As Vader spoke, a fanciful holographic simulation of the battle at Endor played itself out against the backdrop of the chamber. An outnumbered and outgunned Imperial fleet drove a dagger into the heart of the Rebel formation. The pinpoint accuracy of Imperial gunners laid waste to the Rebels. As that war raged outside, the Emperor appeared looking beatific as he pleaded with an unseen Rebel host. His expression melted into sorrow and pain, then his eyes blazed and his fists knotted. Suddenly his image exploded, taking the Death Star with it. The explosion tore into the Rebel fleet, leaving only small, weak ships to flee.
The whole presentation had sent a shiver through Wedge. He had been at Endor—he had fired the shot that helped destroy the Death Star—yet this telling of the story felt as compelling to him as the true history of what had happened. It suggested a benign purpose for the Death Stars and made the Rebels out to be monsters for thinking to use one on an inhabited planet. By doing so, and by suggesting the Emperor had gone there to prevent that sort of perversion, the fear that lingered in everyone’s heart concerning the destruction of Alderaan was shifted into fear directed at the Rebellion. The Emperor had sacrificed himself to save everyone else, so only the most boorish of louts would not show gratitude of some sort toward him.
As he moved on to the Hall of Justice with Iella he found himself amazed at how easily the Empire had been able to warp the truth into a story that sustained the realm. “The people who create these exhibits are very good at what they do.”
“That was never more evident as it is with this area concerning the Jedi.” Iella linked her arm through Wedge’s as they strolled on. “Were it not for the Emperor, we would be slaves to a tyrannical Jedi state.”
The history of the Jedi Knights was presented in a linear fashion, moving from right to left around the room. The thousand-generation saga had been condensed such that it gave emphasis to the legendary Jedi Masters of old, then suggested a gradual deviation from that noble tradition as the Knighthood grew. The corruption had begun—Wedge gathered by implication—when human Jedi Masters had taken on nonhuman disciples. The Jedi Knights went from being the guardians of the Old Republic to the secret masters of its future. They used their powers to manipulate and direct the Republic’s leaders.
After the resolution of the Clone Wars, the Jedi began to move toward an open grab for power. Senator Palpatine circumvented them and deposed their puppet. In overthrowing the corrupt Old Republic, the Emperor stripped from the Jedi their political power and laid their evil bare for all to see. The Jedi denied the truth he revealed, all except one of their number. His fellows tried to murder him, but he survived their treachery and rose to assist the Emperor in rooting out the evil that had ruined the Knighthood. He was Darth Vader and, said the display, never had there been a greater champion for the high ideals of the Empire than he.
Wedge smiled. “At least that last bit is true—Vader was Imperial through and through.”
“Notice how they have the true line of Jedi Knights dying with Vader at Endor? No mention of Luke Skywalker, but the implication is that he is heir to the corrupt tradition.” She shook her head. “I wonder if that is too subtle?”
“Appeals that play to fear can be subtle and still very effective.” Wedge turned and looked back toward the far corner of the room. “It looks to me as if this chamber once opened onto another one, but the entrance has been sealed up.”
“I’ve seen an old version of a holographic museum tour—we have people who archive those sorts of things just to see what’s been changed. Once upon a time, back in the days of the Old Republic, there were three more chambers that extended back there with mementos of famous Jedi Knights and their exploits.” Iella shrugged. “It’s been sealed up for over thirty standard years. Rumor has it that most of the things in there now are memento mori, and the descriptions of some are enough to make the Sith artifacts look absolutely benign.”
Pash Cracken met them outside the Jedi exhibit carrying a small sack. “Are you two interested in getting out of here?”
Wedge didn’t answer immediately because his attention was drawn to something beyond Pash. The museum had been constructed in such a way that the circular foyer rose all the way up to the roof, giving each floor a crescent-shaped opening onto it. The northern wall, through which the public entered the building, had been constructed of transparisteel, providing a commanding view of the Imperial Palace and the walkway that linked the Museum with the Imperial Justice Court.
A vicious dark, roiling cloud was coalescing in the kilometer or so between the museum and the Palace. Golden lightning shot through it, then arced up into the air. A brilliant energy thread linked the cloud with the lowest of the planetary shields, then seconds later an explosive rumble of thunder sent a tremor through the building. More lightning flashed at the heart of the cloud’s dark depths and the cloud began to drift toward them.
