“I don’t think I can sit and have dinner and not talk about this to him.”
“Okay, so where are you planning on going?”
“Home. Jacen’s apartment.” Ben could see she wasn’t keen on the idea. “Or Captain Shevu’s place.”
“Wherever you feel safest, Ben. I won’t force you to come back with me as long as you swear you’ll come to me the second you have problems, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. I really am.”
“Nobody’s ever going to know how brave he was.”
“I know.”
“Are you angry with me? Stupid question. You must be.”
“How can I be, after what I used to do?” She gripped both his hands as if she was afraid he’d run away. “This is what we made you, isn’t it? We wanted you to be like us. We wanted you to be a Jedi and do your duty …”
Mara was quiet for a while, gazing out the window onto the skylane packed with traffic and clearly thinking hard.
“You still haven’t told me how you knew, Mom.”
She jerked back to the conversation, blinking. “No. I haven’t. But I know, and I’m the only one who does. And I also know you can hide in the Force like Jacen does, and it scares me because the first time I felt it I thought you’d been killed. Please, Ben, don’t hide from me. Ever.”
“I wasn’t, Mom. I was just trying it out.”
“Okay.”
“Am I going to feel bad about … you know, the other guy? ’Cos right now I don’t care.”
“I didn’t,” she said, seeming to understand he meant Gejjen. “Not until lately, and then it didn’t feel like guilt. Just … not quite understanding why I did it, because being what I was didn’t explain it all to me.”
“I’d better go.”
“You’ll be okay. I’ll always be there, remember. Call me.”
Ben leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. He loved her so much right then; what other mom could take news like that, horrific news, and still be there for him? He leaned farther and whispered in her ear.
“He was having a secret meeting at the port with Omas. To discuss a cease-fire.”
When Ben straightened up, she smiled, but there was a real glint in her eye that said she was anything but happy.
“Thank you,” she said. “I love you, Ben. Call me, okay?”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
Ben couldn’t stand it any longer. He walked out of the tapcaf and spent the next couple of hours wandering around, staring in shop windows and not seeing anything, before he got an air taxi back to Jacen’s apartment and shut himself in his room.
It was going to take a long time to make sense of this. He slipped the vibroblade under his pillow, reluctant to let it sit as far away as his desk, and wondered what Captain Shevu was telling Jori Lekauf’s family.
chapter twelve
Ori’buyce, kih’kovid.
All helmet, no head.
—Mandalorian insult for someone with an overdeveloped sense of authority
REPUBLICA HOUSE, CORUSCANT: 0001 HOURS, GALACTIC STANDARD TIME
Jacen Solo, in the formal uniform of a colonel of the Galactic Alliance Guard, stood outside the lobby of the Republica building flanked by Sergeant Wirut and Trooper Limm.
It was a real shame about Lekauf. He was a great loss. Ben had done well, but he should have been back at work right away. Jacen planned to talk to Shevu later about sending Ben on leave without clearing it with him first.
“You sure this is going to be enough, sir?” asked Wirut. “Just the three of us?”
Jacen smoothed his black gloves down over his fingers. It was one minute past midnight, and that made what he was about to do thoroughly legal, justified, and overdue.
“I don’t think Chief Omas has a platoon up there, somehow.”
Wirut didn’t reply. Jacen was the first to admit that going to arrest the elected head of the most powerful organization in the galaxy with a couple of troopers was low-key, but he saw no point flooding the area with an entire company. Omas wouldn’t put up a fight. If he did, one Jedi and two armed troopers were ample to deal with it.
Jacen opened the comlink to Niathal.
“We’re in position now,” he said. “We’re going in.”
“I have an emergency appointment with Senator G’Sil in ten minutes,” Niathal said. “He’s not happy about it, but I told him it couldn’t wait.”
“He’s got no inkling of what’s happening?”
“If he has, he hasn’t shown the slightest sign of acting upon it.”
