Fate of the Jedi: Backlash (14 page)

The climb up was twice as hard as she had imagined, and if she’d had to do it with arm strength alone, instead of shimmying with both arms and legs, she never would have made it. When she got to the top, Anji gave a little yowl from the ground behind her. Allana peered back over the edge and frowned. She hadn’t thought about how her nexu was going to get back onto the
Falcon
.

But Anji was determined not to be left outside. She cocked her head and studied the rope for a moment, then extended her claws and began to climb up just like Allana had. If her claws hadn’t been safety-dulled, she probably would have made it a lot quicker than Allana had. As it was, Anji’s feet kept slipping until she learned to catch the knots between her toe pads, and then she clambered right up. Within a few minutes Allana was hauling the coil of cable up to the top hull, standing on the tiny lift, and descending into the
Falcon
.

C-3PO found her as she was preparing for a sanisteam. “I say. You aren’t hidden at all well.”

“I got sweaty and bored. I’m going to clean up.”

“Excellent idea. And I’ll prepare you a nice snack for afterward. For being so cooperative today.”

She just smiled at him.

W
ITH HER FORK
, D
AALA PUSHED SOME BITS OF FOOD AROUND ON HER
plate, silently cursing her chef. The man was as good a personal chef as any government leader might need, but his choice of seafood for tonight’s meal was a grotesque reminder of Admiral Niathal’s suicide. Daala took a moment to calm down, to remind herself that her chef was not in the loop of government secrets, could not have known about the hypercomm transmission Daala had seen with Niathal’s body so prominently displayed.

She pushed her plate away and gave her dinner companion a look of apology. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good company tonight.”

Nek Bwua’tu, Chief of Naval Operations for the Galactic Alliance, a gray-furred Bothan, gave her a lupine smile in return. “The Chief of State does not need to apologize for having troubled thoughts. Only if your conscience were as easy as a cub’s would I be suspicious and worried.”

“Can we talk business?”

“Yes. Particularly if it will help.”

“Have you heard any recent, I’m not sure what to call them, rumblings among naval personnel suggesting that I’m not being tough enough on enemies of the state?”

Clearly not disturbed by, or not recognizing, any resemblance between his dinner and a recent topic of conversation, Bwua’tu speared a well-grilled cephalopod on the tines of his fork and popped it into his mouth, chewing as he considered his answer. “Yes,” he finally told her. “In the last few months, there has been more grumbling. About the Jedi especially. Colonel Solo, Pellaeon’s killer, and most recently about the crazy Jedi.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think that some sort of special-interest group is keeping those flames burning high. I don’t object to the Jedi being brought in line, you know that, but I don’t believe that they’re as far out of line as the grumblers are saying. I think they’re basically a beneficial force with the Alliance’s interests at heart.”

“But whatever the reason for the grumbling, if it continues to grow, it could damage this administration’s efficiency.”

“Conceivably.”

“Niathal’s death was a tragedy. But speaking pragmatically, it also deprives us of the relief of pressure that her trial—and eventual acquittal—would have offered. I’m going to need to take some very visible steps to do that. To reassure the grumblers.”

Bwua’tu offered her a noncommittal grunt.

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t have the sense of what it takes to ride herd over a huge, mostly civilian government, and simultaneously over different departments of the armed forces, the way you do. The way you’ve learned to since you became Chief of State. I hear grumbling, my thought is to tell them to pipe down and do their jobs. Are you contemplating a move on the Jedi?”

It took some of Daala’s considerable self-discipline to refrain from twitching. Again Bwua’tu seemed to have peered into her thoughts. Of course, he was a master military strategist, her superior in that capacity, but it was still unsettling. “Yes.”

“I recommend against it.”

“Why?”

“I think there’s a risk of alienating them, as Colonel Solo did. We want the Jedi to be a well-integrated Alliance resource. Too much pressure, too much overt action, runs the risk of turning them into a completely uncooperative element.”

“You wouldn’t offer that advice about, say, an elite military unit.”

