Fate Of The Jedi: Ascension Part 11

"Maybe they are old friends."

"No," Leia said with certainty. "Old friends would say who they were at the outset. And we have more old enemies than old friends." She tapped in another message: What is the nature of this information?

There was a long pause, and she wondered if perhaps she had scared them off. Then: OLD FRIENDS KNOW WHERE DAALA HAS GONE. WILL.

MAKE PARTNERS A FINE OFFER.

And then she knew. "Just when I thought things were looking up," Leia murmured.

"What am I missing? You know who this-oh no," Han said, as realization crashed over him. "You've got to be kidding me," he said. "Not-"

"You bet," said Leia drily.

OFFICES OF THE CHIEF OF STATE, CORUSCANT.

"Jedi Solo," came Dorvan's bland voice. "This is an unexpected surprise. I hope it's a pleasant one."

She turned toward him, smiling. "Possibly not, but I promise it's not a disaster, either."

"That is more a.s.surance than I get most mornings," he said. He removed Pocket from his coat and placed her in her small nest on his desk. Leia reached out a finger and patted the little creature, who sniffed at her and then closed her eyes to enjoy the caress. "Caf?"

"Please," Leia said. "I hope it was all right for Desha to show me into your office."

"Perfectly," Dorvan said, pouring a cup for each of them. "My door is always open to you. In fact, my position is open to you, if you'd take it." He lifted an eyebrow in mock hopefulness as he gave her the cup.

Leia smiled, accepting the caf and giving Pocket one last pat. "No, no, I've had my stint. That's ... actually what I came to discuss with you. I hope that I've been of some help with the transition of government. I might be of more ... but in a different capacity."

Dorvan sat and sipped his caf, eyes regarding her thoughtfully. "Go on."

"As I know you know, Han and I have ... connections ... in various places," she began.

Dorvan raised a hand. "Please," he said, "remember plausible deniability."

She smiled a little at that. "Of course," she said. "But because of those connections, we now have a lead on where Daala might be."

His eyebrows lifted slightly-an indication of great surprise. "Is that lead something you can share?"

"Not until it's verified," Leia said.

"Ah. So you're trying to decide where you could help the most," Dorvan said.

Leia nodded. "This political jumble that you're having to deal with now-I understand it. I'm in a unique position, and I can help you through it. I can help all of us through it."

"You can, and you are unique," he agreed. "You're a Jedi, so they trust you to represent them fairly. But we both know that beneath those brown and cream robes beats the heart of a born diplomat. Even Daala knew that."

She gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "Guilty as charged," she said. "Which is what makes this so difficult."

"Do you trust these sources? I'm sure there are plenty of beings out there who would love to lead you both on a wild caranak chase."

"I do," Leia replied. "They're sound."

He was silent for a moment, then spoke thoughtfully. "To be able to put Daala on trial, fairly and publicly, would eliminate any lingering doubt as to the legitimacy of the current administration. I can't think of any other single action that would do more to heal the GA and get things back on track so that it could become an effective inst.i.tution. No offense to your skills, Jedi Solo, but even the best you could bring to the table would pale in comparison."

"None taken, which is why this is something I feel I need to do," Leia said.

"Then do so." He smiled slightly, and it reached his eyes, turning them warm for a moment. "And I say this as earnestly as is possible ... may the Force be with you."

Leia thought about whom they were trusting to deliver the "information" on Daala's whereabouts and gave him a wry smile.

"Believe me," she said, "We're going to need it."

MOFF DRIKL LECERSEN'S ESTATE, CORUSCANT "Sir, there is someone outside who wishes to meet with you." Eethree's voice sounded offended on behalf of his master. Clearly, beings of good manners who understood protocol and etiquette did not show up unannounced on the doorsteps of important personages without appointments, as far as Eethree was concerned. That unspoken but vocally implied censure was also, Lecersen was certain, directed in large part at him. After all, he was the one who instructed the protocol droid to keep an eye out for such things.

"What species?" he asked, setting aside the datapad he had been perusing. The hour was late, and the Moff was alone in his sitting room. Busts of various late heroes of the Empire occupied positions of honor in the room, as did antiques and souvenirs Lecersen had collected over the years. Save for these objets d'art, the room was spare and austere, lacking the enveloping quality of the dining room with its heavy furnishings and thick fur rugs. Surrounded by evidence of the glories of the Empire-the Empire he was now moving steadily toward ruling-this was Lecersen's favorite place to retire, think, plot, and plan. The only concessions to comfort were the artificial fireplace and two large chairs, so that he might pursue such endeavors more easily.

"A Minyavish," replied Eethree.

That, Lecersen had not expected. A member of a species that had formerly been slave owners on Qaras, but who now were removed from such positions of power over others. Who, in fact, were themselves facing exile. Why would such a being come to him? And why in so clandestine a fashion? The little mystery that had started with the piece of low-tech flimsi was becoming more and more intriguing ... and potentially dangerous. He thought for a moment.

