“Centerpoint.”
“Well, we’re having problems repairing it anyway.”
“Centerpoint has to be made inoperative.”
A pause: too brief even for most people to notice, but Ben did. “It already is. But if you want a multiplanetary force or observers there, fine.”
“What about the Bothans, and the other planets fighting their own wars?”
“I can bring the Commenorians into line, and the Bothans … well, once we’re all back in the GA then Bothawui’s got to toe the line. The little people—if the fighting gets out of hand, we’ll commit troops to put a stop to that.”
“The Senate won’t agree to this.”
“Take Niathal and Solo out of the equation first and they’ll calm down. What’s left of the Senate, anyway …”
“Take out … they won’t go quietly … they might split the Senate. G’Sil’s totally in their camp, and he’s got weight.”
“Well, there’s take out, and take out.”
Omas swallowed but didn’t respond.
Gejjen filled the silence. “You know we have a job to do before this draws in the whole galaxy.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“We need to meet. Can you get to Vulpter?”
Long pause. “I’ll find an excuse. Send me the details …”
Girdun stood looking at the screen as if he could get some sense out of it if he stared long enough. Zavirk sat with his chin propped on his hand, gazing up at the captain for orders.
“Get a transcription of that to Colonel Solo right away.”
Ben still wasn’t clear what was happening, even though he thought Omas should have mentioned the approach to the Security Council. “Can’t the Chief of State talk to the Corellian Prime Minister?”
“Depends what he’s talking about,” said Girdun. “And what he has in mind for Colonel Solo and Admiral Niathal.”
If Gejjen could plot the assassination of the Queen Mother of Hapes and have Thrackan Sal-Solo killed, then making Jacen and Niathal disappear was just another routine job for him. Ben knew he had his answer about the necessity of his mission.
Girdun leaned over Zavirk and tapped the console. “That conversation was four hours ago. Better check on the Chief of State’s travel arrangements, because he hasn’t informed us he’s going offworld and needs a close protection squad.”
“You think he needs one?” asked Ben.
“With Gejjen? He needs two.”
Ben didn’t know if he could mention Tenel Ka. It was always hard knowing who knew what inside the GAG. “Would he really try something with Chief Omas?”
“I think he does it out of habit, just like I chew nerve-sticks.”
Ben now had no idea if Cal Omas was bypassing the Senate illicitly to do a personal deal with the enemy, or walking into a trap like the one Gejjen had set for Tenel Ka—and Uncle Han’s late, unlamented cousin Thrackan.
Jacen was right, as ever. Gejjen had to be stopped.
SUPREME COMMANDER’S OFFICE, SENATE BUILDING, CORUSCANT
Jacen read the transcript a third time and laid his datapad down on Niathal’s desk.
She had a hologram of Mon Cal on the wall behind her, all shimmering blue ocean and sinuous buildings emerging from the waves in floating cities. He wondered if she was homesick. Right now she was fresh back from a battle that hadn’t gone as planned, and impatient to see Cal Omas about it.
That meant she was receptive to ideas. He made a conscious effort not to influence her, because she wasn’t the kind to fall for Jedi tricks. And it would only provoke her.
“Nothing like a united front in wartime.” He leaned back in the chair, fingers meshed behind his head. “So we’re not the flavor of the month. Our glorious leader didn’t exactly spring to our defense.”
Niathal’s white uniform didn’t look crumpled, even though she’d just disembarked from a warship fresh from a battle. “Smacks of ingratitude, I’d say.”
She wasn’t one for humor. Jacen knew enough about Mon Cal body language now to know she was angry. She kept rolling her head slightly, as if she was getting hot and her collar was pinching her neck. Her nostrils flared. That meant she was ripe for a few radical suggestions about Omas.
He laid the bait. “You realize that when Gejjen says someone has to go, he doesn’t mean a golden handshake and a framed certificate thanking them for loyal service.”
“Spit it out, Jacen.”