He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t. But then, commandos don’t usually have super powers or a tradition that goes back to the very beginnings of the Old Republic.”

“But it’s commandos the civilian population should admire and respect. More than they do the Jedi.” She frowned, considering.

Bwua’tu grinned again. “You’re going to use the Mandos, aren’t you? To send against the Jedi!”

Daala’s voice turned sharp, as if Bwua’tu’s mind-reading exercises had been meant to hurt her feelings. “Now, cut that out.”

“If you wish.”

Finally, she smiled at him. “Sorry. I’m just touchy. Are you staying tonight?”

“If the invitation’s open.”

“You know it is.”

Kyp Durron swept into the Masters’ Council Chamber, moving so fast that his robes gapped open at the front and swirled around his feet like a cloak. He didn’t hate being late, but he did hate people thinking he was lazy. At such times, speed was called for.

As he entered the Chamber and began to make his way toward his designated chair, he saw that a hologram of Jaden Korr, a live hypercomm transmission, was in the process of addressing the assembly. Korr, a man of Coruscant and onetime apprentice of Kyle Katarn, was far too serious for Kyp’s taste, but had conducted a long and impressive career as a Jedi Knight.

Korr was saying, “… evidence is not overwhelming, but it is growing, and continues to point to a resurgence by the Black Sun. And
there are odd elements to it, such as graffiti found in garbage dumped by the hijacked ships, graffiti that suggests the existence of some sort of cult … one that venerates Xizor.”

That drew some murmurs from the assembled Jedi. Prince Xizor, a member of the Falleen species and head of the Black Sun criminal organization forty years earlier, was long dead … or, at least, long believed dead.

Master Kenth Hamner asked the question that leapt to everyone’s mind. “Is there any chance that Prince Xizor is still alive?”

Korr’s hologram shrugged. “I’ve seen no evidence of it. Zero evidence. But if any
piece
of him survived, and some sort of Black Sun cultists got their hands on a cloning chamber …”

“Yes, yes.” Master Hamner seemed unimpressed with the theory. “Check it out, of course. Do you have all the resources you need?”

“For now.”

“Very good. Thank you, Jedi Korr. Temple out.”

Korr’s image wavered and disappeared.

Hamner turned back toward the main body of Jedi and picked out one by eye. “Jedi Saar. Do you have a report on your ongoing investigation?”

“I do.” Sothais Saar, the man who came forward at Hamner’s summons, was a Chev—outwardly human in appearance but albinoid. He was tall for a Chev, with blue eyes not commonly found in his species, but his heavy brow was characteristic of his kind. His hair, cut short, was black on top but lightened in an even manner farther down so that it was a light brown at his temples and down to the back of his neck. He wore dark robes that were stylishly cut by contrast with conservative Jedi tastes, and as he stepped out in front of the chairs to face Hamner, he hooked his thumbs in his belt like a backworld advocate ready to argue a case before a jury. “My task for the last several months has involved assembling a comprehensive report, as comprehensive as circumstances allow, on the subject of slavery as it is practiced in the galaxy, both officially in regions not controlled by the Galactic Alliance and unofficially within certain less regulated regions of the GA.” He spoke with the voice of an advocate or natural politician.

“I won’t bore this assembly with a recitation of numbers, but I will discuss trends. In regions such as Hutt-controlled space, slavery of
members of sapient species continues unabated. And since, in the last several years, the Jedi Order has increasingly acknowledged its definition as a force benefiting the Old Republic and its successor states, our efforts to diminish slavery outside the Galactic Alliance have decreased in number and effectiveness. While we jockey with the GA government over issues related to use of GA resources outside GA borders, slave populations that once thought of the Jedi Order as their last hope now increasingly face the disappointing realization that they are being left to their own fates …”

Kyp tuned him out. Kyp was far from indifferent to the young Jedi’s cause; he’d been a slave miner himself decades ago, on Kessel. He would be happy to go anywhere and practice “aggressive negotiation” on slavers. He just wasn’t as interested in paying close attention to a speech that seemed less about informing the Jedi and more about irritating Kenth Hamner, who was in charge of the Order at this politically conservative time.

