aide, his face falling as he realized he was not

to be allowed a place on the viceroy's processional  car.  Then,  fearing  his

thoughts had been read from his expression, he quickly fell  to  one  knee  in

obeisance. "I am honored to serve you, dararna," he said softly.

Nil Spaar's fingertips grazed the back of Eri's neck as  he  strode  past

him toward the corridor. "I am glad to hear it," said the viceroy.

"Be careful not to hunger too much for more."

Blind, silent, and isolated from one another, the 106 ships of the  Fifth

Battle Group of the New  Republic  Defense  Force  bored  through  hyperspace,

counting down to their arrival at Koornacht Cluster.

'I don't like to make this long a jump into a hot zone,"  General  A'baht

said under his breath, shaking his head.

Captain Morano, captain of the Fleet carrier Intrepid,  flagship  of  the

Fifth Fleet, was the only one on the bridge close enough to A'baht to hear his

words.

"A hot zone, General?" Morano asked. "The last report from our  prowlers,

before we left Coruscant, said that everything was quiet outside the  Cluster.

I thought we were going in to draw a line in the sky, nothing more."

"A lot can happen in three days,  Captain."  A'baht  glanced  up  at  the

mission timers. "We'll know soon."

The task force would leave hyperspace as it  had  entered  it,  with  the

spacings,  velocities,  and  timings  all  pre  determined.   Before   leaving

Coruscant, the Fifth had dispersed into the widest formation the jump lanes to

the target coordinates would allow.

The signal ferret had jumped first, followed by the  forward  scouts  and

pickets, then the well-spaced capital ships and their screens. No  change  was

possible en route. New Republic engineers had still not found a  solution  for

the hyperspace blackout.

Once the jump began, the Fleet was committed.

So 106 sets of decisions had had to be made before the Fleet  moved  out,

and the number of possible solutions to that matrix was uncountable.

Some solutions were ideal for one tactical situation, and disastrous  for

others. 'It was a guessing game, then a waiting game,  and  A'baht  hated  the

long hours with nothing to do but wonder if he had guessed right.

The worry, always, was that the tactical situation might have changed.

The worst version of that fear was that the enemy might have learned  the

jump vectors from spies or a prowler and prepared a deadly surprise.

That was why A'baht preferred to jump first to a staging area,  where  he

could pick up updated reports from Fleet Intelligence and make  any  necessary

adjustments before a final jump to enter the target  zone.  By  doing  so,  he

could shorten the window of opportunity created by the blackout to an hour  or

less.

But caution had  its  price,  and  the  price  was  paid  in  a  precious

commodity--time. A'baht had been ordered to take the Fifth back  to  Koornacht

with all possible speed.

It was too late to help Polneye or New  Brigia,  but  Princess  Leia  and

Admiral Ackbar wanted a quick show of strength. Only that,  it  seemed,  would

discourage the suddenly predatory Yevetha from eyeing  Galantos,  Wehttam,  or

any other settlement outside the Cluster.

Captain Morano's figurative description, drawing a line in the  sky,  was

perfectly apt.

The final report from the prowlers General Solo had left in Farlax Sector

had shown no enemy ship activity outside Koornacht, and very little traffic of

any other kind in the area--just a pair of tramp freighters and a gypsy  scoop

miner in more than a hundred cubic light-years of space.  There  had  been  no

attacks on New Republic territory, no confrontations between New Republic  and

Yevethan forces.

And the mission had begun in secure territory, the Coruscant system.

The risks of a direct jump seemed small.

But there were always risks. And no choice but to plunge through the door

without knowing what is on the other side, A'baht thought.

"Signal ferret reentry in ten," a tactical aide called out. "Nine.

Eight--" "Confirm alert level one," said Morano.

"Confirming," said the executive officer. "All defense systems  ready  to

go active. Flash alert receivers  are  green.  All  weapons  stations  crewed.

Flight Two and Flight Four are on  the  deck  and  hot,  ready  for  immediate

launch."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

There was no outward sign that  anything  had  happened  when  the  count

reached zero. Somewhere  ahead  of  them,  the  tiny  signal  ferret  and  its

complement of droids should have emerged into realspace  and  begun  receiving

and decoding any flash alerts and tactical updates from the Fleet Office.  But

they would not know if that had happened until Intrepid went through the door.

Another timer started counting down the short interval to  the  emergence

of the pickets and scouts. The background murmur  of  activity  on  Intrepid's

bridge grew louder. Captain Morano turned away from the status displays on the

viewscreen and crossed the bridge to his  combat  station,  strapping  himself

into the flak couch. Shortly after, A'baht did the same.

"There go the pickets," Morano noted unnecessarily.

"How many combat jumps have you made, Captain?"

A'baht asked quietly.

"Thirty-eight down in the roundhouse,"  Morano  said,  referring  to  the

combat operations center. "Nine on the bridge, all since the Empire fell."

"How many as captain?"

"Combat jumps? None."

"Then I suggest you begin telling yourself you've made a hundred."

"Why?"

"So that when your crew looks at you in the last seconds before we  enter

realspace, they will not see any reason to  distract  themselves  with  fear,"

said A'baht.

"Whatever waits for us, whether princess or  dragon,  we  are  called  to

embrace it. I am mindful of a Dornean war prayer I heard my own mother offer--

'I pray that my son does not die today. But if he should die, I pray  that  he

dies well. But most of all, I pray that if he lives, it will not  be  dishonor

which preserves him."" Captain Morano nodded.

"Are you a betting man, General? Princess or dragon?"

The third and final timer was counting down toward zero. "Captain,"  said

A'baht, "I am not certain I can always tell the difference."

All the major craft guilds had contributed to the processional car.

The scale was grand, the lines flowing.

The metalwork gleamed.  The  motor's  hum  was  muted  and  musical.  The

mounting ladder was a wonder of design, its airily elegant treads and supports

folding together and disappearing under the carriage the  moment  Nil  Spaar's

weight left it. The open cabin's cushions  and  wall  panels  were  plush  and

finely embroidered with the shield of the  Spaar  clan,  the  symbols  of  the

viceroy's house, the icons of auspicious blessing, and the glory-names of  the

Yevetha, all woven together in a design of spectacular beauty.

Even the car's driver and guards had been chosen to honor him. The driver

was that rare genetic curiosity, a white-cast neuter--pale as the  midday  sky

and neither male nor female. It sat tall and expressionless  in  the  driver's

creche at the front of the car, a silent herald whose presence alone announced

that a great man was coming. The guards were another curiosity: serial  twins,

grown from the same birth-cask and identical but for their ages. By tradition,

serial twins were thought lucky, and able to pass that  blessing  at  will  by

breath, touch, and blood.

"Proctor Raalk--" Nil Spaar said, looking down  from  the  cabin  at  the

small gathering in Aramadia's ground-level loading bay.

The proctor of Giat Nor stepped forward.

"Blessed."

"This pleases me greatly," Nil Spaar said.  "See  that  the  guildmasters

know that their work was well received."

"Thank you, Blessed," said Ton Raalk, bowing his head gratefully.

Nil Spaar acknowledged the proctor's submission with a nod and a gesture.

"I am ready. Driver, proceed."

The great curving doors ahead began to fan outward.

As the gap widened, a sound filled the bay, a sound that grew  moment  to

moment--the sound of voices suddenly raised in joy. Only  part  of  the  crowd

could see the doors reopening, but the word spread quickly to those whose view

was blocked.

As the car cleared Aramadia's hull, Nil  Spaar  closed  his  eyes  for  a

moment and drew a deep breath of the richly aromatic air.  It  seemed  to  him

like the first breath in ages that was wholly  free  from  the  taint  of  the

vermin.

Even aboard ship, their impure stench seemed to cling to  him,  lingering

in his nostrils like a reminder of their invasion of the All. It took the  hot

breezes of N'zoth to blow that contaminant away at last, just as it had  taken

the purifying fire of the fleet to rid  the  All  of  the  vermin's  poisonous

presence.

Nil Spaar opened his eyes and stood, feeling renewed.

There was a gripbar  by  his  hand,  but  he  had  no  need  of  it.  The

processional car was accelerating so gently and  turning  so  smoothly  as  it

glided across the broad landing pad that he could hardly tell that it  was  in

motion.

The car circled Ararnadia twice, affording the front ranks of the crowd a

glimpse of their hero and precipitating two surges forward that  the  security

forces met with paralysis fields. Then the car headed down the  wide  corridor

leading to the city road. Nil Spaar sighed with pleasure at the sight of  Giat

Nor ahead on the horizon.

The horror that was Imperial City faded from his memory.

He was home.

As he passed down the corridor, the clamor from the faithful beat at  Nil

Spaar from both sides. He looked at their faces and saw rapture.

He looked into their eyes  and  saw  soaring  hope,  profound  gratitude,

unconditional love.

"Stop," Nil Spaar suddenly called forward to the driver. "Stop the car."

The vehicle eased to a stop as gently as a breeze dies.

The elder guard, in the forward creche, was standing and looking back  at

Nil Spaar with concern. "Is there a problem, Blessed?"

"No," said Nil Spaar. "There is something I wish to do."

He opened the cabin's low door, and the  mounting  ladder  moved  quickly

into place to take his weight. At the bottom, he walked toward  the  crowd  on

the right, which fell eerily silent as  he  approached,  struck  mute  by  the

nearness of the Blessed. Signaling the car to follow, Nil Spaar  strode  along

the security line, appraising what he saw beyond it.

Then he stopped and stepped closer to a young nitakka, tall  and  strong,

with a fine splay of crests and ridges.

"You," Nil Spaar said, pointing. "Will you give your blood to me?"

Surprise froze the nitakka's expression, and then wonder animated it.

"Oh, yes, darama!" the young male cried, dropping to  his  knees  without

hesitation.

"Then come," Nil Spaar said, signaling the guards to pass him through the

security line. When the nitakka was within reach, the viceroy lashed  out  and

raked one cheek with  his  claw  in  a  symbolic  claiming,  the  bloody  gash

foreshadowing the sacrifice to  come.  The  crowd  chittered  with  a  nervous

excitement. The nitakka did not flinch.

"I accept your gift," Nil Spaar said. "Walk behind my car."

Then Nil Spaar turned away and crossed the pavement to the opposite side.

The startled hush was dissolving quickly into noisy anticipation as the  crowd

began to guess his purpose. Ignoring the shouted pleas and offers,  he  walked

parallel to the security line just as he had in selecting  the  nitakka.  This

time he looked only at the young females who still showed a mating  ridge  and

the soft round bulge of a mara-nas carried high inside.

"You," he said at last, stopping and pointing at one.

"Will you give your birth-cask to me?"

The marasi could not have heard his  words  over  the  screams  of  those

around her, but she bowed her head and came  to  him  all  the  same.  With  a

claiming touch, Nil Spaar spun her around so that her  back  was  to  him  and

seized her head  in  the  mating  grip.  She  dropped  to  her  knees  without

resistance, and he released her and stepped back, leaving her there.

"I accept your gift," he said. "Walk behind my car."

The processional car came forward and stopped  for  him,  and  Nil  Spaar

ascended once more to the open cabin. Once there, he spread his clenched fists

wide, turned his face  to  the  faithful,  and  roared  the  cry  of  the  old

imperatives, flesh and joy. They answered with the chant of grace to the  All,

as though approving his choices.

"Onward," Nil Spaar ordered the driver, then settled back into his  seat.

It was a profound power he had discovered, to know that his touch could change

lives, his glance confer honor, his  presence  bring  ecstasy,  and  his  whim

invite immediate gratification.

I shall have to be very careful not to let this distract me overly  much,

Nil Spaar thought as the car continued toward Giat Nor.  But  it  will  be  an

agreeable enough distraction for the present.

At a distance of half a light-year, Koornacht Cluster filled half the sky

with a spectacular wash of stars and lit the hulls of the Fifth Fleet  like  a

spotlight.

At the same time, local and hypercomm signals bombarded the vessels  that

had just emerged from hyperspace, lighting up stations all  around  Intrepid's

bridge.

"Captain, we have a priority  one  alert  from  the  Fleet  Office,"  the

communications chief sang out. "Fleet Office has upgraded the conflict code to

yellow-two. I have five, count five, attachments for General A'baht,  security

high."

Morano spun his chair toward the right. "Tactical--report!"

"All clear,  Captain.  Sensors  report  no  targets.  Pickets  report  no

contacts. Prowlers report no contacts."

"Poll the task force."

"Polling them, sir." It was the first chance to discover whether  any  of

the ships in the task force had been  lost  en  route.  "Picket  Wayfarer  and

tender Northstar do not respond. All others reporting on station."

"Confirming that," called the task force coordinator.

"Receiving notification that Northstar missed the  jump  due  to  navcomp

failure, arrival now expected two-eight-forty.  Wayfarer  suffered  hyperdrive

failure at mission time oh-nine-sixteen and dropped out early. She's now under

tow to Alland Yard for repairs."

"Scratch her from the list, Arky, and move  Vigilant  forward  into  that

slot," A'baht said calmly.

"Aye, General."

"Tactical, update," Captain Morano called.

"Still clear, sir."

"Maintain active scanning." Morano turned to A'baht. "Nothing out  there.

Then why did they kick us up to yellow-two?"

"Let me have my attachments here, Comm," said A'baht,  swinging  a  flat-

panel display up and across in front of him.

The polarizers on the secure display guaranteed  that  Morano  could  not

read it from where he sat, so he tried to read  A'baht's  face  instead,  with

little more success.

"Interesting," A'baht said finally, returning the display to its  recess.

"The yellow-two is due to the fact that the Yevetha apparently  knew  we  were

coming."

"Then where are they?"

"Apparently they chose not to meet us," said  A'baht.  "Or  to  make  any

other aggressive moves, for that matter. All the inhabited worlds  within  ten

light-years of here are reporting quiet skies."

"Well--that's good, eh? That's what we want, isn't it?"

"That's what the President wants," said A'baht. "I wish the Yevetha  were

here. I want a good look at their fleet. Chances are they're  getting  a  good

look at ours.

Narth, what can we do to make it harder for them?"

The tactical aide rocked back  in  his  chair.  "Shuffle  assets,  rotate

callsigns, hop and skip along the operational perimeter. I think we  can  keep

them confused for a while, anyway. But it's hard  to  hide  for  long  in  the

middle of nowhere."

"With all respect, General, the way I understood it, hiding was the  last

thing we were supposed to do  out  here,"  said  Morano.  "And  that  kind  of

maneuvering sends the chances of an operational accident way up.

Remember the Endor and the Shooting Star?" The two Alliance frigates  had

collided after a mistimed jump, with the loss of all hands. "Let  them  get  a

good look at us, so they know what they're in for if they come  out.  If  they

have any sense at all, they'll see they don't want to tangle with us."

"It's much too early to know if the way  they  think  qualifies  for  our

definition of 'serisible,' Captain," said A'baht. "The viceroy of the  Duskhah

League had some very strong things to say while we were en  route--some  about

us, some about Princess Leia, and all of it very  public.  You  can  hear  for

yourself--I passed that dispatch over to your queue."

A'baht looked out at the brilliant sprawl of stars.

"They knew we were coming, and they don't want us  here.  Until  we  know

just what they're capable of, I'm not going to be happy  about  sitting  here.

We're out in the open, and they're somewhere in the tall grass," he said.

"You know how strategists are--no matter what their species."

Captain Morano sighed and glanced across at his own tactical team.

"It's true--they're easily tempted.

They can't resist trying to plan the knockout first strike," he said, and

the tactical chief confirmed the truth of it with a guilty smile.

"So how do we play this?"

With a practiced ease, A'baht unstrapped his restraints  and  stood.  "We

sit here and let 'em look, because that's what we've been asked to do.

We move the prowlers as far forward as we dare and keep them moving along

the perimeter. And we all work on being very, very watchful."

To himself A'baht added, And then we hope the diplomats  and  politicians

either work this out, or deal us a stronger hand and  soon.  "I'll  be  in  my

ready room, working up the entry  report,"  he  said.  "Alert  me  the  moment

there's any change in the tactical situation."

In the privacy of his ready room, General Etahn A'baht learned that there

were not five, but six attachments to the Fleet Office's flash update.

The sixth was an electronic hitchhiker. It had no identifying code and  a

length of zero. But when A'baht keyed in  the  code  he  had  reluctantly  and

tediously memorized at Admiral Drayson's insistence, the  attachment  unfolded

into a lengthy dispatch from Alpha Blue.

A'baht watched the  images  of  the  Yevethan  colony  ships  landing  on

Doornik-319, of the Yevethan Star Destroyers  over  Polneye,  of  the  burning

fields at the Kutag factory farm, of the scorched valleys on New  Brigia,  and

wondered why the Fleet Office had withheld them from him.  All  the  important

information had been in his up-date--that the Yevetha had Imperial-design Star

Destroyers, that multiple  colonies  in  the  Cluster  had  been  attacked  by

Yevethan forces, and so on--but it had been stripped of its reality,  rendered

as sterile, bloodless, and calculated as the raids themselves.

The Yevetha had swept across the bright  stars  of  Koornacht  with  such

black ferocity that the sterile battlefields could not properly  bear  witness

to it. Their millions of victims now had only one face, that of the only known

survivor--Plat Mallar, who had seen the fire come and barely escaped it  on  a

foolish gamble. But the Fleet Office had kept Plat Mallar's face  from  A'baht

as well. The reports called him simply "a Polneyan pilot," as if afraid to let

him be seen as a brave young man who had  lost  everything,  and  whose  words

might prick a conscience or launch a cause.

"Recorder."

The little stenographic droid called SCM-22  trundled  forward,  twisting

and turning within a circle twice its own diameter. "Optimizing," it said in a

high, unmistakably artificial voice. "Ready."

"Record. Task force commander's entry report, append," said Etahn A'baht.

"Personal to Admiral Ackbar: In my estimation, the present deployment  of  the

Fifth Fleet is unlikely to be effective  either  as  a  deterrent  to  further

aggression or in denying the Yevetha the benefits of their past aggression.

"Our presence at this position directly threatens no Yevetha  assets  and

directly protects no friendly infrastructure.

Nor can we effectively block a breakout with only a single Interdictor.

The Yevethan fleet can go right over our head at any time,  and  we'd  be

left chasing them into the combat zone of their choosing."

He paused to collect his thoughts, idly tapping the bridge  of  his  nose

with the blunt tips of two fingers as he did. "It is  my  recommendation  that

vessels or detachments of vessels with combined combat ratings  no  less  than

strength three be sent to  Galantos,  Wehttam,  and  each  of  the  other  new

protectorates," he continued.

"This will make unmistakably clear what interests we're here to  protect.

It also may serve to remind the Yevetha that being able to reach these targets

isn't the same thing as being able to have them.

"But we also need to try to make it harder for the Yevetha to reach them.

The primary hyperspace nav routes out of  the  Cluster  should  all  be  under

interdiction, and from as close a proximity to the Yevetha  forward  bases  as

possible.

"Astrographic analysis shows that there are no  single-jump  exit  routes

from N'zoth, Wakiza, and the other known interior worlds--the density  of  the

Cluster makes things a little easier for us. But there are still too many ways

out. We cannot blockade Koornacht from this position, with  these  assets.  Do

not allow anyone there to believe otherwise.

"With respect to the preceding recommendations, I  formally  request  the

following  additional  assets  be  attached  to  this  command  as   soon   as

practicable: any  and  all  available  Interdictors.  Any  and  all  available

prowlers.

No fewer than four  additional  capital  ships,  frigate  or  above,  for

assignment to the protectorates--I don't want to pull anything back from  here

for that duty, lest we send the wrong message to the Yevetha.

"And, finally, we should be thinking about setting up a field supply  and

logistics center somewhere closer than Halpat.  If  our  presence  brings  the

Yevetha out, we're going to take losses, and I want something better than cold

space for our casualties and cripples.

A'baht, commanding, Fifth."

A'baht raised his eyes to the little droid. "That's it.

Expand, end, and close."

"Done. Compressing--done. Encryptingdone.

Ready for transmission."

"Send it," said A'baht, looking out his  viewscreen  at  the  curtain  of

stars and wondering if the predators concealed within were looking back out at

him.

The north beach at Illarian Point, on the  western  shore  of  Rathalay's

western sea, was wide, broad, and nearly deserted.

If it had been located on a recreation world like Amfar, or even anywhere

in Coruscant's temperate zones, the chances were that  the  beach  would  have

been bustling with activity and the dunes paved over  with  pleasure  resorts.

Humans were not the only species drawn almost worshipfully to the sun and  the

water.

But overlooked and underused had been exactly what Han had  been  looking

for, and he was delighted by the long, empty expanses of gray  basaltic  sand.

In more than two hours he had seen only two people, outside of the family. One

was an older man prospecting along the water's edge for  the  tiny  jewel-like

shells of sea motes, who stopped to show the children  the  small  handful  of

unbroken shells he had found. The other was a Thodian distance swimmer who had

passed offshore, taking no notice of them at all.

Anakin, Jaina, and Jacen showed no sign yet that the novelty  of  playing

in and along the sea was fading.

None of them had ever seen a body of  water  so  vast  that  it  met  the

horizon, or one that was home to carnivores large enough to devour an adult in

a few bites, and it made an impression on them. They allowed Han to tell  them

of the wreck of the starfreighter Just Cause, which lay  nine  hundred  meters

below the surface, its cargo of precious metals guarded  by  superstition  and

schools of razor-toothed narkaa. They even stood  still  for  a  visualization

lesson from Leia, who asked them  to  imagine  being  creatures  of  the  sea,

looking on the land for the first time.

Then they were off to play, wading into  the  sea  and  leaving  stories,

lessons, and parents behind. Jacen was captivated by the idea  of  the  narkaa

and kept plunging below the surface in hopes of seeing one.

Jaina loved the warm current  flowing  along  the  beach  and  said  that

floating in it and letting it carry her along made her feel  as  if  she  were

flying. And even though the water was nearly as tranquil as Lake Victory,  the

little waves that broke at the shore and tumbled  over  themselves  trying  to

climb up the beach proved a fascination to Anakin.

The only blemish in the picture was Leia. She was present in body but not

in spirit. Her mind was on matters far removed from the beach--matters Han had

brought her there to forget, at least for a time. Politics and  diplomacy  and

statecraft and war were still taking her  away  from  all  of  them.  And  Nil

Spaar's reversal from potential ally to determined adversary was still an open

wound.

"Dad?"

Han twisted his head toward Jaina, who had come  up  unnoticed  to  stand

close enough to drip water on his leg. "I'm sorry, I can't rescue your brother

from the narkaa," Han said, squinting. "I left my hero suit in the cabin."

Jaina just ignored his gibe, as she was wont to do when intent on her own

business. "Jacen and I are going to go down the beach and look for sea  motes.

Okay?"

"Okay," he said. "But don't go out of sight. If you can't see me, I can't

see you."

For a moment she gave him her impatient I-know - that-Dad look. But Jaina

was learning not to throw away her victories, and said  nothing  more  than  a

breezy "Thanks!" as she ran away to where Jacen waited.

Han's gaze flicked to Anakin, who sat at the edge of  the  water  carving

pools and rivers with his fingers for the waves to fill, then to Leia, who had

gone twenty meters up the beach with her comlink. After a moment's hesitation,

he bounced up from the sand cover and started toward her.

Leia's conversation ended before he was halfway to where she stood, so he

heard none of it. He only saw her switch the comlink off and  turn  as  if  to

come back to him. But when she saw him approaching, she waited for  him  there

instead. "I'm sorry," she said, kissing him dutifully.

"I didn't think that would  take  so  long.  Do  you  still  want  to  go

swimming?"

"You may as well tell me the news first."

"Admiral Ackbar says the Fifth has taken up station without incident.

No sign of the Yevethan fleet."

"Good," said Han. "Maybe that business is over now."

"I don't think Nil Spaar makes empty threats. If anything, he understates

them."

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. I didn't kidnap you away from  Imperial

City so you could hold strategy sessions in a bathing suit."

"I know," she said, taking his hand as they started to walk. "Ackbar says

that Senator Tuomi raised a challenge to my credentials this morning."

"Oh, here we go again--" "Tuomi said the refugee population  of  Alderaan

didn't constitute a state, and we're only entitled to nonvoting membership and

representation by a legate. And, of course, a legate can't be president of the

Senate."

"Isn't that old news? Wasn't that  issue  settled  when  the  Provisional

Council was dissolved?"

"There are a lot of new members since then--Dran-nik is one of them.

Members who weren't around when the Alderaan question  was  decided,  who

didn't have any part in the decision. I guess some of them want to have  their

say now."

"But can they actually do anything to you?"

"The Ministry Council could, in theory," she said.

"But the chairman was a friend of my father's. I don't  think  he'll  let

this get very far."

Han shook his head. "I have to tell you, Leia--nothing makes my head hurt

faster than trying to keep straight who's really  in  charge  of  what  around

here. It seems like every time I think I've got the gist of it, someone  comes

along to rename half the offices and rearrange the rest of them."

Leia laughed. "I guess it does seem that way sometimes.

But you know that the first concern was to  make  sure  there  was  never

another Palpatine--to prevent any single person from acquiring too much power.

Mon Mothma told me that the Senate worries more about  success  than  failure.

They'll tolerate ineffective  leadership  forever,  but  effective  leadership

frightens them."

"Which is nuts," said Han. "How is anyone supposed to get  anything  done

in a system like that?"