"Show him in, and then leave us alone until I summon you."

"Are you quite certain, sir? The fellow has a rather shifty look about him. I don't know that I'd give him the time of day, let alone-"

"You are qualified to comment on his manners, Eethree, not his personality," Lecersen said sharply. The E-3POs, which had been developed for Imperial use many years earlier, had a reputation for arrogance and haughtiness due to their proprietary TechSpan I module. This allowed them to interface with various Imperial networks denied to other protocol droids, and the cursed things thought themselves superior. Eethree had served Lecersen well for many years, and he often found the droid's snooty att.i.tude amusing. However, tonight it irritated him.

"Very good, sir," said Eethree promptly, though not without the droid equivalent of a "hmmph!" of injured pride. He turned around and left the sitting room.

Lecersen continued to sit in his chair, sipping a gla.s.s of Hapan gold wine, his mind racing a thousand kilometers a minute. He did not bother to rise when Eethree returned, escorting the first Minyavish whom Lecersen had ever seen in the flesh. Of the two sentient species that lived on Qaras, Lecersen had to admit that the Minyavish were by far the less attractive.

They were bipedal, feathered, and squat; humanoid, but only just. A large head sat atop rounded shoulders and a chunky torso, but that head sported some of the largest, most intense golden eyes Lecersen had ever seen, with darker gold, slitted pupils. The being wore little in the way of clothing; the bright green, purple, and gold feathers were more than sufficient for modesty. His barrel chest was, however, crisscrossed with two pieces of fabric as colorful as his feathers, and he sported an armband inlaid with four large, winking blue gems. Lecersen had found it was often difficult to read the expressions of members of an alien species unless he was familiar with their mannerisms. This one looked irritated and pugnacious, but for all he knew, he-she?-could be wearing the Minyavish version of a large smile.

"Moff Drikl Lecersen," said the droid, "may I present Tiyuu'cha Mahlor."

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Lecersen. He still did not rise. "Have a seat. May Eethree offer you something to drink?" Whatever the Minyavish's poison might be, Lecersen was confident he had it. He had one of the largest exotic liquor collections on Coruscant, having found early on in his career that any credits expended thus were sound investments when it came to dealing with other beings.

"No, thank you." The voice was gruff, hollow sounding. The Minyavish-Mahlor-sounded as irritated as he looked. He trundled to one of the larger overstuffed chairs by the holographic fireplace and eased himself down gingerly until he was certain the chair would hold his weight.

"That will be all, Eethree. I'll call for you if I need you."

"Of course, sir." With a whir of servos, the droid left the room, and the door automatically closed shut behind him.

"To what," drawled Lecersen, sipping his wine, "do I owe this rather peculiar visit?"

Mahlor chuckled. At least, that's what the raspy noise sounded like to Lecersen. "I think you will be grateful that I chose to be so ... peculiar ... when you hear."

"Please, I am all ears."

The Minyavish blinked, three times. "For more than seven thousand years, my people have quite happily managed Qaras, with the Jessar serving us."

"If by managed you mean 'dominated' and if by serving you mean 'enslaved to,' then I am already well aware of this."

The feathered brows, a startling purple over the yellow eyes, drew together. "Wordplay doesn't serve you well, Moff Lecersen."

"On the contrary, it has served me well many times in the past. If my wit is too sharp for your liking, then pray tell me what you are getting at, Mahlor. The hour is late, and I rise early on the morrow. I am an extremely busy man."

"Yes, of course you are." A sneer, it would seem, was recognizable in any species. "Very busy indeed, as I understand it."

Lecersen had already been deeply suspicious, but now his inner alarms were going off like klaxons. He smiled slightly, keeping his expression and body language calm. "So why don't you get right to the point?"

"We were the masters of our world, until the Jessar got it into their heads to overthrow us."

Ah, a complaint. As if he hadn't heard something similar from every former master of every overthrown government of every world that had had a revolution recently. It was growing rather tiresome.

"Your government has already lodged its request through the proper channels. You'll have to take it up with them. Dorvan's a difficult man to make an appointment with, but his a.s.sistant might be able to get you on the schedule. The offices of the galactic acting Chief of State are open-"

"I have no desire to contact Wynn Dorvan," said Mahlor. "I came to see you."

Deliberately, Lecersen set his now-empty gla.s.s on the small table by his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and regarded Mahlor steadily.

"I tire of this conversation, and I have finished my nightcap," he said. "You have thirty seconds to get to the point before Eethree escorts you out."

The great eyes narrowed, and the being's feathers ruffled. With an effort, he settled them. "I blame the Freedom Flight for stirring up the rebels."

"Of course you do. Everyone always does. It can never be possible that the system was antiquated and dysfunctional." His voice dripped with sarcasm. Despite his words to the Minyavish, he was privately enjoying this; it had been a long time since he had been able to be so free with his tongue.

"And I blame you," Mahlor said, leaning forward intently, his huge eyes wide and unblinking, "for the Freedom Flight."