Wedge looked over at Iella. “That’s a nasty-looking storm. Are we safe here?”
“Sure,” she said, taking her hands off the steel railing. “A compressor probably blew in one of the buildings down there. Water vapor escapes into the air, condenses, and starts spitting energy. There’s lightning rods all over the place on these towers and skyhooks, so we should be safe. You’ll know it’s a really bad storm when the skyhooks detach their tethers and move off.”
Down below Wedge saw all sorts of people streaming into the foyer as the storm approached. Beneath the dark cloud he saw a shimmering sheet of rain scourging the buildings. “Such quickly developing storms must make weather prediction here very tough.”
“I’ve heard it said that any meteorologist who is right thirty percent of the time here on Coruscant is barred from shipping on the submarine gambling vessel Coral Vanda or from any other casino because she’s just too lucky. In reality, though, no one has any reason to actually go outside, so the weather matters little.”
A bolt of lightning struck very near the museum and the lights dimmed for a moment. Pash smiled. “That could be an inconvenience.”
“True,”
Wedge pointed at the sack Pash had in his left hand. “I take it you found something interesting in the museum’s souvenir mart?”
“I have here the most popular items, as indicated by a very friendly salesclerk.” Pash peered down into the bag. “I have a statue of the Emperor made from cold-cast Corusca Stone resin—if you project a laser through the base it will give you a series of pictures of the Emperor displayed on your wall. I promised my father I’d bring him something, and that’s it.”
Wedge nodded solemnly. “He’ll love that.”
“I hope so. I also got two holopad display disks that will project the two most popular segments of the Emperor’s life story: the Clone Wars and the one titled ‘Sacrifice at Endor.’ I was assured they were the hottest sellers and especially popular with tourists who would be heading back into the outlier worlds.”
“Interesting.” In their early discussions of how best to accomplish their mission, Pash had suggested to Wedge that one way to determine the beliefs held by others was to watch what they spent money on. The popularity of the statue suggested that a good number of people did revere the Emperor, though the image of Pash’s father displaying it like a trophy in his office suggested that even the Emperor’s detractors would find a use for such a thing. The holopad disks, on the other hand, suggested an interest in the events that happened before and around the founding of the Empire and the events that marked its decline. The ‘Sacrifice at Endor’ piece was significant in that it confirmed the Emperor’s death and could be brought to distant worlds to lay any doubts to rest. The fact that it showed the Rebel fleet as having been broken, and suggested evil motives on the part of the Rebels themselves, was not that great a concern to Wedge. While Imperialists could use the program to show how the Emperor cared for his people, the chances of it convincing anyone that the Rebellion had died at Endor with it were slim indeed.
Well, this is a start. It would se
em that people are beginning to come to grips with the fact that the Emperor is dead. How ever he died—by his own hand or through Luke’s intervention—the fact is that the Rebellion was sufficiently strong to put him in mortal danger. To a greater or lesser extent everyone on this planet must wonder how much of the Rebellion has survived and how it will come to affect their lives.
Wedge smiled. “I think those will do just fine. Everyone will be happy with them.”
“I hope so.” Pash jerked his head back toward the building’s central core and the lift tubes. “The storm will be past shortly. Shall we head down and out?”
Wedge nodded and started toward the lifts when a woman grabbed his elbow. He turned with a polite smile on his face and she launched herself into his arms. “Darling,” she shouted, then kissed him full on the lips. “I’m so glad I caught up with you!”
Wedge got his hands on her shoulders and pried himself loose of her embrace. He started to sputter, then he saw who she was and a chunk of Hoth settled itself in his guts. Mirax! “Yes, love, we were just getting ready to look for you. Where have you been?”
“I missed some connections and couldn’t get out when I wanted to.” Mirax forced a light laugh and smiled at Pash and Iella. “You know me, I always push my luck with my travel plans. Things just fell apart this time, and I don’t have a clue as to what I shall do now. Perhaps, my dear, you do.”
18
Though the week he’d already spent wandering through the upper precincts of Coruscant had allowed him to become accustomed to constant observation, Corran could not shake the background sense of being watched. Of course there were reasons for people to watch him. He sat at a tapcaf table on the edge of a promenade in the Imperial Palace’s Grand Corridor accompanied by two strikingly beautiful women. Erisi with her short black hair and Rima with her longer white hair proved enough of a contrast to each other that eyes were naturally drawn to them. That he, a lone man, should be blessed with their company made him the object of a certain amount of envy, as did the apparent leisure with which all three of them sat at the table and chatted away idly.