"They're not. That's the whole point. No one's supposed to have the power

that goes along with their responsibilities.

I guess there are some in the Senate who think I've crossed  that  line,"

she said, clinging to his arm. "Ackbar said Behn-kihl-nahm would call me  when

all the shouting was over and tell me how many senators spoke  in  support  of

Tuomi's challenge."

Growling, Han snatched the comlink from Leia's other hand and broke  away

from her toward the water.

After three long strides, he reached back and hurled the comlink  out  to

sea with all the strength he could muster.

It made a small white splash out beyond where  the  Thodian  swimmer  had

been. A moment later, a sleek dark shape broke the surface  near  the  splash,

then slipped below again.

"Han!" Leia's tone carried both puzzlement and rebuke.

He turned back toward her. "I had to do it. It was trying to kill you."

"What?"

"Look at us. We're on vacation, for the first time in who can  remember,"

Han said, slowly returning to her.

"We're walking on a beautiful beach, hand in hand, with no kids  climbing

all over us--and we're talking about politics."

She sighed. "You're right. It's worse than I realized."

"Trust me. The New Republic won't fall if the President's  out  of  touch

for a day, or three. And they're not going to get that  mess  all  cleaned  up

while we're gone-you'll get your share of mop and bucket time."

"Oh, that's comforting."

Han stopped and turned her toward him. "Leia, you've given them enough of

you. Can't you give your-self--us--these few days? If  this  isn't  where  you

want to be, or what you want to be doing with this time, tell me, and we'll do

something about it. And if I have to take you farther from the castle to break

the spell the Wizard of Duty laid on you--"  "Illafian  Point  is  fine,"  she

said. "It's beautiful here.

And I doubt you could find a place that was any less like Imperial City."

"Then stop worrying already.. Try to enjoy yourself,  That's  why  you're

here."

She started walking again and pulled him along with her. "I'll try.

But you're going to have to be patient with me," she said. "I'm  kind  of

new to this 'having fun' business."

"Oh?"

"Oh," she said. "Being a princess of the royal family of Alderaan  was  a

pretty serious matter, all things considered.

Bail Organa's idea of recreation  was  to  take  some  subject  you  know

nothing about and try to become an expert in it."

"You must have taken family vacations at drill school."

"Close. We'd go visit friends of my father, or have them as guests at the

palace, and Bail  would  always  be  saying  'Leia,  this  is  my  old  friend

Farblemumble. There isn't anything he doesn't know  about  noodlefishing,  and

he's offered to teach you nineteen ways to make a  trap  net  out  of  an  old

sweater--'"  Han  was  grinning  broadly.  "So  that's  why  my  clothes  keep

disappearing."

She poked him with a finger. "And then I  skipped  right  over  the  part

Where I was supposed to be young and carefree--I was  seventeen  when  I  came

here as a senator." She sighed weightily. "Oh, my stars--" "What?"

"I just realized that I've been on  Coruscant  as  long  as  I  lived  on

Alderaan. A little longer, even." She shook her head. "Oh,  I  wish  I  hadn't

realized that. I don't even like Coruscant that much, and now I've spent  half

my life there."

"Really--that much? Ever been to the Ice Crypts?

Walked the mazes in the Trophill Garden in East Minor?

Heard a performance in the Kallarak Amphitheater?"

"No," she said, and looked puzzled.

"I thought not. You don't know Coruscant, Leia.

What you know is Imperial City. And mostly the inside of rooms, at that."

"You're right," she admitted. "I told you I wasn't strong on  this  'fun'

business. - - Did I ever tell you my first impression of Imperial City?"

"I don't think so."

"I wrote my father that it looked like a colony of squibs had moved  into

the Queen's collection of braaken glass." Leia laughed quietly and slipped  an

arm around Han's waist. "Bail thought the braaken glass was hideous.

He understood."

As they continued in an intimate silence, Leia cast her gaze about her at

the sea, the beach, and the sky.

"This is nice, Han,"  she  said,  as  Anakin  looked  up  from  his  sand

sculptures and came running toward them.

"Thank you. I don't feel quite so much like one of the squibs out here."

Chapter 11

"Admiral!" The nurse-medic saluted smartly. "Can I help you, sir?"

I was informed that Plat Mallar has been removed from the bacta tank,"

said Admiral Ackbar, cocking his head slightly.

"Yes, sir--about two hours ago. He's doing well.

Dr. Yintal was able to speak to him briefly."

"Where is Dr. Yintal now?"

"Emergency, sir. There was an accident out at Biggs Field, just  a  short

time ago--" "Yes," said Ackbar. "I know."

"Do you have any information about what happened, sir?  All  we've  heard

here are rumors--" "A student in  a  TX-sixty-five  missed  his  approach  and

crashed on a taxiway," Ackbar said. "Two other trainers and a command  shuttle

were hit by the debris. I have been told of three dead and sixteen injured."

"Thank you, sir. That gives us some idea what to get ready for up here."

"I will leave you to that in a moment," said Ackbar.

"Did you say that Plat Mallar regained consciousness?"

"Just briefly, right after he came out of the tank.  He  and  Dr.  Yintal

exchanged a few words. But the prisoner's sleeping now."

"Mind your words--Plat Mallar is not a prisoner," Ackbar said sharply.

"I'm sorry, sir. I understood that he was  an  Imperial  pilot,  from  an

Imperial depot world--" "You are mistaken," said Ackbar. "He is a brave  young

man who risked his life to try to help his people.

And I have taken a special interest in  his  welfare.  I  expect  him  to

receive the very best care this facility can offer--is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," the nurse-medic said contritely. "I understand, sir."

"I would like to see him now. Is he still in Unit Number Five?"

"Yes, sir. I'll take you there--" "That is not necessary,"  Ackbar  said.

"See to your preparations."

The bacta tank in Intensive Care Unit 5 was vacant and drained.  A  young

Grannan male lay in the IC bed nearby, monitor bands on  his  broad  forehead,

soft thorax, and left wrist.

Standing close by the bed, Ackbar leaned over the patient and studied him

closely. Plat Mallar's fingers were drawn up short into his skin-cuff, and his

eye crease was closed and sealed with a thin bead of a glistening secretion. A

clear gas tube pumped methanogen  into  Plat  Mallar's  respiratory  sacs;  an

opaque red tube carried his poisonous wastes away.

But his skin had regained the typical Grannan color and  luster;  despite

the surroundings, he no longer appeared on the brink of death.

"Good," Ackbar said to himself. "Good."

Hoping that Plat Mallar's sleep was as restful  as  it  appeared,  Ackbar

moved the self-adjusting chair over beside the bed,  then  settled  his  large

body into it. Setting his comlink on the bed beside him where he  could  reach

it quickly if called, Ackbar placed his hands on his knees in a  familiar  and

comfortable posture.

"Sleep, little one," he said quietly. "Sleep and heal.

When you are ready, I will be here."

Leaning forward across the control yoke, Han Solo peered sideways out the

windshield at the steps leading to the main entrance to the General Ministry.

"Where are The Sniffer and The Shooter?" he  asked  Leia.  "I  don't  see

them. You didn't tell Nanaod you were coming back today, did you. Do you  want

me to come in with you?"

"No," she said, gathering up her robes so that she could climb out.

"But I hope you'll be at home when I get there. I might need you then."

"We'll be there," Han said, nodding. "You sure you don't need me to  come

up, now?"

"I'm sure," she said. "I'm just going to go do what needs to be done, and

we'll see what happens after that."

The entrance to the Grand Ministry had once been the  reception  entrance

to the Imperial Palace. Forty polished stone steps led  up  to  triple  metal-

mosaic doors sheltered under a great  cantilevered  stone  awning  edged  with

eight stars--symbols of the founding signatories of the Declaration of  a  New

Republic.

The security monitors spotted Leia as soon as  she  stepped  out  of  the

speeder. A courtesy droid met her at the doors and opened one.

Walking with long-strided purpose, she started down the  main  promenade,

ignoring the expressions of surprise and whispers of curiosity she left in her

wake.

By the time she was. halfway down the main promenade, The Sniffer and The

Shooter came running up from behind to join her. She did not break her stride,

but continued into the General Ministry's central offices.

The office staff rose at once as she entered. An older woman emerged from

a back room and rushed forward to meet her.

"Madame President," said Poas Trell, the first administrator's  executive

aide. "We weren't told you were coming--the first administrator is over at the

Senate this morning--" "That's all right," said Leia. "No special preparations

were called for. Where is the minister of state?"

"Minister Falanthas is meeting with the Vorkaan delegation. But  I  could

have him paged--" "No," said Leia. "That's not necessary either.

Do you have the emergency petitions for membership?"

"The originals? Why, yes--they're in Minister Falanthas's secure file."

"I want them," said Leia. "And an endorsement tablet."

"Of course, Madame President. Won't you let me call the administrator and

Minister Falanthas?"

"Completely unnecessary. They have their work to do, and  I  have  mine,"

Leia said. "We'll use your staff conference room, if it's available.

You can witness."

Plat Mallar stirred in the infirmary bed and made a noise that might have

been a soft groan. Setting his datapad aside, Admiral  Ackbar  leaned  forward

and watched as the young Grannan's eye crease opened and his  eyes  sought  to

focus.

"Good morning," Ackbar said, patting Mallar's hand. "Don't be afraid.

Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," Mallar said in a croak.

"Yes. You are in the New Republic Fleet  Infirmary  on  Coruscant,"  said

Ackbar. "And I am Ackbar."

Plat Mallar's eyes widened. "Cor'scant? How? I was--what about  Polneye--

what happened--" "I will tell you everything, in time. Some of it is  hard  to

hear," Ackbar said gravely. "But none of that matters today."

"Thought--I was dying," Mallar said. Each word was an effort.

"Today you start to live again. And, if you will allow me, I will be here

to help you."

Mallar raised an unsteady hand a few  centimeters  and  pointed.  "Who're

you?"

"I am Mon Calamari," said Ackbar. "And you are Grannan. I have never  met

a Grannan before today.

Have you ever met one of my people?"

Mallar shook his head slightly.

"Then perhaps we both can learn from each other."

"Uniform," Mallar said. "Were you? are you my doctor?"

Ackbar glanced down at his battle dress. "I am just  an  old  star  pilot

without enough sense to go home," he said, rising.  "I'll  bring  your  doctor

now. He'll have more important things to talk about."

Poas Trell could not keep the frown off her face as she handed  a  seated

Leia the stack of petitions. "Madame President, when you  said  that  I  could

witness--" "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Madame President, Minister Falanthas's aide alerted him to your  arrival

before I reached the office.

He's on his way down now. Could I possibly impose on you to wait  just  a

few minutes--" "No," said Leia.  "There's  nothing  to  discuss.  I  have  the

authority to grant these requests, and  I  intend  to  do  so.  Where  is  the

endorsement tablet?"

"My auxiliary is fetching one," said Trell. "It will be here shortly."

Leia raised a questioning eyebrow. "It looks  like  we've  received  some

additional petitions."

"Yes, Madame President. There are twenty-three all  told,  eighteen  from

Farlax and five from elsewhere. The administrator and Minister Falanthas  were

discussing with Chairman Beruss a proposal that the four  systems  closest  to

the hostilities be  placed  in  an  accelerated  approval  process--"  "I  can

accelerate that process considerably  if  you'll  just  get  that  endorsement

tablet in here."

Trell was openly squirming. "Princess, I'm very uncomfortable with this--

" "Are you questioning my authority to act on these petitions?"

"No, of course not, Princess Leia. I only thought you might see value  to

consulting with your senior ministers on your decision,  and  coordinate  your

timing with---" "The endorsement tablet, please," Leia said firmly.

"Or I take these with me to my own offices and deal with them there.

And then I inform Nanaod that he will need to find a new executive  aide,

since the last one has been dismissed for insubordination."

Trell let her comlink slip down into her hand. Her  fingers  twisted  the

endpiece. "Faylee," she said evenly.

"Have you located a tablet yet?"

A moment later the door to the staff conference room opened, and a  clerk

entered bearing an endorsement tablet. Trell nodded toward Leia, and the clerk

placed the tablet on the table in front of her, then excused herself.

"Will you sit down?" Leia invited, indicating the chair opposite hers.

When Trell complied, Leia placed the first petition  on  the  tablet  and

activated its recording system. The prism-shaped  bulge  at  the  top  of  the

tablet contained three holo lenses--one to record the document itself, one  to

record the signer in the act of signing, and one to record the witness sitting

opposite.

"President Leia Organa Solo, acting for the New Republic in the matter of

the emergency petition of Ga-lantos for membership," she said, taking  up  the

endorsing stylus.

"Poas Trelt, senior aide to First Administrator Engh, witnessing."

Leia signed the petition with a flourish. "Approved.

President Leia Organa Solo, acting for the New Republic in the matter  of

the emergency petition of Wehttam for  membership--"  When  Leia  reached  the

fifth document in the stack, Trell hesitated. "Do you mean to approve all  the

Farlax petitions?"

"I mean to approve all the petitions, period. Please continue."

Trell drew a long breath, thought something she decided not to  say,  and

folded her hands on the table.

"Poas Trell, senior aide to the first administrator--" Minister Falanthas

arrived just in time for Leia to hand him the stack of approved  petitions  as

she left.

"Good morning, Mokka," she said. "I'm sorry you  were  called  away  from

your meeting for nothing. But since you're here, let me ask you  to  see  that

all the governments are notified as soon as possible. No, wait--do you  happen

to know if Councillor Jobath is still on Corus-cant?"

"I believe he is at the diplomatic hostel."

"Then you can leave Galantos to me--I'd like  to  inform  the  councillor

myself."

As she started to leave, Minister Falanthas looked down at the  stack  of

documents in his hands, then up at Leia. "What should I tell Chairman Beruss?"

"Tell him that we've done the right thing," Leia called back to him.

"Tell him we can move on to the hard decisions now."

"Dr. Yintal called you 'Admiral,'" said Plat  Mallar  as  he  and  Ackbar

walked slowly through the exercise  garden  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Fleet

infirmary. "He treated you like more than an old star pilot.  He  treated  you

like someone important."

"Dr. Yintal is unusually respectful for a doctor," Ackbar said. "How does

it feel to be moving?"

"Better than it did to be in that bed," said Mallar.

"Was I really in that tank for sixteen days?"

"I was there when you were brought in," said Ackbar. "You were  terribly,

terribly ill."

"Is a day here the same as a day on Polneye?"

"Just the same, I suspect--one sunset to  the  next,"  Ackbar  said,  and

chuckled at his own joke. "Does Polneye still use Imperial System measures and

the decimal clock?"

"A day here is fourteen hundred standard time parts long," Ackbar said.

"You can adjust your expectations accordingly."

"That's shorter," said Mallar. "The Polneye day is eighteen  hundred  ST.

Still, sixteen days--" His expression suddenly changed to one of  worry.  "How

am I going to pay for all that?"

"You owe us nothing," said Ackbar. "Your care is  a  gift  from  the  New

Republic, one we are more than happy to give." He paused and gestured toward a

nearby bench. "Would you like to stop for a while?"

"No," Mallar said, nodding. "It feels good to be walking."

"Then we will walk," said Ackbar, resuming his almost-shuffling pace.

"Dr. Yintal said he didn't know anything about what's been  happening  at

Polneye," Mallar said after a time. "If you are an admiral, does that mean you

might know more?"

"I'm afraid the last report we have from Polneye is yours," Ackbar  said.

"We have not been able to raise them, or to send a scout in."

"In sixteen days? Why not?"

"Plat Mallar, you must try to prepare yourself for the idea that you  are

the only survivor of that horrible attack," said Ackbar.

"But Ten South was still standing--and  there  was  a  transport  on  the

ground--" "We have analyzed the  recordings  from  your  interceptor,"  Ackbar

said. "The transport was being loaded with droids  and  other  equipment.  I'm

afraid there is little foundation for hope."

Mallar fell silent for more than half a lap around  the  courtyard.  "Who

did it?" he asked at last. "Can you at least tell me who killed my family?"

"The attack was carried out by the Yevetha," Ackbar said.

"The Yevetha?" Mallar asked, indignant. "Who are the Yevetha?"

"They are a species native to Koornacht Cluster.

They were enslaved by the Empire but seem to  have  stolen  the  Empire's

technologies, and perhaps a substantial battle fleet as  well.  Several  other

colonies were attacked at the same time. Our information is far from complete,

but you are, in fact, the only known survivor."

"What are you doing about them?"

"We  have  taken  steps  to  protect  the  other  inhabited  worlds  near

Koornacht," said Ackbar. "We are still looking at what we can do to respond to

the Yevethan aggression."

"What I saw wasn't aggression," said  Mallar.  "It  was  murder.  It  was

nothing but calculated butchery."

"Yes," Ackbar said, nodding. "It was."

"Then I don't understand. Is what  I've  heard  about  the  New  Republic

wrong? You deposed the Emperor because of the injustices under his  rule.  You

stood up against the whole Imperial Navy over  principle.  Is  that  true,  or

propaganda?"

"It is true."

"And you still have a great fleet of your own?"

"Yes."

Mallar stopped and turned to Ackbar. "Will you  use  it?"  ment,"  Ackbar

said. "I do not know what they will decide."

"Why is this so difficult?"

"You may not understand this, Plat Mallar, but it is not easy to rouse  a

democracy to war," said Ackbar.

"Not unless it has been attacked directly. Everything must be  discussed.

The provocation must be more compelling than the politics.

And it always takes time."

Ackbar shook his head. "Sixteen days is not enough time."

"What do you think will happen? Tell me what you honestly believe,"  said

Mallar. "It's important."

Ackbar nodded. "I believe that, in the end, we will call the  Yevetha  to

account. But there will be an ugly fight here first."

"Thank you," Mallar said. "Do you know when I can leave the hospital?"

"Whenever Dr. Yintal is satisfied with your recovery," said Ackbar.

"I would think another day at least.

Do you have plans already?"

"Yes," said Plat Mallar. "I'm going  to  volunteer  to  join  your  pilot

corps. When you call the Yevetha to account, I want to be part of it.

That's the only thing that matters to me now. That's all there is  that's

worth doing."

By the time Leia reached the executive suite on the  fifteenth  level  of

the Ministry Center, Alole and Tarrick were standing and talking  just  inside

the suite's reception entrance, inconspicuously positioned to either greet  or

intercept her. Alole's face lit up as she turned toward Leia.

"Princess--we just heard that you were back."

"I'll bet you heard," said Leia with a wry smile.

"How are you, Alole?"

"I'm fine, Princess."

"Tarrick?"

"Very well, Madame President."

"Then is there any reason we can't go inside and get to work?"

"None at all," Tarrick said, breaking into a smile.

Once in Leia's private office, both the  formality  and  the  familiarity

quickly passed. "So--how does the damage look from your end of the lifeboat?"

"Better now that you're here again," Tarrick said.

"We've been having some trouble with the steerage," Alole said.

"Oh?"

"A lot of people trying to grab the wheel."

Leia nodded. "How long is my hot list?"

"Manageable," Alole said. "We've been handling everything we could on our

own. But Nanny is pretty insistent on seeing you at the earliest opportunity."

"I'll keep that in mind," Leia said. "Alole,  please  call  over  to  the

Senate and see if Bennie has any time for me today."

"Right away," Alole said, fading back toward the door. "Your hot list  is

on your datapad."

"Thank you," Leia said, pulling the datapad toward her. "Tarrick, see  if

you can find Councillor Jobath and coax him in. Tell him I have news for him."

"He's been calling us every morning for a fortnight," the aide said  with

a lazy grin. "I think I can get him here."

Alole had paused at the  door.  "Princess--"  Leia  looked  up  from  the

device. "Yes, Alole?"

"It's good to have you back."

"Run a tally sheet," Leia  said.  "I'm  betting  yours  is  the  minority

opinion."

Entering with a smile, Behn-kihl-nahm  embraced  Leia,  then  turned  and

closed the door to the President's reception lounge. "How are you, Princess?"

"Better," she said. "How am I, Bennie?"

Selecting the largest of the chairs, the chairman of the Defense  Council

made himself comfortable before answering. "You are safe for the  moment.  You

still have the support of five of  the  seven  Council  chairs.  There  is  no

serious talk of convening the Ruling Council to  consider  a  petition  of  no

confidence."

"That sounds better than I had reason to hope. Who are the contraries?

Borsk Fey'lya." The opportunistic Bothan headed the Justice  Council  and

had always been cool to Leia, not least because of her friendship with Ackbar.

"Of course," Behn-kihl-nahm said. "There's no possible advantage  to  him

in supporting you--but if the tide turns, he has  positioned  himself  as  the

leader of the opposition.

Since Justice has no real responsibility for  either  war  or  diplomacy,

Fey'lya is free to play both the inside game and the outside game."

"How so?"

"For now, the malcontents of the Senate will gather  around  him,  simply

because he stands taller than they do. He need not even promise them anything,

though they may end up thinking he has. And when the grids  come  looking  for

what they call balance, he can be as provocative as he pleases."

"You're saying that I'll have to get  accustomed  to  the  sound  of  his

voice."

"Whenever you are the subject of the grids' attention, there he will  be.

In a month, perhaps two, if it should happen that you were  removed,  he  will

have acquired enough power and status to have  a  chance  at  becoming  acting

President."

Leia nodded, frowning. "Surely you'd be in a stronger  position  than  he

would."

"In this scenario, I  would  be  fatally  damaged  by  having  been  your

champion in a losing cause," said the chairman. "If you are recalled,  whether

by the Senate or the Ruling Council, they will not turn to me to replace you."

"And if I resigned now?"

Behn-kihl-nahm wriggled his shoulders, settling deeper into the chair.

"There is no reason for you to do so--or even to contemplate it."

"You wouldn't be tainted," she pressed.  "And  he  wouldn't  have  had  a

chance to enlarge his power bloc."

"We are already where we belong, you and I," said Behn-kihl-nahm.

"There's no need to speak of change. It is an unnecessary distraction."

"I'll try to remember that when Borsk  Fey'lya  speaks  of  it  from  the

Senate podium," Leia said. "Who's the other chairman to side with Fey'lya?"

"Chairman Rattagagech is the other, but I would not say he has sided with

Chairman Fey'lya," Behn-kihl-nahm said.

On hearing the name, Leia  immediately  understood  the  reason  for  her

mentor's distinction. The scholarly, thoughtful Elomin, who headed the Science

and Technology Council, was in most respects the antithesis of the  boisterous

Bothan. "Do you know anything about his reasons?"

"As you would expect," Behn-kihl-nahm said. "The Elomin love order.

After the events of the last few weeks, he views you as a font of  social

and political chaos rather than as a force for stability and order."

"I suppose I can hardly blame  him  for  that,"  Leia  said.  "Is  anyone

teetering?"

"Chairman Praget has expressed some ambivalence to me,"  said  Behn-kihl-

nahm, naming the head of the Security and Intelligence body.

"Of course, this is only the present. Much depends on what you  do  next.

There is very little enthusiasm for war. Too aggressive a course could  easily

swing two, perhaps even three other  members  of  the  Council  to  support  a

petition of no confidence.

And then there would be no protecting you  from  a  vote  by  the  Senate

common."

"How much enthusiasm is there for justice?"

Behn-kihl-nahm  shrugged.  "Indifferent.   The   deaths   of   strangers,

conveniently out of sight in Koornacht Cluster, do not weigh  heavily  against

the prospect of the deaths  of  patriotic  Republic  pilots  and  fighting  on

peaceful Republic worlds. There are some who find a cause in these events, but

more, perhaps, who see only a political crisis."

"Which reminds me," Leia said. "What became of Senator Tuomi's  challenge

to my credentials?"

"Over.  Forgotten.  Chairman  Beruss  squashed  it  under  a   procedural

mountain. And I was able to limit the parade to the podium to ten speakers."

"How many more would there have been if you hadn't shown up at the end of

the line brandishing an ax?"

Behn-kihl-nahm waved away the question. "It's simply noise to be ignored.

The more important question concerns the future. What do you plan to do  about

the Yevetha?"

"What are we strong enough to do?" Leia asked.

"What options are there that don't lead  to  handing  the  presidency  to

Fey'lya or Praget or Cion Marook?"

"Perhaps you might consider the question of what should be done, and then

we can work together on surviving it."

"What should be done--" Leia shook her head.

"What we should do is drive the Yevetha  back  to  N'zoth,  then  drop  a

planetary interdiction field over them, with the  timer  set  for  a  thousand

years. And that would probably be too light a sentence by half."

"You are kinder than I," said Behn-kihl-nahm. "The  only  justice  I  can

imagine would be for them  to  suffer  the  sentence  they  imposed  on  their

victims. Of course, that's impossible--for us to do such a thing would violate

every principle in the Declaration." He plunked a bitter candy from  the  bowl

on the side table. "But I could stand by and watch while someone else did it."

"You're stronger than I," Leia said. "I think I would have to look away."

Behn-kiln-nahm made the candy disappear with a snap  of  his  jaws.  "But

while we are waiting for this avenger to appear--" "Maybe I should  meet  with

the Defense Council and get a sense of how far we're willing to go."

"I would rather see you come to the  Council  on  a  quest  than  with  a

question."

"If I come before them and insist that we have to use the Fifth Fleet  to

spank the Yevetha, every one of them will remember what Tig Peramis said about

why we built that fleet, and what Nil Spaar said about my heritage.  If  we're

going to do anything that risks the lives  of  those  who  wear  New  Republic

uniforms, the initiative has to come from the Defense Council."