“Okay. There’s no going back now. We’re committed.”
“Just do it …”
The security guard on the front reception was a man used to seeing all kinds of uniforms wandering in and out of Republica House. The luxurious tower housed the elite of the GA, and every Senator seemed to have his or her own entourage of bodyguards as well as military visitors. Most Coruscanti knew what a GAG uniform looked like by now anyway—Jacen had made sure his secret police were anything but secret, at least in terms of their existence—but he gave the guard proper identification without being asked. There was no point being rude or throwing his weight around. The man was only doing his job.
“No need to announce me,” Jacen said.
The guard checked his datapad. “You’re on his admission list anyway. Go on up.”
It took minutes for the turbolift to reach Omas’s floor. As the cab climbed, the two troopers simply stared at the wall ahead of them. Jacen felt their reluctance, and wanted to know if it was due to a fondness for Omas or a distaste for military coups, but he didn’t ask. Any army that liked the idea of a coup wasn’t worth having. It had to be the last resort.
“How the other half lives …,” Wirut said as the turbolift doors opened onto a lobby of extraordinary luxury. The air was perfumed, a pleasantly neutral woody scent, and the broad corridor was lined with niches filled with rare Naboo crystal—Omas had a weakness for that—and iridescent Shalui ceramics. “I could fit my apartment and my ten neighbors in here.”
“If we put fancy pottery in the corridors of my building, it wouldn’t be there long,” said Limm. She cast an envious eye at a shimmering red vase that changed gradually to green and turquoise as the angle of the observer changed. “Still, his insurance payments must hurt.”
“Possessions are burdens.” Jacen smiled. “What you have can always be taken away, so wealth breeds fear.”
“I’ll willingly face that kind of fear, sir,” Wirut muttered. “And a nice big SoroSuub yacht. That would scare me very nicely.”
The magnificent doors to Omas’s apartment were engraved bronzium, an abstract design by one of Coruscant’s top artists. Jacen couldn’t recall the name. It seemed a waste of talent when the doors were seen only by Omas, his inner circle, the housekeeping staff, and repair droids. Republica House had the kind of architecture and design that warranted public tours.
Jacen paused, marshaling his thoughts before pressing the bell. The troopers stood back and pulled down their visors, standard procedure when entering a building. For a moment Jacen thought they were going to stack either side of the door, but they were simply taking a pace backward, Limm keeping an eye on the corridor as a routine precaution.
Omas answered the door himself. Jacen knew he didn’t have day-and-night close protection these days, but somehow he expected a droid or even a real butler to receive callers. The Chief of State looked at him with a puzzled frown, and then at the two troopers.
“Good evening, Jacen.” He stepped back and ushered them in. “Wretched business, this shooting. I can’t say I liked Gejjen, but it shows how careful we have to be in our line of work.”
He ambled down a long hallway that made the corridor outside look like a lower levels slum. The art on the walls was breathtaking, and most of it seemed to predate the Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Some gallery curator had a very secure hiding place, then. At the end, Omas turned around.
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“Can I get you good people something to drink before we sit down?”
Somehow it would have been so much easier if Omas had been hostile.
“Sir,” said Jacen. “I’m arresting you in the name of the Galactic Alliance for activity likely to compromise the safety of the state.”
Omas frowned slightly, as if he hadn’t heard right. He walked a few steps back along the passage where the downlighters cast pools of light on velvet-pile ruby carpet.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re under arrest, sir. We’ll let you call your lawyer later, but right now it would be a good idea if you came with us.”
Omas gave a little snort of amusement. “Jacen, my dear boy, this is Cal Omas you’re talking to. Don’t be such a prat—arrest me? Arrest me?”
Jacen reached in his jacket and took out a datapad. “Under the terms of the Emergency Measures Act, anyone, including heads of state, politicians, and any other individuals believed to be presenting a genuine risk to the security of the Galactic Alliance can now be detained. That’s a quote, sir. The amendment to the law to include heads of state came into effect at midnight, and you are a head of state …”
Omas looked stunned rather than alarmed. Jacen was used to the GAG producing fear when they paid a visit, but amazement was disconcerting.