Kyp felt someone moving toward him. He looked up to find Jaina leaning against the back of his chair.

She pitched her voice as a whisper. “Xizor, huh? Why is it that dead enemies can’t be content to remain dead?”

Kyp shrugged. “I’ll ask Exar Kun the next time we’re out drinking together.”

“Funny man.”

“… full text of my report, titled
An Inquiry on Surviving Slavery Practices in the Aftermath of the Second Galactic Civil War
, is available in the Temple Archives. That’s the simple version; I’ll have the annotated and cross-indexed version available in about three weeks.”

Hamner’s voice was inexpressably weary. “Thank you, Jedi Saar, for your extravagant efforts on this cause. We certainly recommend that everyone acquire and familiarize themselves with your report.” He took another look around, spotted Kyp, and abruptly straightened. “This concludes the primary portion of this meeting. The continuation of this meeting is limited to Masters and those we have asked to remain behind.”

As one, the Jedi Knights and apprentices not among the invitees rose and began to file from the Chamber. Jaina remained.

Master Hamner waited until the last of those departing had passed
beyond the Chamber door. He pressed a button on his chair arm, and the door slid into place and locked. “Master Durron, report readiness.”

Kyp cleared his throat. “Our StealthX squadrons are currently at seventy-two percent operational readiness. By current estimates, in two days they’ll be at ninety-one percent, which is likely to be a peak. To get a better proportion of fully operational Exes, we’d need to lay out credits in such a way that the government and press couldn’t possibly not notice.”

“This one says we launch now. Let the other percentages join us in two days.”

Master Hamner looked as though he were repressing a pained reaction. “Thank you, Master Sebatyne. And launch where? To the Maw? We don’t know where these new Sith are.”

Saba Sebatyne did not seem in the least daunted. The reptilian Jedi Master stood, restless. “Launch for a staging area where the government cannot interfere with us. Where they cannot record and track us. Let us go dark, stealthy … and
now.”

“In two days, we may have reestablished contact with Ben Skywalker or the Solos. We may know much more than we do now. We wait.” There was no mistaking the martial tone of command in Hamner’s voice. “We’ll maintain the same subterfuge we have been using: Most of the Masters will remain clear of the Temple except during these meetings, so as to avoid the appearance that we’re up to something. Master Ramis, the rotation of our most experienced Jedi pilots back to Coruscant is continuing as planned?”

Octa Ramis merely nodded.

“And still no evidence in the Archives for this hitherto unknown branch of Sith?”

That set several heads to shaking. Hamner sighed. “Very well. Let’s get back to it. Thank you, everybody.” He pressed the button on his chair arm again, and the Chamber door slid open.

Kyp caught Jaina’s eye before he headed for the exit. “Stay close to the Temple. When we launch, I want you in a StealthX.”

“Count on it.”

Ben woke early, predawn. He hadn’t had much sleep; he’d stayed up late with his father, working on their respective lightsabers, and they had been rewarded with two fully functioning weapons before they turned in, shortly after midnight.

Ben could have slept longer, but his thoughts and sleep were troubled. He sat up where he’d slept, a couple of meters from the offworlders’ campfire, wrapped his blanket around him, and thought, hoping to soothe his worries, to be as detached and reflective as a Jedi should be.

When Darth Caedus, his own cousin Jacen Solo, had died, predeceased by Jacen’s Sith mentor Lumiya, and when his Sith apprentice Tahiri Veila had shown no sign of wishing to follow the Sith traditions, Ben had hoped it meant that the Sith were finally gone for good. Oh, of course there had been suggestions otherwise: the continued existence of Ship, the Sith meditation sphere he himself had once commanded; rumors of lingering, dying Sith communities out in the galaxy somewhere. But he could ignore them. They weren’t in his face, waving lightsabers.