Behn-kihl-nahm shook his head. "There is no way it can come  from  anyone

but you."

"Then it isn't going to happen," Leia said flatly.

"Nil Spaar tied my hands. Senators Hodidiji  and  Peramis  gave  him  the

rope. And I stood still for it, because he was smiling while he did it."

"This decision does not have to be about Leia Or-gana Solo."

"How can it be about anything else?"

"It could be about Plat Mallar," said the chairman.

"He could become the symbol of your cause."

Leia was shaking her head even before Behn-kihl-nahm finished speaking.

"I will not use him," she said. "I won't  exploit  his  tragedy.  If  the

execution of a million or more sentient beings, the  destruction  of  a  dozen

planetary communities, isn't enough--if the members  of  the  Council  need  a

living victim paraded in front of them to move  them  to  act--then  shame  on

them. And shame on US."

Making as to leave, Behn-kihl-nahm stood. "Shame is a scarce commodity in

politics," he said, brushing down his clothes. "And there are more politicians

than statesmen on Corascant now."

"I don't want to believe that."

"Nevertheless, it is so. Think this through carefully, Princess. You will

get only one chance to lead them," the chairman said. "If you forfeit it,  you

will have no choice but to follow where they lead. And I  cannot  promise  you

that they will choose an agreeable destination."

The hypercomm link showed nothing but static until General A'baht entered

the decryption code Admiral Hiram Drayson had obliged him to memorize. Several

seconds later--longer than the usual hypercomm  transmission  lag--the  static

resolved into the face of the Alpha Blue director.

"General A'baht," said Drayson with a nod.

"Thank you for making yourself available---" "Drayson," A'baht growled.

"Perhaps you can explain what is going on back there."

"You may be hoping for too much," said Drayson.

"This is Coruscant, after all. Which peculiarity in  particular  concerns

you?"

"I requested additional support within the first hour of our  arrival  on

station," A'baht said. "All I have heard in reply is silence. 'Under review by

the Fleet Office Strategic Command,' I am told. But  not  one  member  of  the

command staff has contacted me."

"Strategic Command is waiting for guidance from higher  levels,"  Drayson

said. "Until those issues are resolved, I  don't  think  you  can  expect  any

reinforcements--unless you should happen to come under direct attack."

"How long is it going to take to find some resolve?"

A'baht said. "I've been forced to detach ships from the Fifth for Wehttam

and Galantos. The other neighboring systems are still unprotected.  And  every

day we sit out here patrolling empty space, the Yevetha dig in deeper  on  the

worlds they took. We can't reward  them  for  their  aggression.  We  must  do

something to punish them."

"I am not the one who needs convincing."

"Then who is? Our presence is accomplishing nothing.

By this time, the Yevetha must know that the Fleet is an empty threat."

"The Princess wants to do the right thing," said A'baht. "She  will  need

our help to see that the right thing gets done."

"What kind of help?"

"You need to find more graphic  evidence  of  the  Yevethan  atrocities,"

Drayson said. "Without it, Princess Leia will not be strong enough to overcome

the resistance of the Senate."

A'baht drew his lips back in a silent snarl. "I don't know that we can do

more than we have. I've put prowlers right up to the  border,  even  a  little

beyond. Our sensing technology' simply can't give us anything at  that  range.

I'm having a difficult enough time getting  good  tactical  information,  much

less documenting the massacres."

"I trust you're persisting, even though it's difficult."

"If you're asking whether the ferrets and prowlers  are  still  out,  the

answer is yes," said A'baht. "But it's too late now for what you ask.

From the looks of what  you  sent  me,  the  Yevetha  didn't  leave  much

evidence behind.

And why isn't what you have already enough for Leia?"

"It's not a matter of  what  Leia  has  or  hasn't  seen,"  said  Drayson

ambiguously. "It's a matter of what she's free to  show  the  Senate.  If  she

offers them independent intelligence, something that doesn't come from the NRI

or the Fleet, the meaning of  what  she  shows  them  will  get  lost  in  the

questions about its origin."

"I have questions about its origin," A'baht said gruffly.  "You  have  to

have had assets inside Koornacht to get those holos--assets which were  either

in place undetected, or which could move fast  enough  to  arrive  before  the

fires were out. I would very much like to know what  manner  of  ferret  could

accomplish that."

"And those are exactly the questions Leia cannot be asked," said Drayson.

"She needs intelligence with a good, clear, and perfectly  ordinary  pedigree.

General, I suggest you place a ferret in Zone Nineteen."

"Zone Nineteen?" A'baht consulted his tactical map. "That's  a  third  of

the way around the Cluster toward the Core---far outside the area  we've  been

patrolling."

"Then I suggest you widen your patrol area."

"Why?"

"It so happens that  Zone  Nineteen  sits  on  the  line-of-sight  vector

connecting Wakiza and Doornik Three Nineteen, the  Yevethan  forward  base.  I

think you may have an opportunity to acquire some signal intercepts  with  the

hypercomm scanners."

"Yevethan signals?"

"Of course."

A'baht grunted expressionlessly. "And when might this opportunity arise?"

"Oh--I suspect there's a great deal  of  traffic  between  those  sites,"

Drayson said lightly. "I wouldn't be surprised if you picked up  something  in

the first few hours you were there."

"Which I'd be obliged to forward immediately to the Fleet Office."

"Of course."

"Will it get to Leia from there?"

"In fairly short order, I would think."

A'baht nodded. "It just might be that we've shown the Yevetha this patrol

deployment long enough. If I extend the perimeter patrols by half, maybe it'll

make 'em stop and wonder why."

"Thank you for considering my  input,  General,"  said  Drayson,  smiling

genially. "Oh, and one other thing--" "What is that?"

"Since there are probably still some days, even weeks, of work left to do

at this end, perhaps you might consider whether you can spare a smaller vessel

for each of the other inhabited systems."

"I'm convinced that nothing smaller than a  frigate  could  withstand  an

initial Yevethan attack, and I have no more ships of  that  class  to  spare,"

said A'baht.

"You're right, of course," Drayson said. "A  corvette  or  patrol  escort

probably wouldn't discourage the Yevetha, and certainly wouldn't  be  able  to

repel them. I only thought  there  might  be  some  symbolic  value  in  their

presence--" A'baht suddenly understood what Drayson was saying. - - Unless  we

should happen to come under direct attack, you say. And so you would  like  me

to bait the Yevetha with an easy victory.

"The only thing worse  than  leaving  those  populations  unprotected  is

giving them an illusion of safety," A'baht said curtly. "And  the  only  thing

worse than asking men to risk their lives on your word is sending them into  a

fight you know they can't win. My pilots and crews are  not  symbols,  Admiral

Drayson. And I won't betray them by reducing them to that."

"I understand those feelings, General," Drayson said. "I share them.

But I invite you to consider whether your status there is  any  different

than that of an escort orbiting Dandalas or Kktkt. If the Yevetha attack  your

formation, many issues would be simplified."

"Are you saying that we were sent here to draw the Yevetha into a war?"

"I am saying that you may decide for yourself how much  of  your  arm  to

place in the rancor's mouth," Drayson said. "Zone Nineteen, General.

Whatever else you decide, please keep that rendezvous."

The on-site recruiting office at Fleet Headquarters was next to the  main

gate, a long walk from the infirmary.

Mindful of the physical exam, Ackbar had been  unable  to  persuade  Plat

Mallar to wait until morning.

But the energy in Mallar's long strides on the way  over  had  seemed  to

vindicate Dr. Yintal's judgment that the Polneye survivor could be released.

When they reached the small white dome with the  Fleet  insignia,  Ackbar

lost a second argument, this  one  over  whether  he  would  accompany  Mallar

inside.

"I have to go in there without anyone holding my hand," Mallar had  said.

"It's important to me. I don't want any  pity,  or  any  special  favors  from

friends of old star pilots."

"As you wish," Ackbar had said, acceding to  the  stubborn  will  of  the

young Grannan. He settled in  a  waiting  area  ordinarily  occupied  only  by

civilians and let himself be amused  by  the  surprised  recruitment  staffers

falling over themselves to salute him.

Mallar was gone for the better part of an hour, but  the  process  should

have taken two. And when he returned, he looked worse than ill--his eyes  were

as empty as a discarded chrysalis, all the life having left them.

Ackbar rose quickly and hurried to him.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "Never mind--there's a speeder at the  guard

station. Come, I can have you back to the infirmary in a twinkling."

"I was turned down," Mallar said, his expression stunned and wondering.

"For pilot training?"

"For anything. For everything. He rejected me.

They won't let me volunteer for any duty."

"That's absurd," Ackbar said. "Stay here."

Leaving a wake of unanswered salutes behind him, Ackbar  stormed  through

the screening room  and  past  the  interview  rooms  to  the  office  of  the

recruiting supervisor.

"Admiral Ackbar?" the supervisor said, rising from his chair in  surprise

as Ackbar entered unannounced.

"Sir," he added, and saluted smartly.

"Major, one of your recruiters just processed  an  applicant  named  Plat

Mallar," Ackbar snapped. "I want that person in this room now, to answer  some

questions."

"Right away, Admiral." The supervisor bent over his  comlink  and  barked

out an order. "I'm terribly sorry if there's been some mix-up, Admiral--"  The

arrival of a tall human lieutenant interrupted the apology, as  Ackbar  turned

away and ignored the major completely.

"What's your name?" Ackbar demanded, noting the Corellian insignia in the

place above the right pocket reserved for an affiliation pin.

"Lieutenant Warris, sir."

"Would you care to explain to me your actions regarding Plat Mallar?"  he

asked.

The recruiter looked momentarily taken aback.

"Sir, I don't understand. He was unqualified," Warris said.

"Unqualified?"

"Yes,  sir,"  Warris  said.  "The  guidelines  clearly  specify  that  an

applicant's primary education must be through a certified school  or  program.

Plat Mallar's program isn't even listed in the system."

"Of course it isn't, you dunderhead--did you happen to notice where  he's

from?"

"Yes, sir. But that's another problem, sir. He's ineligible to  join  the

Fleet--he's not a citizen of the New Republic. In fact, it's worse  than  just

not being a  citizen  he's  a  citizen  of  Polneye,  a  planet  that's  still

officially listed as aligned with the Empire. I  couldn't  possibly  pass  him

through the interview, sir." The recruiter looked to the major for help.  "Are

there special circumstances I wasn't made  aware  of--"  "Admiral,  Lieutenant

Warris is quite right on the procedures," the major said. "If  this  applicant

doesn't have a verifiable citizenship record with a  member  world,  we  can't

even consider him."

"Bureaucratic nonsense," Ackbar raged, his voice  rising  on  a  wave  of

righteous indignation. "Whatever happened to taking the  measure  of  a  man's

courage, his honor--the fight in him, and the reasons in his  heart?  Do  they

all have to be as stamped-and-pressed  alike  as  stormtroopers  to  get  your

approval?" He dismissed the recruiter with a wave. "Get out."

Grateful to be excused, Warris retreated as Ackbar focused his  attention

on the supervisor.

"Admiral, we could certainly reconsider the application if you could just

give us the  context  for  your  concern--"  "The  context,"  Ackbar  repeated

disbelievingly. "It's not enough that a man is willing to put on a uniform and

fight alongside people he's never met, just because he shares  an  ideal  with

them--no, his offer must come from the right context, and  his  school  papers

must be in order, and his arms not too long, and his blood type stocked in the

combat medivacs." Ackbar shook his head in disgust.

"How things have changed. I can remember when we  were  glad  for  anyone

willing to fight beside us."

"Admiral--there have to be standards--" The major's tone  was  placating,

and Ackbar did not wish to be placated. "Major, ask yourself how many  of  the

everyday heroes of the Rebellion--not just  the  names  everyone  knows--would

have qualified to fight for their freedom  under  your  rules,"  Ackbar  said,

leaning in.

"And then ask yourself if that answer doesn't make you look  just  a  bit

like a dewback's cloaca." Then Ackbar turned and stalked  out  of  the  office

without waiting for a reply, much less a salute.

Halfway down the corridor, Ackbar's outburst was already making him  feel

a touch foolish. But what he found when he reached the waiting area  left  him

feeling a deep sadness.

For Ackbar found that all the seats in the waiting area were empty.

Seemingly crushed by the rejection, Plat Mallar had not waited for him.

Without a word to clerk  or  guard,  the  young  survivor  had  left  the

recruiting office, exited through the main gate, and faded away into the city.

Ackbar turned to the gate guard and pointed.  "I'm  going  to  need  that

speeder."

CChapter 12

from experience on Coruscant and Mon Calamari both, Admiral  Ackbar  knew

that the line that divided the inner circle  from  the  outer  circle  in  any

government was access. If you were part of the inner circle, you could see the

President simply by walking down a  private  corridor  and  through  the  back

doorway into her office; when you called, the President spoke to you directly;

when you transmitted a letter, you got a personal response.

Ackbar had enjoyed that  status  throughout  Leia's  tenure  in  the  top

office, first as chief of state under  the  Provisional  government,  then  as

President  of  the  New  Republic.   Even   under   her   comparatively   open

administration, that placed him in select company.

The private door was open to Han, of course.  And  Mon  Mothma,  who  had

chosen to distance herself from the  Palace  since  her  close  call  with  an

assassin led to her giving up the office.  Nanaod  Engh,  who  had  not  quite

become a friend, but whose duties made him an everyday visitor.

Behn-kihl-nahm, though he  was  too  well-mannered  not  to  observe  the

protocols of high office.

Tarrick and Alole. And Ackbar.

Or so it had been before the Yevethan matter had escalated to a crisis.

But Ackbar had been jarred by the discovery that he was locked out of the

President's residence, his key disabled, his status as a member of the  family

suddenly withdrawn. So he had chosen to  approach  the  President's  suite  on

level fifteen through the front door, and tried to prepare himself for another

rebuff.

But the security guards outside the suite made no move  to  stop  Ackbar,

and though the staff inside showed some slight surprise at seeing  him  there,

no one moved to bar him from the back rooms.

"Good morning, Admiral," Alole said, looking up from her greatdesk with a

smile. "Go right on in--she's in her conference room,  reviewing  last  week's

Senate debate."

When he reached the doorway from  the  office  to  the  conference  room,

Ackbar hesitated. Leia was standing at the end of the room with  her  back  to

him, hugging herself as she looked up at her  holoviewer.  The  image  on  the

screen was of Senator Tuomi. His tone  was  earnestly  reasonable,  his  words

subtly inflammatory.

"Is this door still open to me?" Ackbar's voice boomed  in  the  confined

space.

Leia turned away from Tuomi only long enough to steal a  look  back  over

her shoulder. "If you didn't have to shoot your way  past  Tarrick,  then  the

door's still open."

"I shall try to remember to take a cue from the presence  of  weapons  in

the reception area."

Pausing the playback of the recording, Leia turned  toward  Ackbar.  "Did

you really think you might not be welcome here?"

"We have not had a chance to talk since you returned, and we  only  spoke

once while you were away--a short and businesslike conversation, as I recall,"

Ackbar said. "Before that--well, I am not sure that I would have been included

in the meeting the night of the pirate broadcast if it had been convenient  to

exclude me. I have been afraid to try my key again."

"Then you haven't seen Han, either? I told him to tell you it was  fixed.

And here I thought it was me you were avoiding," Leia said, coming to where he

stood and hugging him. "I can't stay angry at  you  for  long.  And  besides--

you're one of the few people I've told myself I have  to  keep  listening  to,

even when I am angry at you."

Patting Leia on the back with one large hand,  Ackbar  sighed.  "That  is

good to know."

"I've missed you," she said, easing out of the embrace.

"Anakin misses you. No one on the staff's caught sight of you  for  days.

What have you been up to?"

"I have been preoccupied," Ackbar said, and gestured toward the viewer.

"Why are you bothering with this? It can't be pleasant to  hear  yourself

be talked about that way, and I cannot see the use of it."

Leia glanced back over her shoulder at Tuomi's face.

"I suppose I have a morbid curiosity about whether anything is considered

out of bounds."

"'Greed has no limits, envy no boundaries, in the heart of a petty  man."

A favorite quote from Toklar, a much-quoted Mon Calamari philosopher,"  Ackbar

added.

"Was he also the one who said, 'Don't look back--something may be gaining

on you'?" Leia asked lightly.

"I do not believe so," Ackbar said. "But Toklar did write, 'One sting  is

remembered longer than a thousand caresses." For every  voice  that  supported

Tuomi's challenge, there were a hundred saying it  was  foolish,  unjust,  and

cruel. Listen to them instead."

"I'm not offended for myself," Leia said, pointing her controller at  the

holoviewer and ending the projection.

"But it's hurtful to those of us who are left to hear Alderaan spoken  of

that way. And it seems as though suddenly everyone's finding reasons to object

to my being here."

"People find what they look for," said Ackbar.

"Look to their motives, not their words."

"Tuomi says that his motive is justice," Leia said with a shrug.

"Alderaan is  a  nation  of  refugees,  sixty  thousand  people  with  no

territory except for our embassies here and on Bonadan. Tuomi represents  five

inhabited planets and nearly a billion  citizens.  Why  should  Alderaan  rule

Bosch, he asks."

"But you do not lead us for Alderaan. You lead us for the New Republic."

"In which Alderaan is a member only due to misguided pity,  according  to

Tuomi."

"Tuomi is an ignorant fingerling," Ackbar said with sharp contempt.

"Alderaan's membership is neither a  courtesy  nor  a  violation  of  the

Charter. The New Republic is an alliance of peoples, not planets."

Leia nodded an acknowledgment. "Something often forgotten, even here."

"Then I will presume to remind you that the structure of the New Republic

was crafted to avoid dominance by the most populous  worlds--to  prevent  what

Kerrithrarr called a tyranny of fecundity," Ackbar said.

Leia laughed tersely, tossing her hair. "I remember that argument."

"Perhaps you remember another quote I am fond of," Ackbar said.

"'Today, we become a galactic family--a  family  of  the  great  and  the

small, the young and the old, with honor to all  and  favor  to  none.""  Leia

recognized the words from her own Restoration Day address.

"That's cheating."

"I trust you still believe what you said then."

"Of course I do."

"Then it does not matter if Alderaan now means  sixty  thousand,  or  six

hundred, or six."

"No," agreed Leia. "The exact number matters only to  the  assessors  and

accountants.  Our  claim  to  membership  is  valid,  and  just,  and  moral--

regardless."

"I am glad to hear you say that," Ackbar said, and dug into a large  flap

pocket in his belt. "I have brought something here for your  endorsement."  He

unfolded a single sheet of pale blue document vellum and  handed  it  to  her.

"That is an emergency petition for membership  for  Polneye,  offered  by  its

representative on Coruscant."

Leia eyed Ackbar questioningly  as  she  circled  the  table  toward  the

window. "I think I've been manipulated."

"This claim, too, is valid, and just, and moral--regardless."

"Is there any reason at all to think that anyone else on Polneye survived

the Yevethan assault?"

"There is no evidence either way," said Ackbar.

"Why does it matter?"

"If Plat Mallar wants to sit in the Senate--" "Plat Mallar wants  to  sit

in the cockpit of a fighter.

The Senate seat for Polneye will remain vacant,  unless  other  survivors

are found--as a reminder."

"I see your handprints all over this, Ackbar."

"I am trying to help the boy," Ackbar admitted.

"But he has his own mind."

"Let me ask a different question," Leia said. "Have you made him aware of

the offer from Jobath of Galantos, for sanctuary and membership in the Fia?"

"Plat has spoken with Jobath."

"And?"

"In the days after Alderaan was destroyed, how would you have  looked  on

an invitation to become a citizen of Lafra or Ithor?"

Leia placed the vellum on the table and  bowed  her  head,  pressing  her

palms together and touching her fingertips to her mouth.  "I'm  being  roundly

criticized already for the applications I approved when I came back."

"If that's so, then one  more  can  hardly  make  any  difference,"  said

Ackbar. "But it will make all the difference in the world to the Polneya.  And

I must add thisfor whatever it may be worth to you, I was  proud  of  you  for

what you did."

Frowning, Leia leaned forward and rested her hands on either side of  the

document as she studied it intently.

"You know," she said slowly, "I felt pretty  good  about  it,  too."  She

keyed her comlink with the remote.

"Alole--bring me an endorsement tablet, please. Admiral Ackbar has called

my attention to an application that was overlooked."

Belezaboth Ourn, extraordinary consul of the Paqwepori, paced  restlessly

in the sleeping chamber of his cottage in the diplomatic hostel.

For the tenth time, he checked  to  see  that  the  tiny  blind  box  the

Yevethan viceroy had provided him was properly attached  to  the  much  larger

hypercomm relay.

That was the extent of Ourn's ability to determine whether there was some

technical reason why, five hours after sending an urgent request to speak with

Nil Spaar, he was still pacing and waiting.

And Belezaboth Ourn did not like being kept waiting.

His ship's engineer had examined the sealed box with all the means at his

disposal,  but  after  a  discharge  from  the  box  had  destroyed  his  test

instruments, the engineer had returned it with a shrug. All Ourn  really  knew

is that with the blind box attached, the hypercomm conversed with it, and  the

box conversed with a Yevethan hypercomm at an unknown location.

Muttering an imprecation against Nil Spaar's fertility, Ourn called for a

toko bird and a slaughter knife to be brought to him. He  had  been  stuck  on

Coruscant for weeks now, unable to leave, waiting on the viceroy to  keep  his

promises. He was not about to let himself be stuck in his room, unable to eat,

waiting on the viceroy to answer his calls.

Mother's Valkyrie was still sitting on the landing pad where it had  been

battered by the departing Yevethan thrustship Aramadia. With the mission short

of funds, Ourn had refused to authorize repairs, expecting to sell the  cutter

as scrap when the  ship  Nil  Spaar  had  promised  him  was  delivered.  Then

spaceport ground crews had covered Valkyrie with a bubble-like lien seal  when

the unpaid berth fees mounted.

It was embarrassing to have the Paqwepori  consular  ship  sitting  there

under a debtor's lock for everyone to see. It would be humiliating to have  to

stand in line to leave Coruscant on a shuttle. And it was unthinkable for  the

delegation to return home penniless aboard one of  the  rattletrap  commercial

liners that came calling at Paqwepori.

There  was  only  one  acceptable  resolution,  and  Ourn  clung  to   it

unwaveringly. Nil Spaar must keep his promise  of  a  Yevethan  thrustship  in

payment for the damage to the Valkyrie and other services Ourn had rendered to

Nil Spaar. Then the delegation could leave Coruscant not only in grand  style,

but in such a way that everyone would know that  the  Paqwepori  had  powerful

friends.

The only troubling matter was that Nil Spaar  was  so  often  unavailable

when Belezaboth Ourn tried to reach him. The last two times he had called with

information, Ourn had been relegated to speaking to underlings. And his  three

attempts since deciding to withhold  what  he  knew  and  insist  on  speaking

directly with Nil Spaar had gone completely unanswered.

For this, the fourth, Ourn had baited the hook, leaving a message that he

had information about important developments near Koornacht.  But,  still,  he

had been waiting five hours.

The toko bird and a response from the Yevetha arrived at the  same  time,

and Ourn rudely chased the former away so that he could receive the latter. To

his delight, the face that appeared was Nil Spaar's.

"Belezaboth Ourn," Nil Spaar said. "What is that sound?"

The toko bird's squawking over being rejected was still audible from  the

outer room. "Viceroy! An honor and delight to have a chance to  speak  to  you

again. Disregard the noise--it is a wild animal outside,  nothing  more.  What

news do you have for me? Is there any further word on delivery of my ship?"

Ourn thought he saw regret in the Yevethan's  expressive  eyes.  "Consul,

this has become a matter of great awkwardness," Nil Spaar said. "My people and

yours are nearly at war--" "No, not our people!" Ourn  said,  dismayed.  "Why,

there is not a single Paqwepori citizen in the New Republic's  armed  forces--

not one! The societor has forbidden it."

"And I hope that will be an example to other rulers," Nil Spaar said.

"But there is a great fleet poised to invade our territory, and  they  do

not seem to have been left wanting by your absence."

"Oh, that fleet is nothing but bluster,"  Ourn  said  dismissively.  "The

Princess hasn't the will to use it, or the support to do so."

"I find her a strong and canny  dictator,"  Nil  Spaar  said.  "I  cannot

believe that she would make empty threats."

"If you could hear the speakers denouncing her daily in the  Senate,  you

would know how weak she is.

There has been a challenge to her right to lead the  New  Republic.  Why,

there is even talk that she will be recalled."

"I am more  concerned  whether  the  fleet  that  threatens  us  will  be

recalled," said Nil Spaar. "You will understand that I can't look past that."

"But what about your promise? What about the favors I have done you?"

"We have a debt to the Paqwepori, it is true--but others in my government

question whether we can trust an ally of Leia Organa  Solo--"  "I  would  have

denounced her myself, if the chairman would only have let me--"  "--and  still

others believe that we must keep Queen of the Valkyries for ourselves, to help

us in our defense against the fleets and armies Leia is raising against us.

Truly, I do not  see  how  we  can  deliver  the  ship  to  you  in  such

circumstances."

The  consul's  face  had  fallen  farther  with  every  word.  "This   is

horrendous--unthinkable!" he sputtered.