“I saw that amendment come through on the notifications circular yesterday,” Omas said, still quite casually conversational. “Good grief. You really did it, didn’t you? You actually changed the law and planned this.”
“Sir—”
“Am I allowed to know what risk I’m supposed to pose to my own state?”
“I can show you, sir,” Jacen said, and switched his datapad to the strip-cam footage of the meeting with Gejjen. He cued it up and then held the pad so that Omas could see the screen. “Please feel free to view it all and then tell me if that’s not you in the room with two Alliance Intel officers, the late Prime Minister, and his two CorSec protection officers.”
The look on Omas’s face was priceless. Jacen felt a flood of relief that he had finally, finally made Omas realize that he was now a man with no future. Omas stared at the datapad and did indeed watch the whole meeting. Behind Jacen, Wirut and Limm waited in patient silence.
“Well,” said Omas. “What can I say?”
“Sergeant Wirut will accompany you to pack an overnight bag,” Jacen said. “We’ll take you out as discreetly as possible.”
“Secretly? Oh, I see …”
“No, sir, you’re not going to disappear and turn up floating facedown in some sewer. This will be conducted legally and openly.”
Omas stared impassively into Jacen’s face and then looked past him at the two troopers. Jacen could feel the man’s fear even though he looked perfectly at ease. “Sergeant, I do keep a bag packed for eventualities,” Omas said, almost smiling. “If you don’t trust me not to blow my brains out in the bedroom, by all means go to the fifth door on the left and pick it up for me. It’s in the first closet as you enter the room. Tan leather holdall.”
There was nothing worse than a dignified detainee. Jacen knew that within twenty-four hours the barracks and the CSF bar would be full of the gossip about how magnificently brave Omas had been. Wirut disappeared into the bedroom while Limm stood guard.
Omas stepped a little closer to Jacen, his face centimeters away, so close that his breath brushed Jacen’s skin like a hand.
“You obnoxious, power-crazed, ludicrous little jerk,” he said sweetly, with the smile of an indulgent grandfather. “You had Gejjen killed, too, didn’t you?”
Jacen waited for him to spit in his face and still smile, but Omas conducted himself impeccably as he left. Wirut walked behind him, blaster visible but not jammed into the Chief of State’s back, and Jacen led the way. It was the longest, most awkward turbolift descent that Jacen could imagine. When they reached the lobby, the security guard stared for a moment, put down his holozine, and stood up.
“Sir? What’s happening?”
“Would you water the plants while I’m away, please?” Omas said pleasantly. “I’m afraid I’m under arrest.”
There was a second GAG transport waiting outside. Wirut and Limm ushered Omas into it, then watched it speed away to GAG HQ. Jacen found that his hands were shaking. It was an effort to take out his comlink.
“Admiral, it’s done,” he said. “Time for a public announcement.”
Wirut pushed back his visor and wiped his face with his glove. “That,” he said, “was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Next time, sir, can I volunteer for snatching heavily armed Wookiee psychopaths? It’d be a lot easier on my nerves.”
Wirut and Limm joked, but the arrest had crossed an emotional line for them, and it showed. Jacen climbed into the speeder beside them and took a long route through the canyons of buildings, checking for signs that Coruscant, the heart of galactic democracy, had undergone a silent, bloodless, and thoroughly civilized military coup.
Outside government buildings and bank headquarters, small groups of GA ground forces stood guard. It looked like no more than the routine public order precautions for festival nights, except the uniforms were not the blue of CSF.
“Weird,” said Limm.
“Poor old Jori.” Wirut sighed. “Poor kid. He was so keen to live up to his granddad.”
Jacen rubbed his eyes and realized he was in for another very long day. And the sun wasn’t even up yet.