“He was behind Sal-Solo’s premature death—”
She narrowed her eyes, heavy with sarcasm. “I’m shocked, I tell you. Shocked.”
“—and the attempt on the Hapan Queen Mother’s life.” My lover. Mother of my daughter, my little darling. I wish I could see them. “We’re next.”
Niathal’s nostrils closed tight for a second. It was a give-away with Mon Cals, a little sign that said they were surprised, and not in a good way.
“He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try that.”
“Right now I don’t know what he’d try.”
“Omas isn’t a fool,” she said. “He must have a good idea of what he’s dealing with.”
“What do you think he’s up to?”
“All he wants to do is hold the Alliance together. He always thinks a few raps over the knuckles can bring naughty governments into line. Well, it didn’t work with Corellia, and now he’s watching the Alliance shrink a planet at a time.” She kept looking at the chrono on her desk. “My rules say we should notify the chair of the Security Council about the meeting. He’s beginning to feel sidelined as it is. I’m not sure what outcome that will have, though.”
Jacen kept G’Sil sweet by delivering results on terrorism and not telling him anything he would have to deny knowing later. If he had serious designs on Omas’s job, he hadn’t shown any sign of it—yet.
“Senator G’Sil would simply task me to take care of it,” Jacen said. “I’m saving him the trouble of knowing. Plausible deniability.”
“Do you enjoy the irony?”
“What?”
“Bypassing the Senate about our head of state bypassing the Senate. Nice job with the procurement amendment, by the way. Slipped through like an oiled eel.” Niathal got up and wandered around her office, long, webbed, bony fingers clasped behind her back. She had that upright bearing all the GA military had, regardless of species or spinal arrangement. “Now that we both have the ability to vary statutes—any statutes—within budgetary limits, I imagine you’ve given its potential plenty of thought.”
Jacen wanted her to stand still and look at him, but she continued her slow amble around the office.
She plays these games beautifully. I’ll have to be careful not to cross her.
“It’s an emergency kit,” he said. “If we need to, we can change any minor law, and we can also change any big one if we play this smart.” We. Not I. He thought it important to emphasize that they were partners. “For example, if Aitch-Em-Three were to amend the Emergency Measures Act to include in its scope the GAG’s powers to detain heads of state, politicians, and any other individuals believed to be presenting a genuine risk to the security of the Galactic Alliance, and to seize their assets via the Treasury Orders Act, then I suspect people would look at Prime Minister Gejjen and nod approvingly.”
“You even talk like a legislator now …”
“But am I right?”
Niathal turned. She couldn’t smile like a human, but the amusement was written all over her face in a slight compression of the lips. Jacen felt her shift from her perpetual wariness and impatience to a satisfied warmth—even triumph—for a brief moment.
“That nobody will think of asking if the Chief of State of the GA is covered by that amendment? Yes, Jacen, you’re right.” She made a gesture, holding her hand like a blade and weaving it through imaginary water. “That eel of yours will slip through again.”
“If I feel we have to … act to restore stability and security, will you be standing with me?”
Will yo
u stage a coup with me? Did I really say that?
Niathal did pause. But it wasn’t the taken-aback pause of someone shocked by an outrageous proposal; just a moment of sizing up Jacen Solo.
“You might have the GAG behind you, Jacen, but you need the fleet, too, don’t you? And the rest of the army.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s an ‘If things get worse, I put my allegiance to the GA before my allegiance to an individual.’ ”
“I’m … interested to see that the military will cross the line from carrying out the government’s will into deciding policy.”
“In case you forget,” said Niathal softly, “the office of Supreme Commander effectively combines the role of defense secretary and the chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I am a politician. I also happen to be the most senior military officer.”
She was his equal in maneuvering, but she didn’t have Force powers. He hoped he would never have to point that out to her.