"Is there nothing you can do?"

Nil Spaar flicked his cheek in the Paqwepori gesture of resignation.

"Perhaps it would be possible--but no. I am embarrassed to ask  for  more

when a debt already exists."

"Ask! Please, ask! Is there some way I can help resolve this?"

"I thought only that if you could give  me  the  means  to  persuade  the

others--if I could give them sufficient reason to trust you--to know that  you

are as honorable as I know you to be--" "Yes,  of  course--but  what  will  do

that? Are you asking me to leave Coruscant? Are you asking us to leave the New

Republic?"

"No, no---by no means. Just continue to be a friend  to  us  there,"  Nil

Spaar said. "Keep your eyes and ears open  to  the  machinations  of  she  who

afflicts us. Provide us with an unbiased report of her actions.

Give us the information we need to keep this confrontation from  spinning

out of control. That's the only way we can keep our promise to you. That  will

be all the proof they need of your loyalty."

"Of course," Ourn said. "Of course! I would have done so anyway. In fact,

my first reason for contacting you was to tell you about Leia's  newest  abuse

of her power. Even her friends are shocked by this--she came back from holiday

and granted membership to more than twenty new systems,  completely  bypassing

the established protocols--"  "No,"  Leia  said  emphatically,  brushing  past

Nanaod Engh as though he were a street beggar. "I don't want to call a cabinet

meeting. I have nothing to tell them yet. The Defense Council hasn't met  yet.

The viceroy hasn't shown his hand yet."

Engh appealed to Behn-kihl-nahm with his eyes.

"Will you talk to her, Chairman?"

"Leia--you don't have to have answers for them yet," Behn-kihl-nahm said.

"Just let them see you. Just let them see you taking command.

A  government  is  an  organism--and  this  one  has  taken  two   shocks

substantial enough to disrupt its systems."

"I'm sorry, but all that can't depend on me. There's a reason for  having

a cabinet, and the reason is so I don't have to concern myself with all  those

'systems." So let the ministers deal with  their  responsibilities,  and  I'll

deal with the things that only the chief of state can."

"But you need to tell them that,  and  show  them  that  you're  present,

aware, and active," said Behn-kihl-nahm.

"You need to refocus their attention, or you'll have nine little kingdoms

before you know it, all looking to their councils over in the  Senate  instead

of to you. To a degree, that's already happened."

"There's a  great  deal  of  governing  which  has  nothing  to  do  with

Koornacht, the Defense Council, black fleets,  and  matters  of  state,"  Engh

said. "Perhaps the ministers and their staffs should not need reassuring,  but

they do."

"And I don't need to be hung by my heels and questioned for four hours."

"That won't happen," Engh said. "It will be your meeting, not theirs.

Thank them for the work they've been doing. Call for their reports.

Acknowledge the difficult times ahead. Ask them  to  remain  diligent  in

discharging their responsibilities. Promise to tell them more  when  you  can.

Let them know that they are making it possible for you to do your job."

"They should know all that without being told," Leia protested. "Why does

it require a pep talk from me?

My stars, during the Rebellion, our pilots got in their fighters  knowing

they were outnumbered five to one and worse with less hand-holding than this."

"That was a different place and a different  time,"  Behn-kihl-nahm  said

simply. "Leia--you have never served anywhere in government except at the top.

Please trust those of us who are better acquainted  with  the  view  from  the

bottom to advise you in this."

Sighing, Leia looked to the first administrator.

"When do you suggest we do this, then? This afternoon?"

"Oh, no--that would put the stamp of an emergency on  it,  which  is  the

last thing you want. No, all you need do this  afternoon  is  give  the  usual

three-day notice. That will start sending the message you want heard. For  the

rest, three days from now is soon enough."

"All right. Three days, then," Leia said grudgingly.

"Will one of you tell Alole on your way out?"

The first full cabinet meeting of the new era went surprisingly smoothly.

Minister of State Mokka Falanthas showed signs--noticeable but  not  overt--of

still being disgruntled over Leia's violation of his turf, but he  kept  those

feelings out of his words when he reported  on  the  work  of  the  diplomatic

corps. But the rest of them, Leia was forced to admit, did seem to relish  the

return to normalcy.

Even better, Leia was able to hold the meeting down to two hours,  giving

her a chance to get some real work done before meeting Han for lunch. But  she

didn't quite manage to escape cleanly--Nanaod Engh followed  her  out  of  the

council hall and down the corridor toward the turbolifts.

"Do you have some time now, Princess?" Engh asked. "There's something I'd

like to bring up that wasn't appropriate for that venue."

"I was planning on taking a slow second look at some  new  material  that

came in from General A'baht overnight,"  Leia  said.  "I'm  going  before  the

Defense Council on the first, you know."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, you have from here to my office door to convince me that  whatever

this is is more important than that."

"I think perhaps this is part of that, Princess," said Engh.  "Has  Alole

been showing you any of the traffic from the ministry channels?"

"I don't understand. She screens it all and shows me the  dispatches  and

inquiries I need to handle. You know that."

"I'm sorry--I meant the public  lines.  The  tallies  from  the  message-

handling droids that handle the unad-dressed comments, the abstracts from  the

general call logs--that sort of thing? Or perhaps you've taken a peek in there

yourself."

"No," Leia said, calling for the lift. "Why would I?"

"Well--to get an idea how this all is being taken  on  the  outside,  off

Coruscant, away from the government.

To see how people are reacting to the news."

"Go on," Leia said as the lift arrived.

"This matter of the  new  members,  for  example--perfectly  within  your

powers under the Charter," Engh said, following her into the car.

"Everyone here knows the new members had to agree to observe the  Charter

like any other member, and that  what  was  done  was  done  not  only  for  a

legitimate reason, but a noble one."

"I'd like to think that none of that needs explaining," said Leia as  the

doors knifed closed. "Except perhaps to Minister Falanthas."

"That's a matter of professional turf and personal style, which I'm  sure

you two will work out in time," Engh said. "But out in the capitals, there's a

great deal of concern about recent events--talk of your having  exceeded  your

authority, of special privileges being granted, and of your acting on a  whim,

even rashly."

"Are you talking about the home governments?"

"The home governments  themselves  in  some  cases,  the  technocrats  in

others. And not only the techno-crats-this reaches nearly every quarter.  Much

of what's coming in from individual citizens on the public lines is critical--

often crudely and ignorantly, but there it is."

"And you think I should be reading this?" Leia said wryly. "Look, Nanaod-

-I don't understand why you're calling my attention to this.

I'm unhappy with the situation, so why would I  be  surprised  if  others

are? What's there to do about it?"

"Well, we've been talking about this downstairs for  several  days  now,"

Engh said. "The emerging consensus is that all of that mess is the  result  of

our not having prepared the New Republic for what was coming, and  not  moving

fast enough to educate them after the fact.

I'd like to put a couple of  staff  members  on  the  problem  full-time,

preferably in consultation with someone in your office--I  was  thinking  that

Tarrick would be the best suited."

The turbolift eased to a stop, and the doors flashed open on fifteen.

"What do you propose to have them doing?"

"Why, to plan a program to buff up your public image a  bit.  I  like  to

think that it's mostly a matter of getting the word out--informing rather than

influencing.

We might want to think about making you  a  bit  more  available  to  the

grids, not only the big ones based here, but the regional  and  local  nets--"

"Now you want me to give interviews? What next?

Preside over spaceport openings? Endorse a line of little Leia dolls?

Let myself be recorded dancing for Han in a Huttese slave-girl costume?"

"Now, Leia, no one is suggesting--" "You'd  get  there,  eventually.  And

that's not what I'm here to do," Leia said firmly. "What's more, I'd be deeply

discouraged to discover  that  you  can  take  someone  who's  shown  terrible

judgment and get people to support her just because she has a  nice  smile.  I

earned whatever criticism's aimed at me right now, and I'm  going  to  try  to

earn back the respect I've lost--not replace it with something false."

"That's not what we're talking about, Leia," Engh  said.  "We're  talking

about taking your case not just to the Senate, but to the people the  senators

represent.

We're talking about combating misinformation and  mis-impressions  before

they take hold firmly enough to be mistaken for the truth. Leia, this can only

strengthen your hand."

They were closing in on the presidential suite. "Am I supposed to do  the

right thing, Nanaod, or the popular thing? Where's the line between wanting to

be understood and wanting to be liked?" She stopped and  faced  him,  blocking

him from coming further. "How does it help me provide the leadership  everyone

expects from me if there's a little man standing behind me whispering that the

people aren't ready yet to go where I know we  have  to?  Don't  make  it  any

harder than it is, Nanaod.

Because I have to tell you, it's hard enough already."

"All I want is to give you all the tools you need to be successful," Engh

said. "Your public image is one of them."

"Except it needs rehabilitation."

"In some circles--where you haven't been well served  by  gossip,  rumor,

and the news. This isn't about fogging the air  with  lies,  Leia--it's  about

clearing away the fog that others create."

"Mon Mothma never had to resort to image  strategists,  and  she  led  us

through harder times than these," Leia said. "No. I'm not interested."

"Will you think about it? Perhaps if you sampled what's coming in,  you'd

understand why we're concerned---" "I understand," Leia said.  "I  just  don't

want that kind of help. And I have work to do now."

Engh did not press the point further, but Leia had  trouble  leaving  the

conversation behind when she entered her office. Hours  later,  still  burning

over it, she repeated much of the exchange to Han when he joined her with  the

children for lunch at the indoor waterfall cascade.

She expected his sympathy,  but  Han's  face  acquired  an  uncomfortable

expression as she talked.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing. It's nothing--go on, I'm listening."

"No, I know that look," Leia insisted. "It's your 'I'm not going  to  say

this because it'll just make things  worse'  trying-to-bite-your-tongue  look.

Except you always have to let me see how hard you're working  to  be  nice.  I

don't know how you ever won a single hand of sabacc with that face."

"Just like I know that speech," Han said, his mouth twisting into a  wry,

crooked grin. "That's your 'I'm going to poke  at  him  until  he's  just  mad

enough to blurt out what he's thinking' speech. And it doesn't work anymore."

"So why don't  you  just  tell  me,  before  we're  both  worn  out  from

wrestling?"

"It really doesn't mean anything--" "Why don't you skip  the  cushioning-

the-blow part this time, too?"

"Women," Han sniffed in mock indignation. "They always want you  to  tell

them what you're thinking, but whatever you say is wrong."

"As long as you understand the ground rules."

"Oh, yeah. What's scary is watching Jaina  figure  them  out,  too."  Han

sighed. "A couple of days ago I  heard  from  an  old  smuggling  buddy  who's

settled down to the straight life out on Fokask. Haven't had any contact  with

him in years."

"So why now?"

"He sent me a copy of a commentary and half  a  dozen  letters  from  The

Fokask Banner, which I guess is what passes for a newsgrid out there.

The title on the commentary was something like 'Does Princess Crave  Lost

Crown?"" "Mmm. What did it have to say?"

"Aw, I didn't read it that  closely--why  would  I  want  to?"  Her  eyes

prodded him gently. "Something about how they'd always thought  of  you  as  a

steward of the best Old Republic values, but now you  were  starting  to  look

like a fan of an even older idea, the divine right of monarchs--whatever  that

means. I probably got it at least partly wrong. You can read it  yourself,  if

you really want."

"And what did your friend have to say?"

Han pursed his lips and avoided her eyes, clearly looking for  a  way  to

not answer.

"Just tell me."

"Well--he didn't have much to  say,  actually.  After  the  last  of  the

letters from the Banner, he just added a short note. 'Is  there  something  in

the water there on Coruscant?

She seemed like such a  nice  girl.""  Han  shrugged.  "It  doesn't  mean

anything, except that now I have to kill him."

"No, you don't."

He nodded, deadpan. "Do. Insulted my girl. Have to kill all of them."

"Stop that, before  the  children  hear  you,"  she  said,  punching  his

shoulder and then resting her head against it.

Han wrapped an arm around her. "I might let him off if he takes it back."

After a long pause, he added, "But he has  to  mean  it."  There  was  another

pause, during which his tone turned serious. "And, what you  said--before  the

children hear him."

Leia said nothing then. But as she cuddled with Han  and  watched  Jaina,

Jacen, and Anakin playing by the waterfalls, four words burned  in  her  ears:

before the chil dren hear. When she  returned  to  the  fifteenth  floor,  she

quietly asked Alole to find her a sample of the messages  received  in  recent

days on the ministry lines. Not long after Alole provided  them,  Leia  called

Nanaod Engh.

"I've thought some more about what you said," she said. "Please see  what

can be done."

"We'll get after it right away," Engh promised.

Young and old, fresh and seasoned, the Grannan and the Mon Calamari  left

their Fleet speeder and walked in  unconscious  lockstep  across  the  parking

apron toward the red-and-white snub fighter sitting high on its skids a  dozen

meters away.

"Here's what I wanted to show you," Admiral Ackbar said. "Have  you  ever

seen one of these before?"

"Yes," Plat Mallar said, ducking under the locked foils and studying  the

wingtip spars. "In my grandfather's enemy vessel silhouette  drill  set.  It's

some variation on an Incore T-sixty-five X-wing, isn't it?"

"Correct. But notice the wider profile  through  the  fuselage,  and  the

side-by-side cockpit."

"Dummy laser cannon on the wingtips, too," Mal-lar said. "Trainer?"

Ackbar nodded. "This is a TX-sixty-five primary trainer. The  X-wing  may

no longer be the Fleet's front-line fighter, but every pilot in the Fleet took

his first hundred hours in one of these, and every new pilot probably will for

some years to come."

Mallar crouched and peered under the fuselage. "A lot  different  from  a

TIE interceptor."

"Indeed. Including one difference you  should  be  able  to  particularly

appreciate---hyperdrive."

A wry smile creased the boy's face, then vanished.

"One of these crashed the day I came out of the tank, didn't it? I  heard

the medics talking."

Ackbar turned and pointed across the field. "Right over there, on taxiway

twenty-two. Not the first, or the last," he said with a little  shake  of  the

head. "Sometimes, despite everything we do, they come out  of  the  simulators

with the idea that if they make a mistake their mentor pilot will  just  reset

the exercise."

He shrugged. "And sometimes ships just break."

"My engineering  instructor  liked  to  say  that  stopping  isn't  hard,

stopping gently is--and anytime you leave the ground, you'd better check twice

to make sure all the nuts  are  tightened,  because  gravity  flunks  all  the

incompletes."

"It sounds like your instructor knew his business."

"Yes," Mallar said. "Bowman York did know his business. I miss him."

A fat-bodied military transport rose from the  field  beyond  and  roared

overhead on its way to space. Wearing a wistful expression, Plat Mallar turned

his head to watch it until it vanished from sight.

"So effortless--so much power, under such  precise  control."  He  looked

back to Ackbar. "That's all I cared about before the Yevetha came,  you  know.

Not the bombs and the laser cannon. Just flying. Just the ships, so  graceful,

dropping out of the clouds, disappearing into the  sky.  They  came  and  went

every day when I was very young. Mom said I'd sit at my window for  hours  and

watch for them, and call out to the whole house when I saw one."

Ackbar inclined his head toward the trainer.

"Would you like to go up?"

"I've been trying to convince myself that it  would  only  make  me  feel

worse, just in case you asked," Mallar said.

"How did you do?"

"Failed miserably. Yes, I'd really like to. Can we, sometime?"

As his answer, Ackbar climbed up the boarding ladder, reached inside  the

open cockpit, and tossed a flight helmet down to a surprised Plat Mallar.

"Now?"

"Why not?"

"Don't I need something more than this?"

"You need a mentor pilot," said Ackbar, reaching into the  cockpit  again

and retrieving another flight helmet.

"That's me."

"I meant--wait, we're just going for a ride, aren't we?"

Ackbar clambered down the ladder with his  helmet  under  his  arm.  "You

meant like a flight suit?"

"Well--yes."

"In the cargo area of the speeder," Ackbar said, nodding toward it.

"Why don't you get them?"

Mallar hurried off to the speeder, returning quickly with  an  armful  of

folded brown fabric. "Which one's mine?"

"On top," Ackbar said. "The one with your name on it."

For a moment Mallar stared blankly, uncom-prehending.

Then Ackbar's bundled flight suit fell to the ground as Mallar shook  his

out and pawed over it with shaking hands, searching for  the  namestrip  above

the right pocket. When he found it, he looked up at Ackbar wonderingly.

"On your own merit," Ackbar said firmly. "On the merit you showed the day

the Yevetha came to Polneye--the kind that counts more than any test score  or

transcript.

And I mean to teach you the way I was taught, with an  eye  to  what  you

already know, and a light hand  on  the  stick.  In  the  worst  days  of  the

Rebellion, we were putting pilots in combat on ten hours  of  simulator  time,

because we were at war. Well, Polneye is at war with N'zoth.

And if it's still important to you, and there's any way it can be done, I

will have you ready to go back to Koornacht before that war is over."

"Yes," Mallar said with a quiet fierceness. "Yes, I want it."

Ackbar nodded. "There is a corridor in  pilot  country-you  will  see  it

later--lined with small metal plaques, one for each pilot  who's  died  flying

out of this base. The walls and  the  ceiling  of  that  corridor  are  nearly

covered in metal.

And if we were to hang a plaque for every pilot who came through here  as

a trainee and died somewhere out there, under enemy guns or  in  a  ship  that

just broke, we'd have to cover the entire face of the tower."

"I understand," Mallar said.

"You only think you do-like everyone your age," Ackbar said, shaking  his

head. "Just listen to me for a moment.  When  old  people  start  wars,  young

people die.

And every hero every war  has  ever  made  went  out  that  morning  with

comrades who were every bit as brave, but not quite as lucky. You've used up a

lot of luck already getting here, Plat Mallar. And no one,  no  one  anywhere,

would ever say a word to you if you were to choose not to put on  that  flight

suit, and chose instead to make a life here. You stole  that  life  back  from

those marauders. You need not offer it up again."

"I know," said Plat Mallar, standing as tall as his frame would allow.

"And I thank you for reminding me that there is a choice. But  my  choice

is to wear this,  and  hope  for  a  chance  to  do  something  that  makes  a

difference--to me, if not to anyone else."

"Very well," Ackbar said. "Then let us begin. You have a  great  deal  to

learn."

Chapter 13

As the last holo-image of the Yevethan attack on Morning Bell  faded  and

the lights came back up in the Defense Council's hearing chamber, Leia studied

the senators seated at the V-shaped table.

There was one new face among the eight, reflecting a small shift  in  the

balance: the human Tig Peramis of Walalla was gone, and Nara Deega of Clak'dor

VII, a Bith, had been seated in his place.  After  the  confrontation  at  the

activation briefing for the Fifth Fleet, it was a relief not to have  to  face

the fiery Peramis, who had removed himself to  a  legal  limbo  by  presenting

articles of withdrawal for his homeworld.

But the intimidatingly intelligent Deega was, like the  majority  of  his

species, deeply committed to pacifism. A ruinous civil war had  left  Clak'dor

VII an ecological nightmare, inhabitable only in domed cities.

Because of those memories, Leia did not expect to  find  Deega  any  more

tractable than Peramis had been.

Leia walked into the middle of the space defined by  the,  and  all  eyes

turned to her. On the recommendation of  Engh's  image  specialists,  she  had

forgone the flowing robes of Alderaan's royal house in favor of what  Han  had

called street-fighting  clothes--a  simple  garment  suggestive  of  a  flight

jumpsuit. But she wore just one of the medals and honors she was entitled  to:

the small blue-fire crystal talisman of House Organa.

"The question I bring before you is a simple one," Leia  said  the  first

words she had spoken in that room that day.  "What  shall  we  do  about  what

you've just seen?

"These images document both the murderous brutality and the  expansionist

mentality of the current Yevethan government," she went on. "They've committed

unspeakable acts of xenophobic genocide and been  rewarded  for  it  with  new

worlds to settle and new resources to exploit. Their  success  can  only  whet

their appetite for more--but even if they are content now,  they're  profiting

from crimes against peace and morality.

"Excluding the Koornacht Cluster, Farlax Sector contains  more  than  two

thousand inhabited systems, some three hundred of which are members of the New

Republic. Not one of them is strong enough to resist the Yevetha on its own.

"We've already accepted  our  responsibility  to  protect  the  peaceable

inhabitants of Farlax by sending the Fifth Fleet to stand between them and the

Yevetha.

But that's no more  than  a  stopgap  solution.  We  cannot  undertake  a

permanent deployment at battle-group strength.  Eventually  we  will  face  an

unappealing choice between abandoning those  systems,  reinforcing  them,  and

taking on the Yevetha for them.

"I think we must face that choice now, while the initiative remains  with

us--before the Yevetha find a way to force our hand. We must find some way  to

alter the Yevethan calculus, or what  you  saw  just  now  will  only  be  the

beginning. We should try first to change their willingness to wage war, but we

should be prepared to deny them the means to wage war.

"That's why I'm here today--to ask for your counsel in devising a plan to

deal with the Yevetha, and your support in carrying it forward."

Leia's presentation was the only part of the meeting she  could  control,

and it proved to be her best moment of the morning. As soon as she returned to

her seat, Behn-kihl-nahm spoke briefly but supportively before laying out  the

ground rules for the discussion to follow.

But as soon as that discussion began, the division in the Council  became

evident, and Leia's opponents began chipping away at the foundation she  stood

on.

"What is the source of these images you  have  presented  to  us?"  asked

Senator Deega.

Leia stood at her seat. "Senator, they were recorded by the  Yevetha  and

intercepted by a ferret patrolling the perimeter of Koornacht Cluster."

"Then they are completely undocumented?"

"What do you mean, Senator? I can, if there's a legitimate reason  to  do

so, bring someone in here who can testify to the time, manner, and location in

which those images were recorded."

"You have misunderstood, President Solo," Senator Deega said patiently.

"If you did not make the recordings, you  do  not  know  what  was  being

recorded. You have said that these images document the eradication of  certain

settlements within Koornacht Cluster. But, objectively viewed,  they  document

nothing. What planets were those? Who was aboard those ships? When  did  those

events take place? Who assembled those images in that sequence?"

"If the Council feels it hasn't seen enough and  chooses  to  commit  the

time, I can present the entire unedited intercept--all eleven hours of it."

"You still misunderstand, President Solo," said Deega. "For all  you  can

prove, those images were recorded during the Rebellion, light-years away  from

Koornacht Cluster. If they were recorded at all--the  quality  of  the  images

does not exceed the capabilities of the best image editors."

Chairman  Behn-kihl-nahm  intervened  at  that  point.  "Senator   Deega,

inasmuch as you're new to the Council, I'm aware that  you  haven't  had  much

experience evaluating military intelligence. Much as we would all like to have

absolute certainty in these matters, technical espionage does not often  allow

us the luxury of the exacting standards a scientist has  for  evidence,  or  a

mathematician for a proof. Sometimes we just have to trust our  spies--or,  if

that asks too much, trust our eyes."

That brought chuckles  from  Senators  Bogen  and  Yar,  and  effectively

silenced Deega. But Senator Marook stepped up to fill the void.

"I have  no  doubt  that  terrible,  shameful  things  have  happened  in

Koornacht Cluster," said the Hrasskis, his air sacs pulsing slowly. "I do  not

question what Princess Leia has shown us."

Leia waited, knowing not to take his words as a vote of confidence.

"In truth, I found the presentation sufficiently real that I  should  not

like to see any more, or see any more closely. It's enough to  know  that  the

dying are scream-ing--I don't find that listening to it adds  anything  to  my

understanding," said Marook. "What I question is  the  Princess's  claim  that

this is a matter of great urgency.

Perhaps she can help me understand."

"I'll do my best," Leia said, wary.

"These recordings--to the best of your knowledge, they  were  made  days,

even weeks ago, yes?"

"That's true."

"So what you've shown us is history.  None  of  these  tragedies  can  be

prevented, or even tempered."

"Then how is this any different from  the  unavenged  atrocities  of  the

Imperial era? Why are we not meeting to discuss how and  when  to  invade  the

Core in search of the agents of Palpatine's rampages? Isn't the  real  urgency

here the waning of your  political  power,  and  your  desperate  need  for  a

dramatic victory to restore your prestige?"

That brought Tolik Yar  roaring  to  his  feet  in  Leia's  defense  with

accusations of his own.  "Bold  talk  from  a  traitor  who  secretly  visited

Aramadia and plotted with Nil Spaar against his own.

You have never explained what you were doing there--besides shaming  your

people and betraying your oath--" Marook answered with a lunge and a  clenched

fist, which brought Senators Bogen and Frammel into it as peacemakers and sent

Deega fleeing from the room.

Meanwhile Senator Cundertol of Bakura and Senator Zilar of Praesitlyn sat

back in their chairs, treating the contretemps as  an  object  lesson  and  an

entertainment, respectively.

"You see?" Cundertol said, leaning toward his companion.

"These aliens are always fighting, on  the  least  provocation.  It's  in

their nature. You can't stop them--so why should we try? Why are we obliged to

protect the weak against the strong? Why not let the weak fall, and then  make

our alliances with the strong?"

It took all Behn-kihl-nahm's persuasive skill to bring everyone  back  to

the table and the session back to order. But by then, unanimity was hopelessly

beyond reach.

