Apocalypse (33 page)

Bazel seemed to be following the cannon barrage as it continued to sweep away from the tunnel mouth. Leia thought he was simply trying to draw the enemy away from her and Allana—until four more Sith emerged from the smoke. They were angling toward the place where the
Falcon
’s flight deck used to be, no doubt preparing to board through the now-open access corridor and end the fire from the belly turret.

Leia deactivated her lightsaber and reached for Bazel’s oversized blaster. Allana shook her head.

“No.” She continued to fire, slipping a stream of bolts past Bazel’s flank and forcing the four Sith to slow their advance. “I’m a
really
good shot, Grandma.”

“Yes, you are,” Leia agreed. “But you’re only nine, and—”

“You’re just afraid I’ll see Grandpa and Bazel die,” Allana finished. “And I’m afraid I
won’t
.”

“Allana.” Leia continued to hold out her hand, her heart breaking at the thought of losing Han—and having her granddaughter see it. “Please.”

“They’re doing this for me,” Allana said. She managed to put a bolt through the leader’s knee, and a tall blond woman stepped forward to take the man’s place. “And I want to remember it. I
need
to remember it.”

The blond woman began to bat Allana’s fire back toward the tunnel, and there was no debating the issue. Leia activated her own lightsaber just in time to deflect the bolts, and then Bazel closed with the remaining Sith and vanished into a tangle of swirling color.

The chugging cannons continued their deadly sweep, taking out a forward landing strut as they raked the area beneath the cargo mandibles. The
Falcon
’s nose dipped toward the missing strut.

Then a trio of blue flashes appeared from the
Falcon
’s stern, taking the blond in the flank and driving her into Bazel’s flashing blade. Leia glanced over to see the aft cargo lift dropping out of the
Falcon
’s belly. Naturally, her husband was kneeling behind a corner post, pouring fire into the swarm attacking Bazel. The
Falcon
’s big quad cannons, obviously locked on automatic mode, continued to burn furrows into the loading bay walls.

A Sith quickly stepped away from the fight with Bazel and began to bat Han’s blasterfire back toward him. He dived off the lift into a forward roll and came up on one knee, less than five paces from the tunnel mouth.

Then Han stopped firing and spun back around, facing the
Falcon
’s belly turret. He began to fumble for something inside his vest pocket.

“What the …” Leia gasped. Thinking he must be disoriented or
wounded, she put the Force behind her voice and added,
“Han! Get over here!”

When he merely continued to fumble in his pocket, she reached for him in the Force and started to drag him toward the tunnel mouth—until Han withdrew his hand holding a silver rectangle that Leia recognized as an electronic droid caller.

Han pointed the caller toward the
Falcon
’s sensor dish. The belly turret suddenly reversed direction, and cannon fire began to sweep back toward Bazel and his attackers. Most of the Sith simply broke off and dashed for cover, but the one who had turned to defend the group against Han’s blasterfire rushed to intercept him.

Bazel roared in fury and charged after him. With one arm gone and his flesh burned and bleeding, the big Ramoan should have been dead by now. Leia had no doubt that he already
was
, by some medical definitions of the word. But Bazel was still drawing on the Force, calling on its power—and no doubt his devotion to Allana—to keep fighting. He caught up in a step and a half, bringing his lightsaber in for a low leg-slash that the Sith barely managed to spin around and block.

Too exhausted to launch another attack, Bazel fell to his knees, roaring in rage and pain as the
Falcon
’s laser cannons continued to sweep toward him. Seeing what was about to happen, the Sith turned to flee. Bazel dropped his lightsaber and extended his hand, using the Force to summon his last enemy back into his grasp.

The Sith counterattacked wildly, using a powerful two-handed lightsaber strike to hack at Bazel’s arm and shoulder. The Ramoan ignored him and merely looked toward the tunnel mouth, his small sad eyes dropping to where Allana was kneeling at Leia’s side. He flicked his chin toward her, motioning her to go.