“I won’t forget that,” he said. “I never will.”
chapter thirteen
SENATE BUILDING
Trading on the ISE was suspended in the early hours of this morning when Acting Chief of State Admiral Cha Niathal declared temporary martial law following the shocking arrest of Cal Omas. A statement is expected in the Senate within the hour. Meanwhile, other galactic financial centers report brisk trading. KDY “A” shares closed fifty point three credits up on yesterday, and both MandalMotors and Roche Industries ended the day up more than thirty credits.
—Market News: business headlines
Senator G’Sil glanced at the holocams that transmitted Senate debates to every office, restaurant, and public area in the Senate Building, then shook his head, eyes closed for a moment.
“Full house,” he said. “You’d better have a good speech ready, Cha. A really good one.”
Niathal adjusted her uniform and prepared to go out onto the Chief of State’s platform to address the Senate. Things weren’t playing out quite as she’d imagined, but then battles never did, and the political arena was as prone to the fog of war as any fleet engagement. Jacen Solo, whom she expected to see strutting around the Senate, was keeping a low profile. But she’d see about that. If she was going to be shoved out front to tap-dance for his coup, she’d make sure he was visibly part of their double act. She wasn’t taking responsibility for this on her own.
“It’s temporary, it’s for the duration of the war, and no ordinary citizens will notice an adverse impact on their lives,” she said, rehearsing her key messages. “Play a bit of Omas’s clandestine meeting footage, wave around the news on Mandalore and Roche, and everyone nods and says, yes indeed, Admiral, we live in dangerous times, please do look after us as an interim government while the Chief of State’s office is thoroughly investigated.”
“I like Jacen,” G’Sil said, suddenly very quiet. “But is he reliable these days?”
“Reliable for what?”
“I would never have authorized the Gejjen business. It was … extreme.”
“It’s done. Corellia is wobbling a little, because their assorted lunatic fringes have given us a massive bonus by claiming they did it. Bothawui has been brought up short, because they probably think we did it but can’t believe we had the nerve, and—well, I never thought I’d live to say this, but those ghastly little Mandalorian savages have been wonderfully helpful.”
“Cha, I don’t want to worry you, but have you noticed they’re rearming? With Verpine tech, too
?”
“I certainly have. Best news of the week.”
“They must teach you something at staff college that’s beyond us lesser mortals.”
Niathal checked the chrono. She had ten minutes to psych herself up into appearing as a safe pair of hands, reluctant to take the burden of the reins of state and anxious to hand them back as soon as the current unpleasant business was over. Yes, she meant that, too. She wanted the Chief of State’s post, but she wanted a genuine mandate to do it; and there was no better way to achieve that than to show she could be a responsible leader in this most extreme of situations. When she finally ran for office, the electorate would know her by her deeds.
As long as I can keep Jacen on a choke chain, of course, and he doesn’t ruin it for me. If he gets out of hand … well, there’s always Fett.
“Have you ever kept nuna?” she asked.
“Not in the apartment …”
“I’m told they tend to form rival groups within the flock, and they can get very territorial. Squabbles break out. Now, let wild bursas into the coop, and it’s bedlam—they go into a killing frenzy, grab as many nuna to eat later as they can, and escape. They don’t care which group they eat. That’s your Mandalorians.”
“It’s a lovely analogy, but it’s lost on me.”
“Forget strategy. Mandalorians don’t care who wins. They just want to eat, drink, fight, and maintain their self-image.”
G’Sil gave her a long, wary stare. “You’re the Supreme Commander. I assume you can assess a military risk.”
“You want my assessment? Fett has no intention of expanding his small sphere of influence. Mandalorians might have been a mighty empire a few millennia ago, but they can’t handle the difficult business of running a modern, complex democracy. They know it, so they just want to live their primitive warrior fantasy and revel in their reputation.”
“Which is earned.”
“I accept that they’re phenomenal soldiers.”