The meeting dragged out for three more fractious hours. At the end of it,

Leia was forced to settle for a compromise that pleased no one  in  the  room,

least of all herself and the chairman. The plan was too bold  for  Deega,  too

hasty for Marook, too interventionist for Cundertol, too  far  short  of  what

Behn-kihl-nahm had thought possible, and too timid for Tolik Yar and the  rest

of the Council.

But all eight were willing to support it when they left  the  privacy  of

the hearing room, which made it the best Leia could hope for.

"Thank you, Chairman," Leia said after the consensus vote, pretending  to

a dignity far more elevated than the process deserved. "I'll give the  Council

advance notice of the announcement. I'll need to consult with Admi ral  Ackbar

and notify General A'baht. But it should only be a matter of a few hours."

The preparation took longer than the execution.

"Here's a question for you, Princess," Han said, scratching his  head  as

he peered at the holorecorder's reference screen. "How exactly  will  we  know

that Nil S paar has gotten the message, since he's officially not  talking  to

you?"

"We have three different holocomm codes  from  his  visit  here--two  for

Ararnadia and one for the viceroy's staff," said Leia. "It'll go to all three.

"

"We'll be using Channel One to notify all the  home  governments,"  added

Minister of State  Mokka  Falanthas.  "Since  the  Yevetha  used  Channel  One

themselves for Nil Spaar's last address, we know they can monitor  it--and  if

they can, it's likely that they do."

"We  will  also  have  prowlers  broadcasting  in  high-band  and   laser

directional from along the Koornacht perimeter," said General Rieekan.

"Those signals will reach the Yevethan pickets in eight  hours  or  less,

and Doornik Three Nineteen thirty-four hours later."

"And if for some reason they willfully manage to ignore  all  that,  they

cannot fail to notice two days from now, when we repeat this message and allow

the grids to carry it to the general citizenry, to prepare them for  what  may

come," said Behn-kihl-nahm. "I have no doubt that the Yevetha still have spies

on Coruscant. They will know what has transpired." He shrugged. "Indeed,  they

may already know."

Leia finished fussing with the drape of her robes and looked up.

"Where is Ackbar? Has anyone seen him?"

"I did," Han said. "He was heading for his office with a big bundle under

his arm, muttering something about too much ormachek. I  think  maybe  he  was

having trouble with his dress uniform."

Leia's face relaxed into a smile for the first time in hours. "If he went

all the way back into his closet for the Mon Calamari battle tunic he wore  at

Endor, this may take a while."

Tugging uncomfortably at his own uniform, Han said wryly, "I  could  have

used a tailor myself. I hope we don't look more  silly  than  scary,  standing

behind you."

Behn-kihl-nahm patted Han on the shoulder.

"Don't worry--the right message will come through.

And your presence is as much for domestic eyes as for Yevethan ones."

At that point Ackbar arrived, resplendent in his white admiral's tunic.

"Is that everyone now?" called the young consultant  from  Nanaod  Engh's

staff. "Can I have everyone but the Princess here by the banner?"

The consultant quickly arranged the extras along the  wall  behind  where

Leia was to sit--Han, Ackbar, and Rieekan all in uniform to the  left  of  the

banner bearing the gold-trimmed New Republic insignia,  Engh,  Behn-kihl-nahm,

and Falanthas all in diplomatic dress to the right.

Then he brought Leia in and sat her  down  in  the  cupped-hand  pedestal

chair, which effectively vanished behind her robes. Backing up, he studied his

handiwork, then peered at the tableau  on  the  reference  screen  for  a  few

seconds.

"That's all I can do," he announced. "Princess, you can go ahead whenever

the technicians are ready."

The technicians were ready in short order. Then, at last, it  was  Leia's

room, and Leia's moment.

"I am Princess Leia Organa Solo, President of the Senate, Chief of  State

of the New Republic, and Commander-in-Chief of the Defense Force.

I address myself to Nil Spaar, Viceroy of  the  Duskhan  League,  to  the

governments of N'zoth, Wakiza, Zhina, and the other Yevethan worlds throughout

Koornacht Cluster, and to the commanders of Yevethan armed forces everywhere.

"Whereas  Viceroy  Nil  Spaar  has  freely   and   openly   admitted   to

responsibility for grievous crimes against the inhabitants  of  Morning  Bell,

Polneye, New Brigia, Door-nik Six Twenty-eight, and other legally  constituted

settlements in and near Koornacht Cluster-"Whereas these  crimes  include  the

unprovoked wholesale slaughter of the inhabitants of  these  worlds,  and  the

illegal and immoral seizure of  their  homes,  goods,  and  territory-"Whereas

these acts grossly and wantonly violate the  fundamental  rights  of  sentient

beings and peaceful worlds everywhere, as well as the  fundamental  principles

of moral conduct-"Whereas these are rights and principles  to  which  the  New

Republic is wholly and unswervingly committed in both  law  and  spirit-"I  do

thereby instruct and advise Viceroy Nil Spaar and the  ruling  authorities  of

the Yevetha to immediately relinquish and withdraw from the systems  you  have

seized, surrender any and all property confiscated, and release  unharmed  any

and all prisoners now held. If you fail to do so in a  timely  and  responsive

manner, you will leave us no choice but to enforce  this  directive  by  every

means available to us."

Her gaze burned into the lens of the holorecorder.

"Do not misjudge this--our will and  determination  in  this  matter  are

unwavering. Withdraw from those worlds you illegally and immorally seized,  or

be removed from them. Those are the only choices. The New  Republic  will  not

allow you to profit from acts of such unbridled barbarism.

"Ordered and recorded this day and before  these  witnesses  at  Imperial

City, Coruscant, by President Leia Organa Solo.

"End transmission."

When the technical staff signaled the recording was over,  the  gathering

dispersed with surprising speed.

Ackbar, Behn-kihl-nahm, and Han all came to her with  words  of  support,

but only Han lingered.

"Sounded great from where we were, Leia," he said, catching her up  in  a

quick hug. "If it was me you were talking to, I'd  know  you  meant  business.

Now--how long do we wait?"

"I hope we don't have to wait very long," she said.

"But there aren't any deadlines. We'll give  them  enough  time  to  work

through their decision. I'm sure we'll hear from someone at  that  end  before

long."

"What if we don't?"

"Then everything centers on Doornik Three Nineteen," she said. "It's  the

one site we can monitor closely enough to know whether the Yevetha are packing

up or still moving in. That's where we'll be watching."

Waiting was hard.

An hour came and went, with the excitement of the moment making  it  seem

like only a few minutes. The next hour lasted a  day.  The  first  day  lasted

forever. Anticipation became anxiety, and anxiety restlessness.

Soon  restlessness  became   impatience,   and   impatience   a   gnawing

distraction.

The second day was even longer.

And nowhere was the waiting harder than along the Koornacht perimeter.

All 106 principal vessels of the Fifth Battle Group  were  on  round-the-

clock combat-level alerts. Flights of fully armed  fighters  and  interceptors

came and went from the launch bays of the carriers as  the  defensive  screens

were brought up to full combat density.

At the end of the second day, the ultimatum was made public,  along  with

selected still images from the  Alpha  Blue  intelligence.  The  response  was

surprisingly muted and, overall, supportive.

"It is comforting, but illusory," Behn-kihl-nahm warned Leia. "The Senate

is holding its criticism until there's some sign--in the  form  of  news  from

Farlax--to tell them which side they want to end up on. In the meantime,  they

can nobly posture as loyal supporters of the President and  defenders  of  the

Charter. And the public response--I suspect you will  find  that  most  casual

observers are applauding the principle without grasping the risk.  They  enjoy

the show of strength, and it seems right and good to them for us to dictate to

outsiders.

They expect the Yevetha to meekly comply, and for this to be  over  in  a

few days. Most of all, they do not expect this to lead to war."

Two days became three, and three stretched to five.

The ultimatum was retransmitted daily at 1700, but there was no  response

of any kind from inside Koor-nacht Cluster. It became increasingly clear  that

the Yevetha were ignoring the messages.

On the sixth day an Alpha Blue stationary probe came  out  of  hyperspace

near Doornik 319 and recorded the arrival of a small flotilla--three spherical

thrustships and an Imperial-design Star Destroyer. The recording  was  relayed

successfully to a repeater outside the Cluster, but  the  probe  had  been  on

station long beyond its endurance and disintegrated when it tried to disappear

back into hyperspace.

As soon as they reached him,  Drayson  brought  both  the  news  and  the

dispatch to Leia at the residence.

"I'm afraid our probe will have  left  debris  in  real-space,"  he  said

apologetically. "That may complicate matters."

"All it tells them is that we're watching--and that they can't detect  it

when we are," Leia said. "Maybe that will help us a little."

"But the reality is that that was my last asset in that system,"  Drayson

said. "And placing them is harder than hiding them once they're there. This is

likely to be the last report from Doornik Three Nineteen for  the  foreseeable

future. They're all going to be expiring."

"Let me get Han, and we'll take a look," she said.

"And we should contact Behn-kihl-nahm and Ackbar."

"I took the liberty," Drayson said. "Bennie  is  on  his  way  over.  But

Admiral Ackbar is getting in some time in a TX-sixty-five and  won't  be  here

for at least an hour."

"All right. We'll wait for Bennie."

"He said not to."

"Well," said Leia. "Then I guess we won't."

Together Han, Leia, and Admiral Drayson watched the four minutes of data-

-twenty capture clips, each twenty seconds long, spanning a  six-hour  period.

They documented the arrival of four ships and  landings  at  widely  separated

sites by three of them. When the recording was finished,  Leia  looked  up  in

surprise.

"That's not enough," she said. "We can't tell whether  those  ships  went

down empty or full. We can't see if they left or stayed."

"Wait," Drayson said. "The recording is - - enhanced resolution.  We  can

zoom on the last two clips, when the second  thrustship  was  almost  directly

under the probe."

The enhanced images  resolved  the  ambiguity.  They  revealed  a  glassy

landing pad in the middle of an empty, undeveloped plain, and a train of cargo

pallets, each nearly the size of a light freighter, being towed away from  the

thrustship.

"That's it," Leia said. "That's their answer."

Han shook his head and frowned. "I think the translation is 'Oh yeah?

Make me."" He drew a deep breath and released it noisily. "What now?"

"We wait for Bennie," Leia said. "In the  meantime,  I  want  to  see  it

again."

Eventually the meeting at the residence grew to  include  Engh,  Rieekan,

Falanthas, Behn-kihl-nahm, and Ackbar. There  were  several  showings  of  the

recording, particularly the later clips. No  one  who  saw  it  failed  to  be

concerned.

"Bennie? What do we do?" Leia asked. "Send another ultimatum?  Tell  them

we know what they're doing, insist that they stop? Maybe a firm deadline  this

time, and a clearly stated consequence for missing it."

Behn-kihl-nahm's jaws worked at her use of the nickname in that  setting,

but he said nothing of it. "It's difficult to see what magic words would  make

another warning any more credible than the ones we've already sent."

"We should give them more time," Minister Falanthas said. "There  may  be

an internal struggle over this--a split between the military and the  civilian

government.

What we see at Doornik  Three  Nineteen  may  not  reflect  the  ultimate

resolution. If we  respond  too  forcefully,  it  could  force  them  into  an

adversarial position."

"In the little we know, at least, there is no evidence the distinction is

meaningful in the Duskban League," Ackbar  said.  "Nil  Spaar  acts  with  the

singular initiative and decisiveness of an autocrat--an absolute ruler."

"He's calling your bluff, Leia," Han said. "There's no other way to  read

this."

Rieekan nodded. "I agree."

"Yes," said Ackbar. "Those ships have hyperdrive.

If they came from N'zoth, they left after we sent the first warning."

"I'll have to come back to the Defense Council, then," Leia said, looking

at the chairman.

Behn-kihl-nahm inclined his head. "And  if  Senator  Marook  and  Senator

Deega prevail this time, now that the stakes are clearly higher?  Do  we  call

the Fifth Fleet home and walk away?"

Leia stood up and walked to the study's viewpane.

From there she stared out into  the  quiet  hedge  garden,  its  sculpted

shapes lit only by the nightglow of  Imperial  City.  "We  don't  know  what's

happening on N'zoth," she said finally. "We  only  know  what's  happening  on

Door-nik Three Nineteen, and that it's unacceptable." She turned to them,  her

arms crossed over her chest. "Will you support a  blockade  of  Doornik  Three

Nineteen?"

One by one, they nodded or spoke their acquiescence.

Drayson was the last to respond.

"I  do  not  think  the  Yevetha  will  be  easily  persuaded  of   their

vulnerability, or our resolve," he said slowly.

"But  it  seems  a  reasonable  next  step,  even  if  it  should   prove

insufficient."

Leia nodded an acknowledgment, then moved  away  from  the  viewpane  and

rejoined them where they sat.

"Admiral Ackbar, does General A'baht  have  what  he  needs  to  securely

blockade that system?"

"We should consult with him on that," Ackbar said.

"With at least one Yevethau Star Destroyer  already  there,  the  general

will need to come in with overwhelming force or risk immediate hostilities."

"Let's pull up the rules of engagement for planetary blockade and  review

them with that in mind," Leia said.

Behn-kihl-nahm stood. "Madame  President,  if  you  will  excuse  me--the

decisions that remain do not require my presence, and I would like to go  home

to be with my family. Minister Falanthas--will you walk with me?

There is a small matter I need to discuss with you--" With the  seats  on

either side of him suddenly empty,  Nanaod  Engh  found  a  reason  to  excuse

himself as well.

Leia looked questioningly at Ackbar when Engh was gone.

"These are hard enough decisions for soldiers," Drayson said. "You cannot

blame them if they want to distance themselves enough so that they can sleep."

"Why should they be the lucky ones?" Han said grumpily, and sighed.

"Oh, hell. Here we go again."

"No," said Leia firmly. "We're doing this to prevent a war, not to  start

one. But that means we have to teach Nil Spaar  that  he  misread  us.  That's

going to be General · A'baht's real mission. Nothing more."

General A'baht turned away from the display with the blockade order.

"Finally," he said. "Finally."

"What?" asked Captain Morano.

"We're going into the Cluster," A'baht said. "We're  going  to  deny  the

Yevetha the use of Doornik Three Nineteen as a forward  base."  A'baht  looked

past Morano to the lieutenant at the comm station. "Call  my  tactical  staff.

Bring in the  secondary  screens.  And  alert  all  commands  to  prepare  for

redeployment."

Ultimately, thirty-one ships  of  the  Fifth  Battle  Group  of  the  New

Republic Defense Force were chosen to make the entry into the six-planet blue-

white star system cataloged as Doornik 319. Leading the  deployment  were  the

Fleet carrier Intrepid, the battle cruisers  Stalwart,  Illustrious,  Liberty,

and Vigilant, and the assault carriers Repulse and Shield. The blockade  entry

was prefaced three minutes in advance by a new hypercomm message from Princess

Leia to the Yevetha.

"The Yevethan government's reckless decision to resupply  the  bases  and

settlements located on illegally seized territory is in clear defiance of  our

order to withdraw," Leia said. "I therefore declare an immediate  blockade  of

such locations as we may choose.

"It is our declared purpose in this blockade to  interdict  any  and  all

inbound traffic, and to peaceably oversee the withdrawal of Yevethan  citizens

and the removal of Yevethan facilities. But know this--in  the  event  of  any

hostile acts directed at New Republic vessels taking part in the blockade, our

commanders in the  field  are  authorized  to  respond  immediately  with  all

necessary force.

"To avoid unnecessary bloodshed, I call on Viceroy Nil Spaar to  promptly

and clearly announce your intention to abide by the  terms  of  the  order  of

withdrawal, and to give unambiguous evidence by your actions of the  sincerity

of your words.

"Any other course you choose will  lead  to  war."  Good  words,  General

A'baht thought, with grudging respect. Strong words. May the viceroy hear  the

steel in your voice, and spare the lives of our mothers' sons and daughters.

"Signal ferret reentry now," sang out the jump manager.

"Confirm alert level zero," said Captain Morano.

"Confirming!" called the exec. "All defense systems active. Shields  set

to go automatic on reentry. Flash alert receivers in the green.

All stations crewed. All  weapons  on  standby.  Interceptor  Two,  Five,

Eight, Fighter Red, Gold, Black, are on the deck and hot."

"Picket line reentry now," sang out the jump manager.

Captain Morano nervously tightened the straps holding  him  in  his  flak

couch. "So how many combat jumps have you made, General?" he said to A'baht.

"Too many, and not enough," said A'baht.

"I understand that," Morano said. "Say--what was that Dornean war  prayer

again?"

"I have already said it for us," A'baht said, nodding.

"Attention, all hands!" called the jump manager.

"Realspace  entry  in  five--four--three--two--"   "Remember,   everyone,

there's at least one big Star Destroyer out there--let's find it fast!"

Morano called out.

"--one--" The jump alarm sounded, and the  bridge  view-screens  blurred

with streaks of white. When the streaks abruptly collapsed  into  a  brilliant

field of stars, a  brown-and-white  planet,  two-thirds  in  night,  filled  a

generous share of the forward view.

"Stang, look at them all," someone breathed, reacting to the spectacle of

the Cluster viewed from within.

"How are  the  gunners  supposed  to  find  their  targets  against  that

background?"

"Cut the chatter," A'baht snapped. "I want a head count."

"Polling the task force, sir."

"Tactical!" Morano called. "Where are you?"

"Sensors report no targets. Pickets report no contacts.

Prowlers report no contacts."

"Where's that Star Destroyer?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Must be on the other side of the planet,"  Morano  said  to  A'baht.  "I

don't know if that's lucky for them or for us."

Reports kept coming from stations all around the bridge of Intrepid.

"General, poll is complete--all ships reporting on station."

"Hangar boss reports all flights away, Captain.

Fighter screen is moving to position."

"Let's push those lead pickets out and get a look  at  the  other  side,"

said A'baht. "Anything from the ground scans yet?"

"Located  six--now  seven--landing  sites  with   adjacent   structures,"

answered the sensor operator. "No grounded ships, any design."

Morano turned to look at A'baht. "Maybe they got smart and left before we

got here?"

"Let's wait until we hear from the lead pickets," A'baht  said,  touching

his combat comm. "This is task force leader, all units. Open the formation and

take up assigned orbits configuration. Maintain your alerts."

Over the next half hour the furious, nearly frantic activity of the first

few moments faded to a more manageable level. With an all-clear from the  lead

pickets, the ships dispersed  into  the  blockade  screen--the  capital  ships

moving north and south in midlevel orbits, the secondaries east  and  west  in

high orbits, and the enclosing halo of pickets and prowlers expanding outward.

Through it all, the Yevethan Star Destroyer was nowhere to be found.

Nor were any thrustships located, either on the ground or in orbit.

Morano frowned into his hand as he studied the scan board. A'baht bounced

a fist on the armrest of his flak couch, wondering if he believed  their  good

fortune.

"No dragons today?" Morano asked finally. "The Princess will be pleased."

A'baht shook his head. "This doesn't feel right."

"Maybe at the end of the day, the Yevetha are the kind  of  bullies  that

back down when someone finally stands up to them."

"No," said A'baht. "No, that's not the right personality.

They're tougher--and colder--than that. Operations!

I want scouts sent immediately to the other planets in the system.

I've got a feeling the Yevetha didn't go very far."

"Right away, sir."

But there was no chance for that order to be carried out. Contact  alarms

began to sound, and the tactical officer shouted over them, "Captain! I've got

incoming hostiles, six, eight, ten, fifteen, all vectors,  very  high  closing

speeds--they must be microjumping in behind the pickets--" Something detonated

against Intrepid's forward particle shields, bathing the  bridge  in  blinding

light until the dazzlers responded.  The  shield  shock  made  the  ship  sway

slightly underfoot.

"Where did that come from?"

"We're  taking  ground  fire,  General--ion  cannon   and   high-velocity

missiles. Three sites."

"Show me tactical."

The center viewscreen metamorphosed  into  a  three-dimensional  tactical

display, which showed the task force's ships arrayed in three shells  orbiting

the planet.

The attacking vessels were already inside  the  outer  shell,  diving  in

toward the larger ships from half the compass.

"This is task force leader," A'baht said grimly. "All ships,  counterfire

at will. Defend yourselves."

"All batteries, return fire, counterforce protocol," Morano ordered.

"Tactical--report enemy strength."

"Count three, repeat, three Imperial-class Star Destroyers; six,  repeat,

six  Aramadia-class  thrustships;  one  additional   capital   ship,   unknown

configuration and design."

It all happened so quickly that surprise never faded from the  bridge  of

Intrepid. The attacking Star Destroyers dove in at high speed,  their  forward

batteries firing without cessation. A'baht watched the spherical  thrust-ships

with special interest. With their  large  silhouettes,  the  Yevethan-designed

ships seemed as though they should be vulnerable, but they  proved  otherwise.

Without ever seeming to drop shields, they launched volleys of  torpedoes  and

released salvos of a type of side-steering gravity bomb not  previously  seen.

All the time, heavy laser batteries fired from six concealed and widely spaced

gun ports.

A cluster of four  Yevethan  gravity  bombs  targeted  the  light  escort

Trenchant in high orbit, overwhelming its particle shields with a  coordinated

detonation. Moments later a proton torpedo struck it forward  of  the  bridge,

and it disappeared inside a billowing fireball.

"All defense batteries, target those slow  bombs,"  the  ship's  tactical

officer ordered. "General,  sir,  Liberty  is  reporting  six  fighters  down,

lateral shields at one-quarter. Repulse is moving to screen her."

Morano pounded his fist on the armrest. "We've got numbers on  them,  but

we're deployed all wrong for this kind of 'attack. We're sandwiched in between

them and the planet with no room to maneuver."

"Patience, Captain," A'baht said. "We need a little more."

The tracking officer turned at his station.  "General-the  enemy  vessels

are not sustaining contact.

They're making one pass only, then veering off to multiple headings.

There may be more coming in behind them, sir."

"Hold your speculation  unless  asked  for  it,"  A'baht  said.  "Colonel

Corgan, where do we stand?"

The tactical officer for A'baht's staff frowned over his console.

"Fifty seconds more, General. Then I'll be ready to transmit."

"Fifty seconds it is," A'baht said. "Task force  leader--all  secondaries

prepare to break orbit  to  vector  five-five-two.  All  primaries  cover  the

withdrawal."

The comm chief signaled A'baht  through  his  couch  console.  "Sir,  the

captains of Illustrious and Liberty are asking for permission to pursue."

"Denied," A'baht said. "Task force leader, all ships.  Lock  up  on  your

debris and take it with you--I want bodies pulled before we jump out."

Now it was the ship tactical officer's turn. "Sir--we can take them.

We just need to regroup  and  pursue--"  "At  what  losses,  under  these

conditions? Lieutenant, we didn't come here to win at any cost,  in  a  battle

zone they chose and at a time that suited them," A'baht said,  "We  came  here

for the information we need to win the next time. And that next time is coming

sooner than they think."

"Yes, sir."

"Transmitting," Colonel Corgan said. "Dispatch away."

A'baht nodded. "Task force leader--Secondaries break orbit. We  got  what

we came for--now the Yevetha will get what  they  deserve."  He  switched  his

hypercomm to the scrambled command channel and keyed the transmit  code.  "All

groups, your authorization is kaph-samekh-nine-cipher-nine-go-daleth.

Hit 'em hard."

The eighteen ships of Task Force Aster were waiting at their staging area

two light-hours above the plane of the Doornik 319 system. The word was passed

to them by the task force commander, Commodore Brand, aboard the star  cruiser

Indomitable.

"All ships, alert," he said. "The Yevetha have resisted the blockade.

We're going in. You should be receiving updated target  and  jump  vector

data from Group Tactical now. Countdown to the jump-in will begin on my  call.

All batteries, make sure you have positive target acquisition. It's  going  to

be crowded down there."

Two light-hours below the planetary plane, similar directions were passed

to the twenty ships of Task Force Blackvine by Commodore Tolsk.

The word filtered quickly down through the ranks and out from the bridge,

reaching even the crews waiting in the cockpits of their fighters and  assault

craft, which were arrayed for launch on the hangar decks.

"Are you keeping an eye on that number three engine?"

Skids called forward to the pilot's cockpit of the K-wing.  "It  looks  a

little hot from back here."

"I'm on top of it," Esege Tuketu answered. "But  everything  in  here  is

going to run a little hot till they throw the doors open and start pushing  us

out. She can take it."

"I just don't want to hear 'Oops' at the end of a power dive  on  one  of

those Star Destroyers," Skids said.

"I promise--you won't," Tuke said.

"Good."

"--I'll just think it to myself."

"Is it too late for me to find another pilot?"

Ahead of them, the great armored clamshell doors of Hangar Bay 5 began to

open. "It's too late," said Tuke. "You just make sure all our eggs are safe. I

don't want to crack one early."

"Point this thing straight and you won't have to worry about that."

Moving as one under the control of the floor chief, the  assault  bombers

of the 24th Bombardment Squadron accelerated down the  draglines--first  Black

Flight, its six K-wings in two rows, three abreast, then Green, then Red.  The

most dangerous part about cluster launches was executing the break  on  time--

the spacing was so tight that impatience in the back rows could wipe out  half

the squadron.

ble's battle operations center as his tracking system lit.

"Acquiring target."

"My, my, my--they sure turned all the lights on for us,"  Skids  said  on

the local comm, craning his head to look in all directions. "I've  never  seen

such a sky full of stars."