“It’s time we had a chat with Omas, then.” Jacen stood up and brushed down his black GAG fatigues with his hands. “Just to be certain. For all we know, he might be meeting Gejjen to whip out a blaster himself and effect another Corellian regime change.”
Niathal followed him into the corridor that led to the Chief of State’s suite, elegant blue and gold marble and niche-studded walls with fine statues from across the galaxy. Jacen found his heart pounding. Although he could control it, he let it race because it made him feel alive and human. These were momentous times, and if he cut himself off completely from normality he might forget the magnitude of his task—and the stakes.
How can I forget Ben has to die?
When Jacen thought in words, when he heard himself in his mind, he realized how his language was shifting. He was distancing himself from the reality. Ben has to die. It felt very different from I have to kill him. Perhaps the Force was telling him it wouldn’t be a simple betrayal of Ben’s trust delivered with a lightsaber, but death by another route.
If it has to happen … perhaps not by my hand.
The doors to the Chief of State’s suite slid open, and he walked into the quiet, thickly carpeted reception room with Niathal at his side; not behind, not ahead, but exactly level with him. Omas was leaning over his aide’s desk, talking in hushed tones.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, looking up. “Do come in.”
Jacen moved his chair so he wasn’t forced to squint at Omas against the light from the window. So did Niathal. It was an eloquent, silent statement of who would have the upper hand, and they hadn’t rehearsed it. Omas, a man finely attuned to the subtleties of body language and psychological advantage, radiated wariness in the Force. He knew he was dealing with a united front.
“You’ve seen the battle report, I take it,” Niathal said.
“Yes.” Omas reached for a datapad as if to reassure her that he had. “Whether it was lucky timing on the Bothans’ part or a smart trap, the real issue now is how we deal with a Bothawui that’s becoming even better armed and aggressive.”
“Actually, it does matter if it was lucky or not,” said Jacen. “Because it goes to the heart of the quality of our intelligence. I’m not happy with the quality of GA Intel, which, if you recall, is why I wanted to form the GAG from selected personnel. Intel isn’t up to the task we face now.”
Omas looked weary. “Okay, you’ve both got a complaint. Who’s first?”
Niathal inclined her head politely, but Jacen could feel her resolution forming a box around her almost like durasteel. It was tangible. “I’ll keep it brief,” she said. “We can’t get involved in every little skirmish to keep obscure Senators and tin-pot heads of state in the Alliance. We’re at overstretch. We couldn’t maintain the Corellian blockade, and now we have the Bothans ramping up. Pick your battles, Chief of State. I can’t fight them all.”
Omas did his displacement act and poured himself a cup of caf from the jug on his desk. There was just one cup, and he didn’t offer more.
“If we fail to show support to Alliance member worlds, then we lose them,” he said. “This is basic numbers. We’ve been through all this. If more secede, then we’ve lost. The issue of how we maintain a joint defense force for the Alliance—which is what started this, in case we forget—then becomes academic.”
“If we don’t concentrate our forces on the worlds that present the most immediate and serious threat, then we’ll be ground down a ship at a time, and we might not even be able to defend Coruscant if it comes to the worst.”
“You think it might come to that?” Omas didn’t appear convinced. He glanced at Jacen, but Jacen kept his counsel. “Is this about Coruscant in the end?”
“Of course it is,” Niathal said. “It always is. The Alliance and Coruscant are indivisible, and that’s half the problem for all the other worlds.”
Omas turned to Jacen. “Your turn, Colonel.”
“I share the admiral’s fears about overstretch.” Now Jacen slipped in his challenge, subtle and multilayered, to give Omas a chance to come clean. He found himself hoping Omas didn’t take it. “Corellia is still the heart of this. I say we devote all our resources in the immediate term to an all-out assault on Corellia—invasion, in fact. Destroy their industrial base, and remove Gejjen and his cronies. The man’s already had his predecessor killed and made an attempt on the Hapan Queen Mother.” Jacen paused a beat, because timing was everything. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be next.”