Lecersen's stomach, warm from the gold wine he had been drinking, suddenly turned into a cold, hard knot. He recovered almost at once.

"I would say you had been drinking too much, but as you haven't touched a drop, I must simply conclude that you are either insane or in desperate need of attention. This conversation is over." He lifted his finger, about to stab it down on the small b.u.t.ton that would summon Eethree.

"Don't."

If Lecersen had had any doubt as to the fact that Mahlor had come from a species of beings used to being obeyed, it would have vanished at the tone of that single word. He lifted an eyebrow and stared coldly back.

"What ... did you just say to me?"

"Don't press that b.u.t.ton until you have heard me out," said the Minyavish.

Lecersen debated for a moment, then concluded that it would probably behoove him to listen. "Fair enough."

"I have information and evidence that links you to the Freedom Flight," Mahlor continued. "I know that you created it initially, and continue to fund it."

"I'll play along. What sort of evidence are we talking about?"

The slit that pa.s.sed for a mouth among the Minyavish curved in what was meant to be a grin. "Data. Witnesses. Recordings of conversations. Repair bills for vessels."

"All of which could be falsified," replied Lecersen, waving a dismissive hand.

"Each on its own? Certainly. Taken together, it's a rather condemning picture."

"I presume you have a point."

"I do, indeed. I do not think you would appreciate the galaxy knowing about your connection to this organization, Moff Lecersen. But if you would a.s.sist us, this information could quietly vanish. And so could the witnesses."

"And with what endeavor do you require a.s.sistance?"

The Minyavish suddenly quivered, all over, rather violently, and when he spoke it was with a deep intensity. "Justice, Moff Lecersen! Because of the Freedom Flight-your organization-my people have toppled from positions of power, wealth, and influence to beings with barely any credits and no home. We are being exiled from our own world by that-that-Roki Kem." He spat the word, his body still shaking with his outrage. "This would never have happened if the Flight had not come and stirred up trouble."

"Now, now, you don't know that," said Lecersen mildly. "Freedom is a deep-seated need for many beings. It's possible that-"

"No. Unrest has been fomenting only in the last few years. Never before had the Jessar experienced this so-called 'deep-seated need.' " His voice dripped contempt. He was wrong, of course. Lecersen had done his homework. He had heard about the Silence oath, and was well aware that it was an old, old tradition among the Jessar. Slaves who were planning to escape, or who had managed to do so only to be recaptured, submitted to being beaten-sometimes to death-rather than reveal anything that would harm future escape attempts for others. The Minyavish, like most beings who fancied themselves decent, had lied to themselves about the true nature of the inst.i.tution.

Nonetheless, he continued to humor the fuming Minyavish. "What form would this ... justice take? An army, to slaughter your enemies and take back your world?"

The feathers rose along every inch of Mahlor's body, reminding Lecersen of the way a Bothan's fur would ripple in irritation.

"You are already believing Rokari Kem's propaganda," he snarled. "We are not brutes! We could win back our world, yes, but at what cost? Your kind might not shrink from having so much blood on your hands, but no species on Qaras would willingly embark on so violent a course. No. We have been exiled, and so we will go. But we have no place to go. We are a large populace-three billion. There is no world that has offered to shelter us, and we do not have the means or funds to tame a new one. That is what I want from you. You are directly responsible for the Minyavish being forced to leave Qaras. You will find us a new home."

Lecersen was not pleased. He had not expected such a pacifistic response by the seemingly belligerent Minyavish. Covertly funding another revolt would be more cost-effective, and he might have been willing to consider it. Such a debt from the Minyavish could prove useful if-no, when-they won. Lecersen didn't support losers.

But relocate three billion beings?

"That is absurd," he said. "What you ask is a ma.s.sive undertaking, and there's nothing in it for me."

"You have connections."

"Oh, indeed I do, but there's nothing in it for them, either."

"Then you leave me no choice. I will expose your connection to the Freedom Flight."

Lecersen laughed. "Oh, dear," he said mockingly. "Reveal the fact that mean old Moff Lecersen actually wanted to do a little good in this galaxy. How awful it will be to be exposed as someone who wants to help free enslaved populations. Go right ahead, Mahlor. I dread the fact that the galaxy will know my deepest, darkest secret-that I am a decent being."

"You are not," growled Mahlor. "Your reasons for founding the Freedom Flight were not in the least altruistic. Nor were those of your cohorts."

Lecersen had been relaxing the more the Minyavish spoke. Even if the evidence of which he spoke was real, exposure of his role wouldn't harm him. It might even boost his popularity in certain quarters, which meant expanding his influence. That stiff-necked Jagged Fel would certainly approve. But now he tensed, ever so slightly.

"Do go on," he urged.

"You didn't do it to free slaves. You did it because you knew it would cause upheaval at a time when the Galactic Alliance-particularly the Chief of State-was in no real position to handle it properly. You knew how Admiral Daala would react, and you knew what that kind of reaction would do to her popularity rating."