Red Flight broke  down  and  away,  toward  the  last  of  four  Yevethan

thrustships strung out in a line leading back to Doornik 319. In a few moments

they  picked  up  their  cover  fighters--the  E-wings  of  the  16th  Fighter

Squadron's Blue Flight.

"That trailer's ours, Blue Leader," Tuke said. "Red Flight, arm your eggs

and confirm acquisition by your targeting computers."

Each of the six bombers was carrying two fat T-33 plasma torpedoes, known

among the crews as shield-busters or rotten eggs. Designed to detonate at  the

shield perimeter rather than to penetrate it, the plasma warheads of the T-33s

created the most intense radiation burst of any New Republic  weapon,  several

times the output of a capital ship's ion cannon batteries.

The focused cone of radiation  was  designed  to  overload  ray-shielding

generators, either burning them up with the feedback or pushing them overlimit

with the bounceback. Once even one generator was  down,  the  towers  for  the

particle shields would be vulnerable to the  turbolaser  turrets  on  the  gun

frigates. If everything went according to plan, the carriers, already  falling

back behind the cruiser screen, would never come close to engaging  the  enemy

directly.

Their system entry had placed them a startlingly close 16,000 klicks from

their targets, and the thrustship grew quickly in the scopes  and  screens  as

the bombers accelerated to attack velocity.  At  a  range  of  three  thousand

kilometers, Tuketu ordered Red Flight to move into  the  open  hex  formation,

which would give them all room for evasive maneuvers on  the  way  in  and  an

unobstructed power pullup on the way out.

There was no sign of enemy snub fighters, but  the  flight  began  taking

some fire from the thrustship  at  fifteen  hundred  kilometers.  Hinking  and

jinking  the  K-wing  violently,  Tuketu  alerted  his  weapons  tech  to  the

opportunity that created.

"They're firing through their shields, Skids--the beam scatter will  give

us the exact range to the boundary."

"Working on it now," Skids answered,  his  head  down  over  his  control

displays.

"Hurry," Tuketu said. "Drop point coming up fast."

There was an induction crackle as an ion bolt passed within twenty meters

of the bomber. "Red Leader, Red  Five--are  you  hearing  this  stuff  on  the

command comm?"

The moment the question was asked, Tuketu realized that there were  other

voices in the cockpit. "Cut the chatter, Red Flight," he  said  automatically.

"C One has to stay open."

"Red Leader, that's not us--and it's all over the spectrum, C One, C Two,

the task force frequency, the Fifth's hypercomm--are you listening to it,  Red

Leader?

Do you hear what they're saying?"

The drop point was almost on them. Esege Tuketu forced himself  to  focus

on the sounds he had been disregarding as extraneous.

"--I am the Kubaz called Totolaya. I reside in the colony Morning Bell. I

am a hostage of the Yevetha. If you attack, I will  be  killed--"  On  C2  the

message was, "I am Brakka Barakas, an elder of New Brigia. I am a  hostage  of

the Yevetha. If you attack us, I will be  killed--"  "Red  Leader,  Red  Four.

Shall we break off?"

"Red Two here--Tuke, what do we do?"

The decision had to be made in an instant. "Stay  on  target.  Make  your

drops," Tuke snapped.

Just then an ion bolt from one of the  thrustship  batteries  caught  Red

Four full on the port engine foil.

The charge danced angrily over the surface of the bomber. Before it could

reach the eggs, Red Four's weapons tech released them.

"Eggs away!" Skids cried.

"--I am Liekas Tendo, a Morath mining engineer.

I'm in a security cell on some kind of starship. They say these creatures

holding us are Yevetha. They say if you attack  us,  I'll  be  killed.  Please

don't attack us--" Tuketu pulled the stick back sharply, kicking  in  the  big

slant-mounted third engine. The power  of  it  quickly  changed  the  bomber's

attitude and trajectory, pushing it out and away from the ship,  the  shields,

and the explosions to come. As always, the pullout took Tuketu  right  to  the

brink of nconsciousness.

"--I am Crandor Ijjix of the Norat Sovereignty. I have been taken hostage

by invaders and held on their ship. To all vessels of the New Republic--do not

attack, or we will be eradicated--" Red Four  never  made  its  pullout  move.

Disabled by  the  ion  bolt,  the  K-wing  continued  falling  in  toward  the

thrustship, trailing its own torpedoes by a fraction of  a  second.  When  the

plasma eggs reached the shield perimeter, Red Four was enveloped by the double

fireball. The fragments that were hurled out of the cloud were closer in  size

to dust than to a spaceship.

"Jojo--" Tuke closed his eyes for just a moment.

"Skids, report results of bombing."

"Negative--negative, the shield's still up," Skids said disgustedly.

"Red Two, Three, and Five did not drop their eggs, repeat, did not drop."

"Red Leader, this is Red Three weps. Tuke, I'm sorry--I just couldn't  do

it. Not with hostages begging me not to."

"Son of a--you're looking at a court-martial, Condor."

"I'll accept the consequences. But I wasn't  going  to  help  murder  the

people we came here to help."

"Blue Leader to Red Flight--you guys had better work it out back  at  the

barn. Target is launching its own birds. Ten on the wing and more coming."

After one glance at the tracking  display,  Tuketu  pushed  the  throttle

forward and wheeled his bomber around so that the  nose  pointed  back  toward

Indomitable. "Red Two, Red Three, Red Five, find a safe  place  to  dump  your

bomb load. Everyone take it home, best possible speed.

Red Leader to flight boss--five coming in, ETA four minutes."

It was four minutes of hell. The Yevethan fighters were fast and  lethal,

and the outnumbered E-wings couldn't hold them off. Red Three was  picked  off

returning from its bomb dump. Red Five took a hit on the port wing and another

just behind the cockpit, and exploded in flames just  before  it  reached  the

cover umbrella of the cruiser Gallant. Blue Flight fared even worse--only  one

of the bombers made it back to the comparative safety of Indomitable's  hangar

bays.

Helmet under his arm, his eyes hollow and his face  drawn,  Esege  Tuketu

stood near the flight boss as the casualties were posted on the status  board.

Jojo. Keek.

Dopey and the Bear. Pacci. Nooch.

When Miranda's name went up, he no longer could stand the  bloody  litany

and turned and slipped away.

With his skin cold and pale, General A'baht watched from  the  bridge  of

Intrepid as variations on the same theme played out all over the battle zone.

Every attack bomber, every cover fighter, every capital  ship  from  both

Task Force Aster and Task Force Blackvine received a continuous  broadcast  of

hostage appeals on every comm channel used by the Fleet.

Enough gunners hesitated and enough pilots turned away that not a  single

Yevethan capital ship was touched.

And in the retreat--both the confused one that started spontaneously  and

the official one he ordered  minutes  later--nineteen  of  the  Fleet's  small

warbirds were destroyed.  A  hangar  fire  on  the  carrier  Venture  consumed

fourteen more and left all three portside bays unusable.

The cruiser Phalanx took a bow  shot  while  pulling  a  crippled  E-wing

inside its shields with a tractor beam, and the damage went all the  way  back

to the number 14 bulkhead.

The cost in lives, counting the loss of Trenchant, ran  to  well  over  a

thousand.

But the full cost of the defeat went far beyond that,  A'baht  knew.  And

the ultimate cost in blood was beyond measuring.

They are not afraid of us. They are not afraid of dying. There is nothing

we can use to restrain their behavior but force--the war  we  didn't  want  to

fight.

Intrepid lingered, hidden in the glare of Doornik 319's star,  while  the

Fifth Fleet forces jumped out of the system in ones and twos.  Only  when  the

carrier was the last ship remaining did A'baht turn away from the view-screens

and descend to the main bridge on unsteady legs.

"Captain Morano," he said. "Take us out of here."

Behn-kihl-nahm walked the empty Memorial Corridor  with  long,  impatient

strides. Two maintenance engineers, neither accustomed to moving at that pace,

struggled to keep up with him.

At the end of the corridor he turned right, stopping under the sign  over

the entrance to the Senate Hall. He glanced up at it only briefly, reading  it

with a sigh in his heart.

1000 DAYS WITHOUT A SHOT FIRED IN ANGER Remember, Peace  Is  No  Accident

Then the chairman turned and looked back, waiting for the maintenance  men  to

join him. When they did, Behn-kihl-nahm pointed up at the sign.

"Turn it off," he said. "Take it down. Take it away."

One of the engineers squinted up at the sign. "Do you want it put in  the

Senate storeroom?"

Behn-kihl-nahm shook his head. "No. Just get it  out  of  here,  now.  We

won't have any more use for it."

Then he hurried away from the broken dream and toward the Defense Council

hearing chamber. The emergency meeting on the situation in  Koornacht  Cluster

was waiting on his arrival to begin.

CChapter 14

The Senate messenger at the gate to  the  President's  residence  was  as

determined to be admitted as the security droid was determined to bar him from

entering.

"I don't care what your protocols say--I am here on the authority of  the

acting chairman of the Ruling Council of the Senate, and my  instructions  are

explicit," the messenger was saying as Leia approached the gate from the inner

walk. "I must deliver this message, and I may only deliver it into  the  hands

of the Princess herself."

"Very well. Here I am," Leia said.

"Princess," the messenger said,  turning  quickly  and  bowing  his  head

slightly. "I apologize for the disruption-" "It's not your fault,"  she  said,

reaching through the gate past S-EP1 for the stiff folder  bearing  the  royal

blue insignia. "Sleepy's programming  didn't  include  the  possibility  of  a

summons. Someone will have to see to that, apparently."

The messenger bowed his head again. "My apologies  again,  Princess,"  he

said, and backed away.

Leia did not open the folder before starting back toward  the  house.  Of

all the many bodies---councils,  committees,  commissions,  and  contractors--

making up the complex organizational  structure  of  the  Senate  of  the  New

Republic, only one had the power to summon the President to appear before it.

That one was the Ruling Council.

Its name, which went back to the days of the Provisional government,  was

no longer descriptive of its role.

Much of the power and responsibility of the transitional  Ruling  Council

now rested elsewhere in the Senate, the General Ministry, or the Fleet Office.

The New Republic  had  traded  efficiency  for  democracy  and  oligarchy  for

bureaucracy--and had done so willingly and knowingly.

A confederation of more than ten thousand systems  could  not  be  justly

ruled by a self-elected few.

But the one element of  its  old  power  which  the  Ruling  Council  had

retained involved a special responsibility regarding the President.

The drafters of the Charter  were  wary  about  creating  too  strong  an

executive--one who, unchecked, might be able to accumulate more and more power

over time and become a dictator in fact if not in name.  The  cold  truth  was

that Palpatine's reign had begun not with a coup, but with his  gaining  power

largely by legitimate means.

As a check against that history being repeated, the Charter preserved the

Ruling Council in the form of a supercommittee made up of the chairmen of  the

Senate Councils. The founders gave it the power both to void the election of a

President and to initiate the recall of a sitting one. Ackbar had  dubbed  the

Ruling Council "the speed brake on the ship of state." But as often as it  was

spoken of, the Ruling Council met rarely, and had  never  been  used  for  its

intended purpose.

Until now.

The Council had already been seated,  apparently  arguing  behind  closed

doors, for nearly an hour before Leia  was  brought  in.  Though  a  seat  was

provided for her, Leia chose to stand in the shallow well of the chambers.

Even that only placed her at eye level with  the  seven  senators  seated

around the arc of the panel. At the  center  was  Doman  Beruss,  the  crystal

pyramid and striker resting near his hand. Behn-kihl-nahm was to his left, but

would not look at her.

"Madame President--Princess Leia--in the normal  rotation,  it  would  be

Senator Praget's turn to chair this session," Beruss said.  "However,  due  to

the present circumstances, the Council has decided to advance the rotation  to

the next designated chair, so as to avoid any  procedural  conflicts.  Do  you

have any objection to my chairing this session?"

So that's what the delay was about, Leia thought. "I have no objection."

"Very well," said Betuss. "President Leia  Organa  Solo,  you  have  been

summoned before the Ruling Council for the discussion of a petition of  recall

against you.

"A duly constituted member of this body has  presented  articles  calling

for a vote of no confidence on the  following  grounds:  One,  exceeding  your

Charter authority.

Two, recklessly endangering the peace and the lives of  citizens  of  the

Republic. Three, issuing illegal orders  to  initiate  hostilities  against  a

sovereign state. Four, incompetence  to  properly  carry  out  the  duties  of

office.

"Do you understand your rights and obligations in regard to a petition of

recall? If so, please state them in your own words."

"I have the right to hear a specification of the cause of action. I  have

the right to present whatever witnesses and evidence I choose in defense of my

actions and performance," Leia said. "I have the obligation  to  answer  fully

and truthfully all questions which may be put to me, as well as the obligation

to appear before the Senate  in  assembly  should  you  vote  to  sustain  the

petition."

"Very well," said Betuss. "Senator Praget has brought the  petition,  and

will lay out the specific articles."

That took Leia by surprise--she had been expecting the complainant to  be

Borsk Fey'lya. "Senator," she said with a nod.

Krall Praget eyed her briefly before he began, his  gaze  measuring  her,

judging her, ultimately dismissing her. For the duration of his  presentation,

he looked down along the curving  table  from  his  seat  at  the  right  end,

addressing himself to Beruss and the other Council members, virtually ignoring

Leia.

Praget spoke for not quite an hour, then yielded back to  Senator  Beruss

without asking Leia a single question.

She could not tell whether he had decided he was unlikely to  succeed  in

getting her to betray herself, or thought his case so  strong  that  that  was

unnecessary.

In contrast, Senator Rattagagech had  a  long  series  of  very  specific

questions, but they were far less accusatory in tone than Praget's exposition,

or even his glances.

The Elomin was trying to reconstruct the calculus of Leia's decisions  in

painstaking detail, and even Praget grew impatient with him.

"You either know what you stand for, or you don't," Praget said.

"Relevance,  Chairman,  relevance--please  instruct  the  Senator  to  be

relevant or yield. The petition is offered on actions and results, not motives

or intentions."

Rattagagech drew back in surprise. "Senator Praget, your  fourth  charge,

of incompetence, demands a thorough assessment of the President's  judgment--"

"Chairman, permission to amend the petition?"

Beruss nodded. "As you wish."

"I strike and withdraw the fourth article in its entirety," Praget  said,

then looked at Rattagagech. "Are you finished now?"

The Elomin showed a peevish  expression.  "In  light  of  the  amendment,

Chairman, I have no further questions for Princess Leia."

"Very well," said Beruss. "Senator Fey'lya." sault, the killing blow,  to

come from Borsk Fey'lya.

Praget's obvious eagerness to give the Bothan the  floor  only  confirmed

that expectation.  But  Fey'lya  changed  direction  abruptly,  leaving  their

expectations falling to the floor as dust.

"President Organa Solo," Fey'lya said, smiling politely.

"I'm sorry we've had to take up so much of your time at such  a  critical

juncture. I have just one question for you this morning. If you could  revisit

any of these decisions of the last several days, with no more  knowledge  than

was available to you the first time, would you change any of them?"

Leia blinked in surprise--Fey'lya might as well have laid his coat across

a puddle for her. Praget gaped, then fell into a coughing fit.

"No, Senator," Leia said, unable to see a trap. "I believe we were  right

to demand that the Yevetha withdraw, and that I consulted  properly  with  the

Defense Council before doing so. I believe we were right to try to enforce the

ultimatum with a blockade, and that I  consulted  properly  with  the  Supreme

Commander before doing so. I believe we were right to respond to the  Yevethan

ambush immediately with the forces available, and that  General  A'baht  acted

within his authority in doing so. The outcome wasn't what we wanted,  but  not

for reasons we had any cause to anticipate."

Praget snorted derisively at the last, but Fey'lya  accepted  her  answer

with a nod. "Thank you, Princess.

Chairman Beruss?"

The balance of the discussion was brief  and  inconsequential,  and  they

voted with Leia still present. The vote was two to  five  against,  with  only

Rattagagech joining Praget.

"The petition fails," said Beruss. "That being the only  business  before

the Council, this session is adjourned."

Jaw set and an ugly look in his eyes, Praget headed directly for Fey'lya.

Buoyed by relief, Leia headed for the corridor. Before she reached  it,  Behn-

kihl-nahm joined her, and they walked away from the chambers together.

"I thought it would be Fey'lya," she said.

"It will be," Behn-kihl-nahm said. "Krall Praget got there first."

"Why?"

"Turf violation," Behn-kihl-nahm said. "You didn't  consult  with  Praget

before acting. And the intelligence you depended on didn't come through him."

"So why didn't Fey'lya support him? Did someone forget to bring the  rope

for the hanging?"

"Because the moment is premature. Because he knew that the petition would

not carry,  even  with  his  vote,"  said  Behn-kihl-nahm.  "The  outcome  was

foreordained, long before you were called in."

"How?"

"By the outcome of the vote on who would chair the meeting. When  Fey'lya

saw that Praget would not get to run the session, he knew that  this  was  not

the day."

"Would it violate the secrecy of the proceedings to tell  me  who  raised

that issue?"

A hint of a smile tugged tellingly  at  the  corner  of  Behn-kihl-nahm's

mouth. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty."

Leia's answering smile was broad and affectionate.

"Whoever it was, Bennie, please thank him for me."

"I'm sure he would not think that necessary. I'm certain he would say  he

was acting for the good of the Republic."

"Thank him anyway," Leia said. "So what happens now?"

"You have a little time. But not so much as you would like,  or  probably

as much as is required," said the chairman. "When the air  is  saturated  with

fear, it needs only a seed around which it can begin to coalesce. The same  is

true of ambition. This is only the beginning of the challenges, Leia.  And  if

nothing changes, the next time you may not survive."

Viceroy Nil Spaar's newly expanded breedery  on  the  top  level  of  the

palace quarters now had sixteen alcoves.

All but one of them contained a birth-cask,  supple  and  fertile,  or  a

maturing nesting, bulging and fecund.

The empty space had once been occupied by the mara-nas of  Kei,  who  had

been his first. Her birth-cask had brought forth two handsome  nitakka  and  a

strong marasi before succumbing to the gray death. He  had  left  that  alcove

open to respect Kei's place as darna of his  family,  and  to  give  her  some

comfort against her envy of his younger mates.

By design and custom, the breedery was a quiet, private  place.  But  Nil

Spaar had chosen to have his visitor brought to him there.

"So you are Tal Fraan," he said.

"Yes, darama," the young proctor said, kneeling in submission.

"Rise," Nil Spaar said. "I am told you are the architect of the  rout  of

the vermin at Preza."

"I am honored by the darama's notice," Tal Fraan said, his glance jumping

past the viceroy to the alcoves beyond. "But the opportunity for  success  was

created by the darama, with the aid of our shipbuilders,  who  have  given  us

such splendid weapons."

"Excessive modesty betrays calculation, andbegs for excessive attention,"

said Nil Spaar. "Remember that and be guided by it, if you  hope  to  continue

your speedy advance."

"I wish only to serve the darama in reclaiming the All  for  the  Pure--"

Tal Fraan began.

Nil Spaar raised a warning finger. "You  were  not  so  eager  to  refuse

credit when the primate of Glory advanced you to your new rank. Do  you  think

that I surround myself with talentless flatterers? I have  far  more  use  for

cleverness. You are clever, aren't you, Proctor Tal Fraan?"

"I try not to allow opportunities to escape me, Viceroy."

Showing an approving nod at being addressed directly,  Nil  Spaar  turned

and began to walk slowly along the  line  of  alcoves.  Both  blood-scent  and

breeding-scent were bracingly strong in the air. "And  how  came  you  to  the

device which served so well against the vermin?"

"The directive sent by the vermin spoke of prisoners,"  said  Tal  Fraan,

following a step or two behind.

"That gave me cause to believe that their actions  could  be  steered  by

seizing that concern."

"You risked much in 'surrendering the advantage over the  blockade  force

in the hope of drawing out their  reserves,"  Nil  Spaar  said,  stopping  and

running his fingers lightly over the surface of a nesting that was  nearly  at

term. "This device, this matter of regard for the fate of prisoners--it  would

not have stopped Yevetha. If it had failed, your entire force could have  been

lost."

"The vermin are not strong about death," Tal Fraan said. "I knew it would

not fail."

"Ah! Then you feel you have pierced their habits so well that  you  would

commit ten thousand lives to the proof?"

"The primate committed them, Viceroy."

"An incautious answer, Tal Fraan," said the viceroy, turning. "Would  you

commit your life on your confidence?"

The young proctor twitched, then shook his head to lift his crests.

"Yes, Viceroy."

"Good," Nil Spaar said. "I can have no  respect  for  one  who  will  not

gamble his own blood."

A breedery assistant had been discreetly keeping his distance  throughout

the meeting. Now Nil Spaar signaled  to  him,  and  he  disappeared  into  the

anteroom. He returned moments  later,  leading  a  nitakka  prepared  for  the

sacrifice.

"Wait," Nil Spaar said to Tal Fraan, and  walked  to  where  the  nitakka

stood on the grate above the drain pit.

The young male met Nil Spaar's eyes without fear.

"I ask for your blood for my children," the viceroy said softly.

"The darama honors me," said the nitakka, dropping to his knees. "I offer

my blood as a gift."

"I accept your gift," said Nil Spaar.  His  killing  claws  appeared  and

slashed air and flesh with silent precision.

As the sacrifice collapsed to the grating, the  viceroy  turned  away  to

rejoin his now pale visitor.

"I have pierced your habits, Tal Fraan," he said.

"They are familiar to me. You look at what I have, and you see  yourself.

No, I have warned you already--do not  deny  it.  I  respect  cleverness,  and

courage, and most of all success. I will keep you here, close by, to serve me.

If you understand the opportunity, you can expect  to  profit  from  it."  Nil

Spaar smiled. "And if you err,  you  can  expect  to  serve  my  new  children

instead."

"Yes," Lieutenant Davith Sconn said, and blew a puff of  smoke  from  his

hoat-stick. The brisk breeze blowing across the north yard of the Jagg  Island

Detention Center carried the acrid scent away. "I've been to N'zoth."

"I've read the deposition you gave to the  Intelligence  examiner  a  few

months ago," Leia said. "His evaluation says that in his  judgment,  you  were

just trying to earn favors by making something up--that  you  knew  we  didn't

have any way to confirm or refute what you said."

"Then there's obviously a  shortage  of  intelligence  at  Intelligence,"

Sconn said, turning toward where she sat.

His gaze flicked past her to The Sniffer and The Shooter.

"You must be someone pretty important. I've never seen them let a  weapon

in here before. What if one of us dangerous war criminals got  that  firestick

away from him and took you hostage?"

Leia smiled sweetly. "I do think they'd enjoy it if someone tried.

It's been more than a year since the last time a fool gave my  bodyguards

a chance to use deadly force."

"There ain't no justice in this galaxy," Sconn  said,  and  came  to  sit

opposite her. "They get paid for the same thing I'm getting punished  for.  So

who are you? You look a little like Princess Leia, only older."

She ignored his gibe. "Lieutenant Sconn--" "Davith," he corrected. "I was

forcibly retired from the Imperial Navy, you know."

"I've also reviewed your trial record, Davith Sconn," Leia said evenly.

"You were the executive officer of the  Star  Destroyer  Forger  when  it

suppressed a rebellion on Gra Ploven by creating  steam  clouds  which  boiled

alive two hundred thousand Ploven in three coastal cities."

"On the orders of Grand Moff  Dureya,"  Sconn  said.  "For  some  reason,

people are  always  leaving  that  part  out.  Don't  you  Rebels  believe  in

discipline? I still can't figure out how you managed to defeat us."

Despite herself, she let him goad her into a reply.

"Perhaps it has something to do with having the freedom to refuse immoral

orders."

"Immoral?  The  little  finbacks  had  refused  to  pay   their   defense

assessments, making the Grand Moff rather cranky."  Sconn  drew  hard  on  his

hoat-stick and held the smoke for long seconds. "But, then, that was  late  in

the day for the Empire, and Grand Moff Dureya was cranky rather a lot  of  the

time."

"Was it with Forger that you visited N'zoth?"

"Oh, no. I was on Moff Weblin--second watch bridge commander of  a  Fleet

tender," he said, hooking one leg over the other. "Why should I  talk  to  you

about N'zoth?"

"Why did you talk to the NRI?"

"Because it didn't matter," Sconn said, shrugging.

"Because it was a novelty. Because Agent Ralls was such a clueless  young

tad that I thought I might have fun shocking him with tales of my travels with

Papa Vader."

He leaned forward in his chair. "You're different. You matter.  For  some

reason, you really care about what I know. And you're not going to be any  fun

at all to shock.  So  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  show  me  a  little  more

consideration than Ralls was able to."

"But you forget, Sconn--I already have the deposition," Leia said.

"You don't have much left to sell."

"Oh, but you don't know what I left out--" "Sconn, I ought  to  warn  you

that I'm already way over my quota of self-serving lies for  the  year,"  Leia

said, her gaze intent. "If you  want  consideration,  you  give  me  something

first. I have some questions about N'zoth-about what  you  told  Agent  Ralls.

Answer my questions honestly, to the best of your ability, without games,  and

then I'll tell you how much what you've said is worth to me."

Sconn sat back in his chair. "I have no reason to trust you," he said.

"Or, when it comes to that, to help you."