Jacen felt Niathal’s reaction although her expression was set in neutral: amusement, plus a little anxious excitement like preparing for battle. Omas felt suddenly more wary—but Jacen couldn’t tell if that was aimed at him, or at the idea that Gejjen might be setting Omas up.
“You have intelligence to suggest that?” Omas asked.
Jacen shook his head. “No, and I don’t need it or help from the Force to work it out. It’s how Gejjen does business.”
“If we launch that kind of assault on Corellia, it’s something I should take to the Security Council. And even if they agree to it—”
“We’re at war. You have all the legal powers to determine the conduct of the war with Admiral Niathal, as you see fit.”
“Until it costs more credits,” said Omas. “And once we’re conspicuously focused on Corellia, what are Bothawui and Commenor going to do? Answers on a small piece of flimsi, please …”
Omas had the perfect excuse now to admit to the meeting with Gejjen. He could have said that he was going to give peace talks one last try. He could have said anything to indicate that he was going to talk terms with a state that showed no signs of understanding the words common good, and whose quietly lethal leader could have scared a Hutt gang lord.
And, Jacen thought, any smart politician might have suspected that his Intelligence Service spied on him, just as they spied on all the other Senators. A little game of words: Omas could have made the suggestion and watched Jacen’s reaction, brazening it out to test if his clandestine call had been picked up.
But he didn’t. And his future—and his fate—were sealed.
“So where are we going with this?” Niathal asked. “Same strategy? Keep dividing up the fleet until we have one ship per theater?”
“I think a full assault on Corellia is madness,” said Omas. “We might well have to consider it—but much later. In the meantime, my priority is to stop secessions from the Alliance from reaching the tipping point.”
Jacen sat feigning suppressed anger and disappointment. It had to be subtle, because Omas knew Jacen’s capacity for smiling self-control. But Omas needed to pick up the faintest whiff of dissent and savor it for a few moments; his suspicions would be aroused if Jacen caved in too readily.
Jacen placed his hands squarely on the arms of the apocia wood chair and eased himself to his feet.
“For the record, I think this is a big mistake, sir,” he said. “And I would be happier if GAG could support our intelligence community in their efforts bey
ond Coruscant.”
“I note your views, Colonel Solo, and I’m grateful for your strategic input so far.” Omas meshed his fingers and leaned on the desk, a gesture that said defensive more than it said resolute. “The GAG’s remit is domestic, though. I appreciate your concern for the quality of our intelligence.”
Jacen didn’t catch Niathal’s eye. He walked out, followed closely by her, and said nothing until they were back in her office.
“Well?”
“Not good,” she said. She wandered up to the window to watch the traffic streaming in orderly lines in the skylanes around the Senate District. “Not exactly open with us, is he?”
“I never told him we have GAG personnel operating on Corellia, so we’re even.”
“We can’t sustain the current strategy. Perhaps I should talk to Senator G’Sil and get it referred to the Security Council.”
“And then we divert our energies into an internal power struggle with Omas while we have a war to fight. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that if you take a shot at someone, you keep firing until they can no longer return fire. Wound them, and you have an angry enemy who knows your position.”
“I know where you’re heading with this, Jacen.”
“You know I’m right.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier.”
“If he does a deal with Gejjen, we’re not just back to square one: the Alliance is in a worse position than when it started.”
“And we’ll be out of the game.”
“That’s academic.” Jacen almost asked Niathal if she had children, and then realized he had almost done the most stupid thing imaginable: reveal his constant fears for the future of his own daughter, a child whose paternity had to stay hidden. He recovered fast, astonished at his weakness. “Because the game will be recurring wars.”
“Or Omas might end up with a vibroblade in his throat.”
“He’s insane to meet Gejjen face-to-face without close protection anyway. He hasn’t asked for it from us. He hasn’t asked CSF, either—”
“GA Intel?”
“No. We tap their comms, too.”
“You’re a source of constant revelation, Jacen Solo …”