Han stumbled into the safety of the tunnel mouth, out of breath and huffing. Leia caught him by the arm and held him up, and then they both turned and saw that the laser cannons would soon cut through Bazel and his attacker. Han quickly raised his hand, pointing the droid caller toward the
Falcon
’s sensor dish, but Allana grabbed his arm.

“No, Grandpa!” she shouted. Her voice was barely audible over the roaring of the cannons. “That’s how he wants to go.”

Han’s gaze shifted back toward the Ramoan, who had just lost his
second arm and part of his skull to his foe’s lightsaber, then nodded and lowered his hand.

Allana pushed in tight between Leia and Han, then raised three fingers to her lips and held them there until the cannon fire reached Bazel Warv, her best friend ever.

I
T WAS A RELIC OF THE OLD
I
MPERIAL ARROGANCE
, T
AHIRI THOUGHT
, that Vitor Reige would allow the
Bloodfin
’s communications officer to waste so much bandwidth on an Imperial News Network report that obviously held no interest for his commander in chief. Seated at the head of the conference table in the admiral’s salon, Jagged Fel was paying more attention to the personal datapad on his lap than to the holographic riot raging above the transceiver pad, and if he was listening to the droning voice of the political operations instructor he had drafted from the Imperial military academy, there was no indication of it in his distracted manner.

“… can see, the unrest continues to spread,” said the instructor, a gray-haired commodore named Selma Djor.

As she spoke, Djor used a laser pointer to draw attention to the mob of thugs above the holopad. The image showed them charging into a line of political supporters, most of whom were carrying signs with Jag’s name above a slogan too small to be legible in the image.

“To tell the truth,” Djor continued, “I’m beginning to believe a
general election isn’t appropriate for Imperial citizens. Most of our subjects simply aren’t capable of participating in the democratic process.”

As Djor spoke, Tahiri expanded her Force awareness toward Jagged. Finding his presence filled with loneliness and fear, she understood the reason for his preoccupation. The assault on the Jedi Temple was well under way, and it was not going well. It only made sense that he would be checking for an update from Jaina. That was probably why he had scheduled Djor’s briefing for this time slot—because he had known he would be distracted by his concern and did not want to have to concentrate on anything important. It was so
Jag
to plan ahead like that, and Tahiri couldn’t help feeling a bit envious of Jaina. Not that she wanted Jagged for herself—she just wanted to feel that kind of love again, to know there was someone out there who cared for her so much he actually planned time to worry about her.

Djor abruptly fell silent and frowned at Jagged. She looked like a headmistress who had caught one of her charges watching the latest episode of
Flame Flicker
on his datapad.

“Please continue, Commodore,” Jagged said, not bothering to look up. “I
am
listening.”

“You may be listening, Head of State Fel,” Djor replied. “But without actually seeing these images, I doubt you can comprehend the situation fully.”

Jagged’s Force aura blazed with a sudden anger, and he looked up to meet Djor’s gaze.

“Commodore Djor,” Jagged began, “your orders were to remain on Bastion to oversee the development of a
proper
electoral apparatus. Yet you have come all the way to Exodo Two to do … what, exactly? To persuade me that the Imperial populace is too ignorant to participate in a general election? That the Empire does such a poor job of educating its citizens that they are simply too
ignorant
to vote for their own leader?”

Djor drew herself to attention. “Not at all, Head of State Fel,” she said. “But the evidence suggests that the citizenry isn’t prepared to act responsibly at this time. There’s a good possibility that … well, that they might not make a wise decision.”

“And by ‘not make a wise decision,’ you mean the citizens might
choose Daala?” asked Ashik. Jagged’s chief aide and head bodyguard, the blue-skinned Chiss was standing at his superior’s shoulder, directly opposite Tahiri. “Is that correct?”