It took all the self-control Leia had  not  to  reach  across  the  space

separating them with her thoughts and slide in behind his  smugness  with  the

full power of the Force, looking for some fragile  place  to  grab  and  twist

until something snapped. Instead, she gathered the folds of her  robe  in  her

hands and stood.

"Even in prison, Sconn, you always have choices," she  said.  "If  that's

yours, so be it."

She turned and started to go, fully expecting that he would let her.

"Wait," Sconn said quickly. "Look, can you find us someplace more private

to talk? Somewhere away from here. We're in the middle of the yard, for gaol's

sake. I can't be seen cooperating with the keepers.

Especially not with you."

"The war is over, you know."

"Not in here," he said. "Never in here. Have them send me  to  isolation,

as though I'm being punished for giving you a hard time.

They can take me out from there without anyone knowing."

"You want us to take you off Jagg Island?" Leia asked, her eyebrow cocked

skeptically. "Tell me, do I look particularly gullible today?"

"That's all I really want. That's all I was going to ask for, anyway.

Just a few hours out."

"So you can try that escape plan you've been working on, no doubt."

"Much as I hate to say it, your blue-hats  don't  seem  prone  to  losing

track of us," Sconn said. "Stang, they can take me out in a stun-box,  if  you

want. It doesn't matter."

"Any particular place you had in mind to go?"

"Since you're asking--" Sconn's head twitched skyward.

"How about three hundred klicks straight up, with a view  that  goes  the

rest of the way?"

"Stop--please."

His wrists cross-bound against his chest, Davith  Sconn  stared  out  the

cutter's viewport at the sunrise racing toward them.

"In twenty-four years in the navy, the longest I was  ever  dirtside  was

forty days' forced leave on Trif one year," he said, blinking away tears  that

came freely but silently. "I never found a good enough reason not to go  right

back out. Now I've been tied down on that rock  for  twelve  years,  and  I've

gotten a lot closer to crazy than I ever wanted  to  on  account  of  it.  You

wouldn't think you could, but I was starting to forget. I'd  forgotten  almost

everything but the feeling--this feeling."

Sconn turned back to Leia. "Sit me where I can look out," he said.

"I'll answer whatever questions I can."

With a broad sweep of her hand, Leia guided Admiral Ackbar to a chair  in

the President's briefing room.

"This is the part I thought you should see," she said,  and  started  the

holoprojector.

"Black Fifteen was used mostly for new construction and finish work,  not

as a repair depot. But it had a reputation for the tightest work in the  whole

sector. Any captain who had a choice put in there.  We  took  Moff  Weblin  in

there for a rebuild on a blown number four power cell.

"That's not an overnight in any yard, so the captain told me to look into

shore  leave.  The  station  morale  officer  laid  out  the  rules:  enlisted

restricted to the yard and the station,  officers  permitted  but  discouraged

from going down to the planet.

"I asked him what was up, since Black Fifteen had been  there  for  three

years at that point, and it didn't usually take  the  troopers  that  long  to

bring the locals in line. He told me that one out of two Imperial personnel on

the planet was a stormtrooper.

"'There's been very little trouble for a few  months  now,  but  I  don't

trust them,' he said. 'They're crazy,' he told me. 'More blood than rain  fell

in the streets before we got here, and it will again  when  we  leave.""  Leia

heard her own voice asking, "What did he mean by that?"

"That's what I asked him. But it turned out he wasn't trying to show  off

his metaphors. He meant it just like he said it. More blood than rain."

"There's that much fighting among the Yevetha?"

"No, they hardly fight  at  all  with  each  other--not  what  we'd  call

fighting, anyway. I got in with a  security  captain  who  fancied  himself  a

xenobiologist, a fellow who'd been down on the surface a lot. He told me about

dominance killing, blood sacrifice, and some weird ideas he  had  about  blood

and Yevethan reproduction."

"Dominance killing?"

"The way he told it, the only killing the Yevetha consider murder is when

a lower-status male kills a higher-status male. The  other  way  around,  it's

expected.

You offer your neck every time you approach someone higher up the  ladder

than you, and you'd better really mean it; they have every right to take  what

you're offering and rip you open with  those  claws  of  theirs.  And  there's

something about doing it well that adds to your status."

"Claws?" Leia winced as she heard the surprise in her  voice.  "What  are

you talking about? Nil Spaar didn't have any claws--" Sconn rubbed his  wrists

together. "Right here. One big curved claw above each  hand,  on  the  inside.

This I saw with my own eyes--all the males have them. They retract down  to  a

bump, come out backward--it looked backward to me,  anyway--for  slashing  and

grabbing on.

That's why none of the males wear long sleeves, I guess.

It would just get in the way."

"Nil Spaar wore a long-sleeved tunic to our sessions," Leia remembered.

"And gloves."

"There you go," said Sconn. "After I heard all this, I had to go down  to

the surface myself and see. There were Yevetha all over the yard, and no  sign

of any of this. The yard boss  told  the  captain  they  were  hard  workers--

especially since they'd figured out we weren't leaving soon."

"So did you spend some time on N'zoth, then?"

"About five days, all together, in three trips." Sconn dropped  his  eyes

and drew a deep breath. "I saw one male put his hands on another's  shoulders,

drive those claws through, and lift that screaming devil right off the ground.

I saw what they call the proctor--means kind of like mayor, I  guess--of  Giat

Nor nearly take off the head of a nitakka who was a little slow  to  take  the

knee. There must have been fifty Yevetha who witnessed that one.

Not one of them said a word, or even showed any surprise."

Sconn shook his head. "When the yard started losing Yevethan  workers  to

this stuff, having to retrain new ones all the  time,  I  guess  the  Imperial

governor told the troopers to try to put a stop to it. But they  never  really

managed to, unless it happened after Moff Weblin left.

And I ended up the only one of my crew to go down.

After he heard my report, the captain  restricted  the  officers  to  the

base."

"Make sure you don't miss this part," Leia said to Ackbar.

"Is there anything else you can think of that might be useful?" she asked

Sconn.

"Just the other thing that the morale officer warned me  about  my  first

day in," Sconn said. "'They're crazy, but smart. Don't show them anything  you

don't want them to start building for themselves."

"You see, the quality ratings for Black Fifteen had nothing  to  do  with

the engineering staff or the foremen and everything to do  with  the  Yevethan

guildsmen. They've got the gift of understanding how a thing is  put  together

practically on a first glance. Then they draw it from memory the next day, and

by the third they've figured out everything that's wrong about it and  started

making you a better one."

Oh, my stars, Leia thought, hearing it for the second time. The droids at

the Imperial factory farm-"Did you see that for yourself, too?"

Sconn nodded. "That number four  power  cell  we  were  in  for?  It  was

replaced by one the  Yevetha  had  rebuilt--and  the  replacement  ran  twenty

percent over rated capacity at a  hundred  degrees  below  the  redline,  with

absolutely no start-up surge. The chief engineer used to say that he  expected

it'd still be running when the rest of the ship was rust dust."

"Did the Yevethan conscripts work on every part of the ships in the yard?

"

"No, of course not," Sconn said. "The Empire was very fond of secrets.

Stang, there were systems on board the Moff Weblin that I wasn't  cleared

to know the details of. Conscript workers were never let near anything on  the

secure list--that was true anywhere. And the yard boss at  Black  Fifteen  was

especially careful about not letting the Yevetha near  the  sensitive  stuff--

hyperdrives, turbolasers, shield generators, reactors."

Then Sconn smiled with wry amusement. "At least,  you'd  better  hope  he

was. If you end up having to fight the  Yevetha,  and  what  they  have  looks

anything like what we had--well, all I can say is I wish I  was  going  to  be

there to see it. Nothing personal, mind you," he added.

"Just an old rooting interest I haven't quite managed to shed."

"General A'baht."

The Dornean's gaze was level. "Madame President."

"General, before you start, I have some information to pass along to you.

Within the hour, the Gol Storn and the Thackery will be en route to  Galantos.

Lantol and Farlight will be detached  from  the  Third  Fleet  no  later  than

twenty-two hundred for duty at Wehttam. And the Fourth Fleet will  be  sending

two cruisers to Nanta-Ri by the end of the day."

"All welcome news, Madame President. So far, I have  no  reports  of  any

Yevethan incursions in those systems.

I hope we will be able to keep it that way."

"Yes," Leia said. "General, what do you need from US?"

"That depends entirely on what you want me to accomplish. But  before  we

can even contemplate a course of action, I must have better information  about

the enemy. Can I assume that Admiral Drayson is not in a  position  to  expand

his assistance?"

"I'm afraid that's correct. Drayson  tells  me  that  his  assets  inside

Koornacht Cluster have been 'extinguished,'" Leia said.

"Then I need authorization to send in my own," A'baht said.

"Tell me what you propose."

"There are eleven members of the Duskhan League.

We know of thirteen habitable worlds which the Yevetha may have attacked.

I want to put a ship within a thousand kilometers of every one of them,  on  a

flash pass."

"Do you have enough drones?" The pilotless ferrets were the first  choice

for forays into hostile territory.

"No," A'baht said. "I have to commit all my prowlers as well--and put  X-

wing recon fighters out on patrol to replace them. Or I  can  send  the  recon

fighters themselves into the Cluster. I would prefer to do the latter."

"Why is that?"

"A recon-X is somewhat faster than a prowler, which I hope will  increase

their chance of survival. And a recon-X has a smaller  crew  than  a  prowler,

minimizing any losses."

"Well--you've obviously had your tactical staff working on this already,"

Leia said. "Do you have any projections?"

"The only reasonable way to go is to synchronize all the contacts.

Stagger departures so everyone jumps in-system  at  the  same  time--five

minutes later, everyone jumps out--" "Five minutes! That's a long exposure for

a flash pass."

"It's necessary to get maximum coverage of the primaries," A'baht said.

"We have to be able to see what's in orbit on the back side."

"What does the estimate look like, then?"

"Seventy-five percent getting at least a one-minute partial report out.

Forty percent overall mission survival."

"My word--" "That's under the least-risk mission profile, without  direct

return. Most of the scouts would continue more or less straight through to the

other side of the Cluster and return  the  long  way  around.  That's  another

reason to use a  recon-X  instead  of  a  prowler--fewer  hours  without  that

detection capacity on our perimeter."

"You're planning to send out twenty-four scouts, and you expect  to  lose

fourteen or fifteen of them."

"Based on what we encountered at Doornik Three Nineteen--yes. The  losses

will probably be heavier among the recon-X's than the drones,  on  account  of

speed and size," A'baht said. "Do I have your authorization, Madame President?

"

"Have you considered putting this off until we can  get  some  additional

drones out to you?"

"We did consider it.  I  would  be  uncomfortable  with  waiting,  Madame

President. We need information now.

We're vulnerable without it."

Thinking about the pilots of those recon-X fighters,  Leia  drew  a  deep

breath and let it out slowly. "Very well.

You may proceed, General," she said. "What else do you need from us?"

"Replacement fighters," he said without hesitation.

"What's the status of the first ferry flight?"

"Assembling now at Zone Ninety East," Leia said, glancing at  the  report

Ackbar had supplied to her.

"Twenty-four E-wings, X-wings, and B-wings to cover the losses at Doornik

Three Nineteen."

"Don't hold them up on this account--I wish we had  them  here  already,"

General A'baht said. "But you can get ready to send us some more."

"How long?"

"I took the liberty of prepositioning  several  of  the  drones,"  A'baht

said. "We'll be launching the first scout into Koornacht in ninety minutes."

The delta-winged Yevethan fighter banked more sharply  than  Plat  Mallar

expected and bore in toward his X-wing's  port  side.  That  quickly,  he  was

trapped. No maneuver he knew--no twisting  roll,  no  amount  of  climbing  or

diving--could carry him clear of the Yevetha's fire zone.

In desperation, he turned away from the enemy fighter and  tried  to  run

from it. Twenty seconds later a pinpoint laser bolt blasted through the  armor

on the tail-plate.

The aft end of  the  fuselage  exploded,  sending  all  four  stabilizers

spinning wildly away. Moments later Mallar's displays went black.

Mallar tore off his helmet and mopped the perspiration off  his  face  as

the scoring came up.

SIMULATOR MODULE 82Y--SINGLE  COMBAT  T-65  VS.  YEVETHAN  D-TYPE  PILOT:

MALLAR, PLAT 9938

DURATION 02:07

LASER CANNON SHOTS FIRED: 0

HITS: 0

PROTON TORPEDOES FIRED:       0

HITS: 0

OPPONENT SHOTS FIRED:   6

HITS: 3

COMBAT RESULT: YEVETHAN VICTORY

As he climbed disgustedly out of  the  simulator,  Mallar  found  Admiral

Ackbar waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder.

"I see you were trying the new simulation."

An embarrassed look crossed Mallar's face. "Did you watch?"

Ackbar nodded. "Your last three runs. You're not alone.  Several  of  our

pilots made similar miscalculations at Doornik Three Nineteen," he  said.  "It

appears the Yevetha have a greater tolerance for g-forces than the pilots  for

whom New Republic fighters were designed."

"Than human pilots, you mean," Mallar said.

Ackbar's mouth worked. "Yes. It is occasionally frustrating  to  be  held

back by their limitations." He nodded toward the  simulator.  "Are  you  going

back in?"

"No," Mallar said, and started down the ladder.

"I see--" "There's just no way,  with  an  X-wing."  His  tone  was  both

annoyed and discouraged. "It's not quick enough  against  a  D-type.  And  the

operator won't let me start training on an E-wing yet."

Ackbar snorted. "He must belong to that stodgy old order  of  instructors

that believes in mastering one skill before taking on  another."  Reaching  up

toward Mallar, Ackbar held out a data card. "I was  in  the  Mission  Planning

Office and saw this come up for you," he said. "I was coming this  way,  so  I

signed for you. I think you should look at it now."

"What is it?"

"Your orders," Ackbar said. "You've been placed on alert."

"Me? Why?" He fumbled with the data card reader.

"Ferry pilot?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"Problem no!  It's  terrific.  I  just  didn't  expect--"  "Most  of  the

available pilots went with the ferry flight that just left. Why do  you  think

it's so quiet here?

But another flight will go out in the next fifty hours.

You'll be the last called--but you may be called on all the same, to take

a recon-X out to the Fifth Fleet."

"Gladly. It's something," Mallar said. "It counts for something.

Thank you, sir."

Ackbar frowned crossly. "Airman Mallar,  if  you  are  called,  it'll  be

because someone with considerably more experience  did  no  better  out  there

against the real thing than you did in here against the simulator.  Does  that

make your orders any more clear?"

Mallar paled. "Yes, sir." Slipping the data card and reader back into his

pocket, he grabbed the handrail  and  hastened  back  up  the  ladder  to  the

simulator.

"Eighty-two-Y, please," he called  to  the  operator  as  he  opened  the

cockpit hatch. "And put me in a recon-X this time."

Chapter 15

Strapped securely in the cockpit of his recon-X fighter, Lieutenant  Rone

Taggar went through his prepass checklist with unusually exacting care.

His target was N'zoth,  the  capital  of  the  Duskhan  League--the  most

important objective of the 21st Recon Group's targets, and quite probably  the

best defended.

But it was not the danger ahead, on the  other  side  of  the  hyperspace

wall, that concerned him. What mattered was gathering the information  he  had

been sent to collect and  kicking  it  back  out  unjammed  to  the  hypercomm

receivers and data recorders waiting in the Fleet.

The beveled nose of the recon-X concealed six separate flat-scan  imaging

systems, each with its own independent  pan  and  zoom.  The  scanning  radar,

infrared imager, and stereoscopic imagers were programmed to keep  the  planet

centered in the data frame, filling it edge to edge.  The  other  two  systems

were under the control of the R2-R  recon  droid,  which  would  evaluate  the

images in real time and select both particular targets and the  best  scanning

wavelength.

All six systems were linked to the hyperdrive controls  and  would  begin

operating the moment Jennie Lee entered realspace. The  hypercomm  data  relay

was auto matic as well, even to the selection of alternate channels if jamming

signals were detected. The pass trajectory was programmed into the  autopilot,

which would take over the controls if there was a deviation of more  than  one

percent without pilot inputs.

It was said, jokingly, that all a recon-X pilot was really needed for was

to keep the R2 unit company, and that a pilot could have  a  heart  attack  in

hyperspace and still fly a  perfect  mission.  The  unit's  second-in-command,

Sleepy Nagelson--who was flying the Wakiza intercept had gotten  his  nickname

when cockpit monitors recorded him sleeping through a recon run,  back  during

the Thrawn affair.

But Taggar shrugged all that off. In heart and  mind  both,  he  believed

what he had told his pilots before they set  off  on  the  mission:  that  the

irreplaceable quality the pilot brought to the cockpit was  caring  about  the

outcome.

A pilot  would  keep  trying  when  a  machine  would  quit,  because  he

understood the concept of failure, and the consequences mattered to him.

"There are no great stories told about drones that fought their way  home

with vital information, or  rose  above  themselves  to  complete  a  perilous

mission," he had told them. "You're there because you can make  a  difference.

That's what I'm asking of you--make a difference, and make sure the  job  gets

done. That's why there is a Twenty-first Recon Wing.  Pilots--to  your  ships!

I'll see you all on the other side."

The mission synchronization clock was counting down toward  zero.  For  a

moment Taggar paused to picture the  other  pilots,  in  other  claustrophobic

cockpits, nearing other targets scattered halfway across the Cluster.

Even though 21st Recon had been newly formed to serve the Fifth Fleet, he

had flown with several of them before in other units, other wars.

He could picture all their faces, guess at all their moods.

00:15

Good recon, he thought, Sending the wish at them. And good luck.

Taggar's nose had begun to itch, and he wrinkled it up in an unsuccessful

attempt to salve it. He licked lips that had gone dry, flexed hands  that  had

begun to stiffen from being held too tensely,  checked  systems  that  he  had

already checked three times.

00:05

Taggar's mother, a Y-wing pilot, had died attacking a Star  Destroyer  in

the frightful clash at Endor. His own good-luck ritual, performed  before  the

start of every mission, was to rub his thumb left to right across his mother's

wings, which were taped above the navicom. Mother, I hope  I  make  you  proud

today. 00:00

The universe suddenly expanded around Taggar's recon fighter. Ahead lay a

gray-green marble frosted with swirls of pale yellow clouds. The mission timer

started to count upward as the imaging systems  stirred  in  their  mountings.

Taggar flew a steady line as he read the reports  from  R2-R  on  his  cockpit

display.

IDENTIFIED:   ARAMADIA-CLASS   THRUSTSHIP   IDENTIFIED:    ARAMADIA-CLASS

THRUSTSHIP IDENTIFIED: VICTORY-CLASS STAR DESTROYER IDENTIFIED: ARAMADIA-CLASS

THRUSTSHIP IDENTIFIED: IMPERIAL-CLASS  STAR  DESTROYER  IDENTIFIED:  EXECUTOR-

CLASS STAR DESTROYER

The list grew longer as N'zoth grew larger ahead.

Rone Taggar wanted to be afraid, but he did not have that luxury. He told

himself he could be brave for five  more  minutes.  In  five  minutes--perhaps

less--it would be over.

Taggar tried to whistle past the graveyard, but his  mouth  was  suddenly

too dry.

There had been a tug-of-war between Leia and Ackbar  over  who  would  be

invited to be in the War Hall at Fleet Headquarters when  the  data  from  the

Koornacht recon incursion came in.

"This is not the time to repay favors or curry favor," Ackbar  had  said,

holding out for keeping the list as short as  possible.  "You  cannot  control

information that's already been freely  distributed.  We  will  need  time  to

evaluate the data and place it in context."

"Everyone on that list has a legitimate right to know what's going on  in

Farlax," she had argued. "They're  all  going  to  have  to  be  part  of  the

decisions to come--De-fense Council, Security Council, the rest of the  Ruling

Council, Rieekan from  NRI.  It's  not  as  though  I'm  trying  to  bring  in

outsiders."

"No," Ackbar said. "You are only bringing in a senator who just tried  to

have you removed from office, and another who is likely to  try  in  the  near

future. They are part of the same government as you, Leia, but  they  are  not

your allies."

Behn-kihl-nahm's opinion had settled the  question  in  favor  of  Leia's

side. As the intercepts neared, the room was full of extra bodies,  and  there

was more than enough to occupy them.

The full-wall display in the War Hall had been divided  into  twenty-four

identical rectangles. Each contained an intercept chart, with a  blank  circle

representing the target planet and a red line marking the expected path of the

scout. As the contacts proceeded, the charts would change to show the position

of the ships and the progress of the scans.

Beside each chart was space for  a  flat-screen  feed  from  the  scout's

imagers. At the moment the name of the target World  and  the  type  of  scout

assigned to it were displayed in that space.

Ackbar, Leia, and Han stood together at the back of the room, leaning  on

the railing at the edge of the raised observer's platform and watching twenty-

four timers counting down in synchrony.

"It kind of reminds me of a tout board I saw at a million-credit  betting

parlor on Bragkis," Han said, "and everyone standing around  waiting  for  the

race to begin. 'Who's got a favorite?" 'What odds will you give me on  Wakiza?

"" Leia usually found Han's irreverence refreshing. But she  had  no  patience

for it just then and walked away after shooting  him  a  hot  sidewise  glare.

Han's first instinct was to follow, but Ackbar stayed him with a touch.

"Let her be," he said. "This is a hard time. She does not have much water

under her."

The room quieted dramatically in the last seconds,  as  everyone  working

attended to the console before them, and everyone watching  turned  away  from

their conversations and looked up toward the display. As zero turned to  plus-

1, the entire wall came alive with moving images as the charts began to change

and the first images arrived.

It almost seemed to Han as though the wall were a squirming mass of  tiny

creatures made of light. Unless he focused his attention on just one area, the

effect made his stomach turn and his nerves jangle.

Ackbar raised a hand and pointed to the lower right corner of the wall.

"One casualty already," he said.

Number 23, a pilotless ferret, had missed its rendezvous at Doornik  207,

which at last report had been host to a nest of Corasgh.  But  all  the  other

charts were beginning to fill in--the  flight  tracks  changing  from  red  to

green, the faces of the planets beginning to be shaded in.

The early images from N'zoth caused a buzz in the room. They  showed  the

unmistakable shapes of Star  Destroyers,  singled  out  by  the  R2-controlled

imaging systems on Rone Taggar's Jennie Lee. After leaving Han, Leia had  gone

to stand by Ayddar Nylykerka, who was busily capturing individual frames  from

the data into a collage of ship portraits. She listened in while  the  intense

little analyst from the Asset Tracking Office talked aloud to himself.

"That could be the Redoubtable," he muttered, consulting his lists.

"It's definitely early Imperial-class, despite the modifications  to  the

forward superstructure-" The buzz turned into a  dark  murmur  a  few  seconds

later, when the view from Number 1 changed and another, sleeker  dagger  shape

snapped into focus. There was hardly a  person  in  the  room  who  could  not

identify that profile, and the exceptions quickly learned the significance  in

a hasty whisper from a companion: there was a Super Star  Destroyer  in  orbit

around N'zoth.

From the beginning, the New Republic had opted to build a  larger  number

of smaller vessels--Fleet carriers,  Republic-class  Star  Destroyers,  battle

cruisers--rather than adopt the Imperial design  philosophy.  Mon  Mothma  had

given orders to scrap rather than repair or make a museum piece  of  the  sole

SSD captured from the Empire. Consequently, the eight-kilometer-long  behemoth

circling N'zoth had anything in the New Republic Fleet badly outgunned.

"Now, that, that can only be Intimidator," Nylykerka pronounced. "All  of

the late-production Super-class had that additional shield  tower  located  on

the centerline--" Shocking  as  that  discovery  was,  the  attention  of  the

audience in the War Hall was quickly drawn elsewhere.

As the counters approached the  two-minute  mark  and  the  scouts  raced

toward the midpoint and closest approach of their passes, the display wall was

filling with images of warships, until it resembled a larger  version  of  the

collage at Nylykerka's station.

There were Star Destroyers at Wakiza, at Zhina, at New Brigia and Doornik

881, where the Imperial factory farm had been. The Yevethan fleet  at  Morning

Bell now numbered at least sixteen vessels, including four Star

Destroyers,  six  Aramadia-class   thrustships,   and   a   queer-looking

Dreadnaught-scale ship, which Nylykerka excitedly identified as a long-missing

Imperial testbed, the  EX-F.  Other  thrustships  seemed  to  be  everywhere--

orbiting all the other Duskhan League worlds, at Polneye and the former Morath

mining operation on Kojash.

Conspicuously missing from  the  entry  scans  were  the  three  Imperial

shipyards named in Lieutenant Sconn's deposition:  Black  Fifteen,  which  had

been located in orbit at N'zoth; Black Eleven, which had been  at  Zhina;  and

Black Eight, at Wakiza. Ackbar noted their absence to Han and added, "I do not

think we will find them--i do not put it past the Yevetha to  have  moved  the

shipyards to concealed locations.  I  suspect  that  that  is  what  Astrolabe

stumbled on at Doornik Eleven FortytWO."

At 02:05, the signal from Number 16 at Polneye abruptly  terminated,  the

tracking chart freezing with only forty-two percent  of  the  planet  scanned.

Moments later Number 19, at Morning Bell, and Number 5, at the  Duskhan  world

Tizon, also went dead.

The losses did not stop there. All over the wall, the individual displays

were going blank almost as quickly as they had come to life.

Only half the scouts reached the  midpoint  of  their  runs.  Three  more

winked out almost as one as Leia drifted away from Nylykerka  and  toward  the

middle of the War Hall.

"What's going on out there?" she breathed to no one in particular as  she

stared up at the displays.

The signals from Z'fell, Wakiza, Faz, N'zoth---all assigned to  the  21st

Recon Group's X-wings--were among the last to vanish, but vanish they did.  No

scout managed to scan more than  three-fourths  of  a  Duskhan  League  target

before being destroyed.

There was not a sound in the War Hall other than a  muffled  cough  or  a

furniture creak as the five-minute timer expired. Only four scouts survived to

jump out of their target systems--all drones. None had found any thing  during

their passes, save for newly dead worlds.

Eyes began to turn from the frozen  images  on  the  wall  to  the  woman

standing alone in the center of the room.

"Now we know," Leia said simply. "Controller, put the pilots' visual  IDs

up while you queue the data from  Number  One  for  replay.  I'd  like  us  to

remember who we owe for this."

The blast that disabled Rone Taggar's recon-X came from behind and below,

without warning. Even before the cockpit went dark, he  could  tell  from  the

blue lightning dancing over the cockpit that it was a powerful ion cannon bolt

that had overwhelmed the fighter's shields.

Twisting in his harness, he tried to look back and find his attacker.

There'd been no fire from the ground during the close  approach,  and  he

was now out of range for any ordinary ground-based antiship battery.

"Come on, where are you?" he muttered. "Where'd you come from?"

There were dozens of stars bright  enough  that  Taggar  could  not  look

directly at them  without  squinting--more  than  enough  dazzle  to  hide  an

interceptor or a defense buoy from his eyes. But he didn't understand why  his

targeting system had missed it. The recon-X had the smallest blind spot to the

rear of any Republic fighter, and on a  normal  threat  acquisition--at  fifty

thousand meters or more--he would have bet a month's pay that  he  could  have

held off any equal opponent long enough to finish the run.

Taggar silently counted off the restart  interval,  fully  expecting  the

killing shot to come before he reached 100.

The absorbers worked passively, soaking up the excess surface charge  and

using it to feed the restart cell. Its momentum unchanged by  the  blast,  his

fighter was still speeding away from N'zoth. With  a  successful  restart,  he

could grab the last thirty seconds of data on the un-scanned far side and jump

away to safety.

The count had reached eighty-seven when he felt the lurch of the  tractor

beam grabbing hold of his ship. With the  spoiler  shaking  and  the  fuselage

chattering around him, Taggar fished in his chest pocket for the purge stick.

Another ship, corvette-size, was visible ahead of him as  he  rammed  the

stick home into the socket on the control panel.

The purge charge that jumped from the stick raced  through  the  computer

memories of the fighter, erasing every coherent bit. Its final stop was the R2

interface, where it passed to a shape charge under the  droid's  sensor  dome.

The small explosion that followed was surprisingly loud and  briefly  lit  the

inside of the cockpit.

Glancing back, Taggar  confirmed  that  the  charge  had  completely  and

thoroughly decapitated the droid.

That left only one duty--the suicide needle now available  at  the  other

end of the purge stick, and the dead-man  grip  of  the  ship's  self-destruct

trigger. Taggar looked out at the  Yevethan  warship,  measuring  the  closing

distance. He knew that he was taking a chance  by  waiting,  especially  after

they'd seen R2-R blow its top.

But he also knew that the corvette would have to  lower  its  shields  to

bring him alongside.

When the ship had drawn close enough to loom  over  the  fighter,  Taggar

closed his left hand around the trigger and let his head roll to one  side  as

though he were unconscious. Watching through slit eyes, he saw light  spilling

from the underside of the corvette, between the opening doors of  the  docking

berth. There was no pinnace inside--the berth was meant for his fighter.

Gambling, he waited longer still, until the coupling  lines  grabbed  the

spoilers and drew the recon-X upward, until the doors  began  to  close  under

him. Then he lifted his head, rubbed his thumb across the pilot's wings  taped

to the console, and jammed the palm of his right hand against the end  of  the

purge stick.

A few moments later his head lolled forward against  his  chest  and  the

hand closed tightly around the trigger  began  to  relax,  his  tired  fingers

yielding against the  pressure  of  the  springplate.  Taggar  was  peacefully

elsewhere when the destruct charge ripped the belly of the corvette open along

the centerline, spilling a churning cloud  of  debris  from  both  ships  into

space.

As bright fire enveloped Beauty of Yevetha, Nil Spaar  averted  his  eyes

from the sight, then turned and  searched  the  chamber  for  the  proctor  of

defense for the spawnworld.

"Kol Attan!" he bellowed.

His fighting crests shrunken almost to invisibility, Kol  Attan  shuffled

forward. "Viceroy, I---" Nil Spaar silenced him with a glare  and  pointed  at

the floor. Trembling, the proctor lowered himself  to  one  knee,  closed  his

eyes, and bared his neck. The viceroy circled him slowly,  flexing  his  right

hand in a motion that brought the dewclaw curling out to its full length.

"You are a coward as well as incompetent," Nil Spaar whispered at last.

"Your blood is not worth spilling.

It would be beneath me to touch you. I declare you to-mara, a shamed one.

Go home and beg your darna for death."

When the proctor did not move, Nil Spaar drew a deep breath that  brought

a flush to his crests, then sent Kol Attan sprawling with a vicious kick. "You

will not provoke me into giving  you  an  honorable  exit,"  he  said  through

clenched teeth. "Go!"

As the proctor scrambled away on all fours, Nil Spaar turned his back  to

him. "Tal Fraan," he said.

The nitakka came forward with strength in his strides and  pride  in  his

carriage. "Sir."

"You anticipated that the vermin would violate the All in an  attempt  to

know us. How is it you come to your prescience?"

"I have spent time with them, in the camps on Pa'aal, and aboard Devotion

of Yevetha, where they serve us," said Tal Fraan. "I have seen how they hunger

to debase even the smallest mysteries, instead of embracing the  mysteries  as

they present themselves. The pale ones, especially, seem  to  me  driven  this

way."

Nil Spaar nodded slowly. "You failed to anticipate that  the  vermin  who

came would choose death over captivity.

That failure has cost my fleet a useful vessel, and wasted Yevetha blood.

"

Drawing a hard breath, Tal Fraan dropped immediately to one knee.

"Yes, darama. I know my error."

"Rise," Nil Spaar said, and the younger Yevetha complied.  "I  shall  not

hold you to account for the failure of Kol Attan  to  seize  the  hostage  you

brought to him.

Nor for the offense of the vermin in killing above their station."

"You are gracious, Viceroy."

"There are many kinds of vermin," Nil Spaar  said  offhandedly.  "Perhaps

those that were sent here are more like Commander Paret, who at least had  the

courage to defy me when I took this ship from him, than they are like those we

hold in service. Otherwise, I would have judged them as you do."

"I do not deserve your mercy, darama."

"No," Nil Spaar said. "But you will help me think on how  to  answer  the

vermin for their boldness,  and  to  strike  at  this  one  called  Leia,  for

commissioning such sacrilege. And perhaps I will  forget  the  other  after  a

while, on such pleasures of revenge as you devise."

Ackbar stood before the briefing room viewscreen holding one hand  behind

his back and pointing with the other.

"This seems workable to me," he said. "If we tap  Task  Forces  Apex  and

Summer from the Fourth Fleet, Task Forces Bellbright and Token from the Second

Fleet, and Task Force Gemstone from the Third, we should be able  to  maintain

our current patrols through the rest of the New Republic  while  building  the

force in Farlax to the strength of two battle groups."

"Meanwhile, the Home Fleet will  be  left  at  full  strength  to  defend

Coruscant," Leia said. "Which may not sit well with the  border  sectors,  but

seems only prudent."

"Well--General A'baht will be happy,"  Han  said,  leaning  back  in  his

chair. "This is what he's been saying he needed ever since he got there."

Turning half away from the  viewscreen,  Ackbar  exchanged  glances  with

Leia. "General A'baht will not be in command of the  combined  force,"  Ackbar

said, and turned back.

"No? Well--he might not mind too much," Han said, folding  his  hands  on

his lap. "A combined command like that is kind of like being put in charge  of

a zoo. Who are you going to pull off the line? Admiral Nantz  is  senior  flag

officer now, right?"

Ackbar turned back toward the viewscreen, both hands tucked behind him.

"No," he said. "Not Nantz."

A crooked smile creased Han's face. "You'll do fine, Admiral,"  he  said.

"It's like riding a--it's something you don't forget how to do."

"Han, Admiral Ackbar will be staying here with me," Leia said quietly.

"I'm putting you in charge of the forces in Farlax."

The smile faded quickly. "Didn't we take this class already?"  he  asked,

sitting forward and dropping his forearms on the table.  "I'm  not  the  grand

admiral kind.

And this'll just make it look like you can't make  up  your  mind--Etahn,

me, Etahn, me--" "Han, she had no choice," Ackbar said without turning.

"The Defense Council, led by Senator Fey'lya, insisted on  approving  the

commander. He's lost confidence in General A'baht."

"So why me?"

"Because you've already spent some time with the  Fifth.  Because  you're

already familiar with the geogra phy  and  logistics  out  there.  But  mostly

because you're not tainted," Leia said. "Fey'lya wanted Admiral Jid'yda--"  "A

Bothan--of course."

"--and Bennie offered you as a compromise. As he explained it,  the  pro-

Leia senators see you as supportive of me, and the  anti-Leia  senators  think

you're independent enough to deal with me."

Han shook his head. "I can tell that that  must  have  been  an  elevated

debate."

"You can't begin to know how  absurd  it  was  at  times,"  Ackbar  said,

turning away from the viewscreen and approaching the table. "Senator Cundertol

actually supported you on the grounds of--and I quote the great man verbatim--

'He's not doing anything else, is he?"" "A heartwarming  recommendation,"  Han

said.

"Remind me to thank His Denseness." He pulled Ackbar's datapad toward him

and studied the list of force assignments. "I suppose it's a  little  late  at

this point to consider negotiating a truce."

"I can't believe that the Yevetha will ever consider us their  equals  at

the table," Leia said.

"I suppose not," Han said, and pushed the datapad'  away.  "For  a  while

there, Leia dear, I actually let myself think that we'd have a chance for that

normal life you told Luke you wanted.  I  let  myself  believe  that  we  were

through with this sort of thing. And I have to tell you--leaving  the  uniform

in the closet really agreed with me."

Leia and Han exchanged rueful smiles at that.

"Well--seems like going all the way back to Yavin," he added, "I've  made

you coax, wheedle, guilt, and shame me into volunteering  for  dirty  jobs.  I

won't make you do it this time. Fact is,  the  Yevetha  disgust  me--and  they

scare the stang out of me, too. If we don't control them now, the future could

get very messy. So I'll take this job, because it needs to be done."

"The hard jobs are usually necessary ones," Ackbar mused.

"This isn't hard," Han said. "Those pilots who  flew  into  the  Cluster,

knowing the odds on coming back--that's hard. All I have to  do  is  give  men

like that a reason.

What's the timetable, Admiral?"

"There is a ferry flight of recon-X's leaving  for  the  Fifth  Fleet  in

fifteen hours. They will fly escort for your shuttle," Ackbar said.

"You should arrive not long after the task groups from the  Fourth  Fleet

reach Farlax. Oh, and you will take the temporary rank of  commodore  for  the

duration of this assignment."

"Commodore, eh?" He tried a cheerful smile on Leia, but she was  no  more

persuaded by it than he was.

"Does that come with a hat?"

Even though he was caught in legal limbo--not quite a full member of  the

Senate, nor quite a former one--Tig Peramis of Watalla retained  some  of  the

usual courtesies of office. Behn-kihl-nahm would not allow  him  to  speak  or

vote in the Assembly and had removed him entirely from  the  Defense  Council.

But Peramis's 'access keys still allowed him entrance to all but  the  Council

chambers and restricted records. And that meant access to the other  senators,

whose gossip he thought worth nearly as much as a senatorial record search.

Months ago he had denounced the Fifth Fleet as a weapon of  conquest  and

tyranny and  warned  the  Defense  Council  about  the  ambitions  of  Vader's

daughter.

He had been reprimanded by Behn-kihl-nahm and ridiculed by Tolik Yar, but

events had proved him prophetic, confirming his worst fears. And the lightning

annex-ation--on the flimsiest of pretexts--of  eighteen  formerly  independent

worlds in Farlax seemed to Peramis to foreordain a dramatic escalation.

The middle-of-the-night gatherings in the Defense chambers, Leia's secret

meeting with the Ruling Council, the "bungled" blockade attempt,  the  nakedly

emotional appeals on behalf of  tiny  alien  populations,  and  the  open  and

deliberate provocation of the Yevetha at every turn all appeared to Peramis as

pieces of an elaborate plan to justify annexation of  Koornacht  itself.  Even

the periodic outbreaks of criticism  in  the  Senate  seemed  calculated,  the

critics themselves buffoons doing more discredit to their cause than damage to

the Princess.

But something a drunken Senator Cundertol carelessly said to him  alarmed

Peramis to the point that he could no  longer  be  satisfied  with  rumor  and

gossip.

"A Corellian pirate with two battle groups  to  command,"  Cundertol  had

giggled. "He'll show you goon-faces something about  fighting.  Old  Eating-a-

Boat didn't want to kill other goon-faces, so he's  goon-goon-gone--"  Peramis

fed him more doan wine in the hopes of coaxing Cundertol to tell him more, but

the Bakuran only grew more childishly self-amused at  being  in  the  superior

position.

"Should have been a good boy," Cundertol said, swaying on his feet as  he

shook a finger. "You can't come to the party."

Half an hour later Cundertol was glassy-eyed with doan shock, and Peramis

was entering the Senate office complex with both his  and  Cundertol's  voting

keys in his hand.

Cundertol's key alone would not be enough to give Peramis access  to  the

Defense Council records, but Per-amis knew from experience  that  security  on

senators' personal logs was much more lax. Convenience demanded it. A personal

log kept behind too many barriers would never  be  used.  Of  course,  nothing

classified Secure was supposed to be kept  in  something  as  unsecured  as  a

personal log. But Peramis thought Cundertol someone who was  likely  to  place

more value on convenience than confidentiality.

The Bakuran's voting key opened every necessary door  and  every  damning

file. It was all there, in a xeno phobic rant that demonstrated the surprising

fact that the senator actually did temper his words in public.

A battle group-strength force was  headed  to  Farlax  to  reinforce  the

Fifth--but piecemeal, a clever stratagem that  would  help  conceal  what  was

happening by allowing all the other battle groups to remain visible  on  their

patrol stations. And the Corellian who was to take charge  of  the  war  fleet

was, as Peramis had suspected, Princess Leia's husband, Han Solo.

Peramis stayed in Cundertol's office only long enough to  watch  the  log

once and copy it to a data card.

Then he returned to the private dining room where he had left  Cundertol,

replaced the voting key in the senator's valise, and left him to ride out  his

pleasure trance alone.

In the privacy of his own quarters in the Walallan mission, he  retrieved

the small black box Nil Spaar had given him from its hiding place in  a  chest

of his eldest son's toys. There was no one to see him--he had sent his  family

home months ago, and the modest staff that served  him  knew  better  than  to

intrude in the middle of the night.

Seated at a table in his office, Peramis connected both the black box and

his datapad to the hypercomm.

At that point he paused. The furtiveness, the physical  act  of  readying

the devices, made him uncomfortable. He had not used the black box before.  He

had told himself that he never would. Peramis did not think of  himself  as  a

spy, much less a traitor.

But he had kept the box nonetheless.

He told himself he was an honorable  man,  with  an  honorable  cause--to

contain the militarism that threatened all that had been won in the Rebellion.

After a successful adventure in Farlax, Leia would be untouchable.

The Yevetha had to be warned.

And it  appealed  to  Peramis's  vision  of  cosmic  irony  that  Senator

Cundertol would be the one to warn them, in his own words.

But when Peramis activated the hypercomm, he left his office so  that  he

would not have to hear those words again.

Three hours short of reaching Intrepid,  the  commodore's  Fleet  shuttle

Tampion and its ferry flight escort abruptly dropped out of hyperspace.

They found half a dozen Yevethan ships waiting for them--the  Interdictor

Dreadnaught that had yanked them down, two  thrust-ships,  and  three  smaller

vessels.

The ambush had been perfectly planned. Before the dozing  recon-X  pilots

and startled shuttle passengers even  understood  what  was  happening,  their

ships were bracketed in a furious  ion-cannon  crossfire.  The  fighters  were

disabled almost at once, then left drifting, ignored.

The unarmed but better-shielded shuttle took more subduing but  was  soon

dead in space, unable to maneuver or escape.

Shortly after, Tampion was moving away from its escorts on a new  course,

under tow  alongside  one  of  the  spherical  thrustships.  Raging  over  his

impotence, unable even to signal the other pilots,  Plat  Mallar  watched  the

pair jump out toward Koornacht. The Cluster  filled  the  entire  sky  on  the

starboard side of his ship, like a painting of a swarm of night sparks.

Mallar was never so sure of death as he was when the shuttle vanished.

Helpless as the fighters were, any one of the five remaining ships  could

have dispatched them at leisure.

Instead, the five ships gracefully arrayed themselves in a  V,  with  the

Interdictor in the lead position. Moments later  they  jumped  away  from  the

ambush point, their mission seemingly complete.

Why did they leave us alive? Mallar wondered.

An answer came to him almost at once, and it made him feel sick inside.

So we could tell the  Fleet,  tell  Corus  cant,  what  happened  to  the

commodore. So we would know that they have him.

Han was brought before Nil Spaar not as a trophy, but  as  an  object  of

curiosity.

The encounter was in private, with no one else present except  for  Han's

guards--two immensely strong male Yevetha who carried no  weapons  and  seemed

unlikely to need any, given how  Han  was  bound.  And  the  setting  for  the

encounter was puzzling--not a throne room or  arena  of  humiliation  for  the

conquered, but a tile-wrapped  chamber  with  floor  gutters  and  valve  jets

mounted high on the walls. It  made  Han  think  of  a  shower  stall,  or  an

abattoir--and he wished he hadn't thought of the second possibility.

As the Yevethan viceroy slowly circled his prisoner, he  took  particular

interest in the bruises and burns Han  had  acquired  by  resisting  when  the

soldiers boarded Tampion. Nil Spaar leaned in close to study the marks but was

careful not to touch Han, even with gloved hands.

"You are the mate of Leia."

"I guess that secret's out," said  Han,  deciding  to  try  to  take  his

captor's measure. "And you're Nil Spaar. I've heard a lot about you, all of it

bad. You've moved right to the top of my least favorite people list. I had  to

drop Jabba the Hutt off to make room for you.

It's only fair to tell you that my number one goal in life is to  outlive

everyone on the list. I was halfway there before you replaced Jabba."

The Yevethan ruler did not seem to take any notice of Han's goading.

"What sort of vermin are you?"

"I think the word you're looking for is  'scoundrel,'  as  in  'Corellian

scoundrel,'" Han said. "I've also answered to 'rascal,' 'pirate,'  'smuggler,'

'wretched scum,' 'toad-licker,' and  a  few  others.  Not  all  of  those  are

considered polite  where  I  come  from,  though--so  I  don't  always  answer

politely. Just so you'll know, 'vermin' probably counts as impolite."

"You are stronger than she," Nil Spaar said, cocking his  head.  "Why  do

you follow her? Why do you not lead?"

Han answered with a contemptuous gaze and a shake of  his  head.  "I  was

gonna tell you that grabbing me was the biggest mistake  you  ever  made,"  he

said.

"Now I see it's the  second  biggest.  You've  misjudged  Leia  from  the

beginning. Day in and day out, she might just be the strongest person I  know.

And you're gonna find that out the hard way now."

Saying nothing, Nil Spaar retreated to the far end of the chamber, as  if

to leave. Then he gestured  to  the  guards  and  spoke  a  few  words  in  an

unfamiliar language.

One guard stepped away from Han to stand against the wall. The other, the

crests at his temples swelling, stepped in front of Han and swung on him  with

such speed that Han could not duck away.

The blow fell on his right arm, right above the blaster burn from Captain

Sreas's panicky, mistimed shot. The force of the blow drove the ball into  his

shoulder joint, leaving the arm suddenly numb. The next was aimed at his face,

and Han was able to soften the impact by turning with it. But it still scalded

him with pain.

The beating seemed unpracticed,  experimental.  Nil  Spaar  stood  calmly

watching, as though waiting for something--an almost clinical curiosity,  with

no sign of gloating. Han wondered if the guard had ever seen  a  human  before

and tried to make note of how and where he was struck, thinking it might offer

clues to Yevethan vulnerabilities.

It lasted only until a head shot left Han crumpled on  his  side  on  the

floor with blood running from his mouth and nose. Then Nil Spaar spoke sharply

to the guard, who immediately backed away.  The  viceroy  approached  Han  and

crouched down beside him, peering curiously at the injuries.  He  reached  out

with one gloved hand and dabbed the fingertips in  the  small  pool  of  blood

collecting by Han's head.

Bringing the glove up to  his  face,  he  passed  the  bloody  fingertips

through the air over the ridges of his face, as though sniffing them.

"Your blood is weak--as weak as any vermin's," Nil Spaar said.  "It  does

not cause the heart to rise. It does not feed the mara-nas. It does not  ripen

the birth-cask.

I do not see why she has given herself to you. I do not see why  you  did

not die unmated."

Then he stood, stripped off his gloves, and dropped them on the tile.

"Tar makara," he said to the guards. "Talbran."

Both knelt and offered their necks to the viceroy.

"Ko, darama," they murmured.

When Nil Spaar was gone, the guards scrubbed Han  and  the  chamber  down

with equal diligence and vigor, then took him away, back  to  the  cell  where

Lieutenant Barth and the body of Captain Sreas were waiting.

Admiral Ackbar returned to the family room wearing a longer face than  he

had when he left a few moments before. He looked at Leia, who was  sitting  in

the middle of the floor, her arms wrapped around Jaina,  whispering  Words  of

hope and comfort to her, and knew that those words could  not  possibly  reach

the anguish in Leia's own heart.

"Leia." Ackbar cleared his throat. "Will you come with me, please?

There is something you must do, and I'm afraid it cannot wait."

She looked at him with a plaintive look that said, Please. No more.

But she let Winter take Jaina and followed Ackbar out  of  the  room  and

into the yard.

"Have you heard something more about Han?

Something from the Yevetha?"

Ackbar shook his head and gestured down the walk toward the gate, where a

messenger stood waiting outside.

Throwing Ackbar a disbelieving look, Leia moved down the path to where S-

EP1 was vigilantly guarding the entry.

"Princess Leia, I have been sent by the acting  chairman  of  the  Ruling

Council of the Senate to deliver this summons into your hands."

She reached out and took it from him. As she did, she saw  Behn-kihl-nahm

standing a few steps behind  the  messenger,  hovering  at  the  edge  of  the

shadows.

"I'm sorry," he said, moving forward. "There was nothing I could do."

"Let Bennie in, Sleepy," Leia said, stepping back to  make  room  on  the

path. "Who? Who would do this to me now?"

Behn-kihl-nahm's face wrinkled, as though he was reluctant to answer.

"The summons is at the initiative of Chairman Beruss."

Bail Organa's old friend, and second only to Bennie as her ally. The name

hit her like a roundhouse punch.

"Why?" she asked plaintively.

"Doman  feels  that  someone  less  personally  involved  must  make  the

decisions now," Behn-kihl-nahm said gently. "He hopes you will understand this

and step down on your own. He fears that you may act--precipitously."

"Precipitously!" Her laugh had a bitter edge. "Oh, he knows me--I'd  like

nothing more than to send the Fifth in to burn the Yevetha  off  the  face  of

N'zoth. But how can I? How can I do anything, Bennie?" she  asked,  her  voice

pleading for an answer. "The Yevetha have my husband.

My children's father is in the hands of Nil Spaar."

About the Author

Michael P. Kube-McDowell is the pen name  of  Philadelphia-born  novelist

Michael Paul McDowell. His  highly  praised  prior  works  include  the  star-

spanning 1985 Philip K. Dick Award finalist Emprise  and  the  evocative  1991

Hugo Award nominee The Quiet Pools.

In addition to his eight previous novels, Michael  has  contributed  more

than two dozen short stories to leading magazines and  anthologies,  including

Analog, The Magazine of Fantasy &  Science  Fiction,  After  the  Flames,  and

Alternate Warriors. Three of his stories have been adapted as episodes of  the

horror-fantasy television series Tales from the Darkside. Outside  of  science

fiction, he is the author of more than five  hundred  nonfiction  articles  on

subjects ranging from "scientific creationism" to the U.S. space program.

A popular guest at SF conventions,  Michael  is  also  a  member  of  the

cheerfully amateur folk-rock group The Black Book  Band,  in  which  he  plays

guitar, keyboards, and viola. A live album, First  Contact,  was  released  in

1995 by Dodeka Records.

Michael resides in central Michigan with artist and

....

Kube" is pronounced "CUE-bee."'

model-maker Gwen Zak, children Matt and Amanda, cats Doc and Captain, and

"entirely too many books."

At various times he has called Fairview  Village  (Camden),  New  Jersey;

East Lansing, Sturgis, and Lansing, Michigan; and Goshen, Indiana, home.