Djor glanced at Ashik, then returned her gaze to Jagged. “I’m afraid that Lieutenant Pagorski’s efforts are turning public opinion against you, Head of State,” she said. No sooner had an election been announced than Lydea Pagorski—the same security officer who had given false testimony at Tahiri’s murder trial on Coruscant—had turned up as Daala’s primary campaign coordinator. “Your insistence on keeping Daala and her allies inside the blockade is being perceived as weakness. Most people assume you’re simply afraid of her fleet strength.”

“Or that she’s the better tactician?” Jagged asked.

Djor dipped her head in acknowledgment. “That, too, Head of State,” she said. “It simply makes you look … 
frightened
.”

“Yet you believe the citizenry isn’t ready for an election,” Jagged said, looking surprisingly satisfied. He glanced over at Ashik. “It certainly
sounds
as though they’re paying attention.”

Ashik nodded. “Indeed it does, Head of State.”

Djor glanced in confusion from Jagged to the Chiss, then said, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I
do
assume that we all agree Head of State Fel is the superior choice. Otherwise, what’s the point of opposing Daala at all?”

“Exactly, Commodore,” Jagged said. “What
would
the point be?”

Tahiri could see by the gleam in Jagged’s eye that there was more to his plan than he had shared—even with her. Not only had he anticipated the doubts Djor had mentioned, he was
counting
on them.

When Jagged did not elaborate, Admiral Reige said, “I’m afraid I agree with Commodore Djor.” Seated on Jagged’s right-hand side, he was the only other person in the cabin who was not standing. “I fail to see how this kind of mob violence benefits you—or the Empire.”

Jagged gave him a confident smile. “Only because you’ve never lived in a democracy, Admiral.” He took his datapad out of his lap and placed it on the table, then finally glanced at the holographic riot. “In a real democracy, it’s not the result that is important. It’s the process.”

Reige’s eyes betrayed his doubt, and he and Djor exchanged worried glances.

Jag smiled patiently. “People will only truly follow a leader if they choose that leader themselves.”

Djor rolled her eyes, and Reige looked even more worried.

“If I may,” Tahiri said, addressing Jagged, “perhaps I should explain the
real
reason you agreed to this election.”

Jag’s smile changed to a smirk, and he actually looked impressed. “Be my guest.” He glanced at a pair of puzzled-looking Imperials, then said, “I’m looking forward to hearing this as much as you are.”

Tahiri started to feel less confident of her conclusion, but said, “Clearly, you’re laying a trap.”

“And?” Jag steepled his fingers and looked at her expectantly. “I hope you can do better than that, Tahiri. I’d hate to think Jaina’s confidence in you is misplaced.”

Tahiri frowned. “Jaina’s confidence?” She glanced down at the datapad. “I thought she was still inside the Jedi Temple.”

“She is,” Jagged said. “And no, I haven’t heard if the shields are down yet. This is something she suggested after their last attempt failed.”

“You commed to ask her for
advice
?” Tahiri asked. “In the middle of a battle?”

“Not quite,” Jagged said. “She commed
me
. They were trying to regroup, and she had a few minutes. So she asked HQ to set her up with an S-thread feed.”

There was a hint of sorrow in his eyes, and Tahiri knew there had been more to the conversation than Jag would share in front of his subordinates. Probably, Jaina had asked to speak with him because she feared it might be her last chance to say good-bye. Tahiri held Jag’s gaze a bit longer than was needed, letting him know she understood how difficult it must be for him to be
here
—instead of helping Jaina on Coruscant—then flashed him a supportive smile.

“And when you and Jaina ran out of other things to talk about, the conversation naturally turned to Daala,” Tahiri said. “Jaina suggested a way to deal with her.”

“Something like that,” Jagged said. He turned to Reige and Djor. “Jedi Solo has a wonderfully devious mind, when the occasion demands.”

“Behind every great leader stands a great adviser,” Djor said tightly.
“However, you might want to keep her role confidential until
after
she becomes an Imperial citizen, don’t you think?”