Corran and Erisi had been given two areas to study in their survey of Coruscant. They were to cover basic security and peacekeeping as well as medical services and facilities. Having been a security officer, Corran knew what to look for by way of force allocation, morale, discipline, response times, and tactics. Much of the week had already been spent in passive observation of the Coruscant constabulary and the stormtrooper contingents that worked with them.
Coming to the Palace’s Grand Corridor had been the final and crowning expedition in their survey of the upper, most public levels of Coruscant. At first Corran had absolutely balked at taking such a risk because he felt security there, in the heart of the building from which the government was run, had to be maintained at the highest level. The chance of detection there was greatest, yet the need for study there was equally great. He knew that any attempt to take Coruscant might well end up with a running lightfight through the halls and corridors of the Palace, so any information about its security would clearly save lives.
And in this place Rogue Squadron could have dogfights with a whole wing of TIEs.
The Grand Corridor had immediately impressed him with its scope and size. The corridor itself ran on for kilometers and the open areas at the floor level could easily have accommodated a Star Destroyer. Banners of all colors and designs hung from balustrades and arches. Each one represented a world in the Empire and there were more of them than Corran figured he could count in a lifetime.
Purple and green ch’hala trees lined the main floor and each of the upper levels. Their bark reacted to vibrations and sounds, sparking displays of color that splashed an ever-changing, opalescent mosaic on the grey granite walls and pillars. Corran had overheard from the numerous tour guide droids that ch’hala trees had been a favorite of the Emperor’s and placed here at his specific request. Though he hated everything the Emperor had stood for, Corran had to admit that the ch’hala trees were what truly made this place grand.
The necessities of modern life did not intrude and spoil the majesty of the hall. Reader strips, like those scrolling out the latest news stories everywhere else on Coruscant, had been shielded so that anyone wanting to read their messages had to stand at a specific point on the floor to actually see the scarlet letters rolling by. Information kiosks were warded by ch’hala trees. Small alcoves scooped from the walls at regular intervals provided people a modicum of privacy for using the holo-link stations built therein.
Security appeared to be lax, but Corran picked up on things that Erisi clearly missed. Stormtrooper squads did patrol the main floor and passed certain checkpoints at fairly precise intervals. They appeared to be most concerned with breaking up or moving along knots of non-humans. Those with legitimate reasons to be in the building were urged to be on their way, while those gawking at the magnificence of the Palace were directed to join escorted tours or to leave.
The upper galleries of the Grand Corridor appeared to be alien free, yet the mechanism for maintaining them that way was remarkably unobtrusive. Side passages leading to stairs or lifts narrowed considerably, forcing individuals to move through them no more than two or three abreast. Guards wearing a more stylized and esthetically pleasing form of stormtrooper armor maintained posts at these passages and gently redirected anyone who appeared to be lost. They did respond to questions, but only with the directions to the nearest visitor and information kiosks where the questions could be asked again.
The stairs themselves doubled back twice. This meant anyone who got past the guards on the lower level could be isolated on the middle staircase and dealt with. The landings on either side of the staircase appeared normal, but Corran knew of a dozen ways anyone traversing them could be trapped or, with a laser cannon emerging from behind a hidden panel, cut down with little or no risk to Imperial personnel. While quite fantastic in its design and execution, the Grand Corridor had not been created without an eye toward security.
Corran made some quick assumptions about other precautions that had to have been set up. He suspected that in the narrow corridors below there were weapons detectors. The technology for locating an inorganic object next to the flesh of or within the body of a living creature was old and unobtrusive. By detecting the disturbance a weapon made in the creature’s bioelectric field or the planet’s own magnetic field a computer could comlink to the guards the identity of the person carrying the weapon, its location on his body, and even the type of weapon he was carrying.
Other passive monitoring devices could be used to locate things like gas canisters or bombs by picking up on molecular traces coming off them. For all Corran knew the ch’hala trees could have been genetically altered to make them into botanical sniffers. The patterns of light flashing across their bark could have some sort of significance, alerting Imperial officials to danger without anyone in the Grand Corridor being the wiser.
You’re definitely thinking too hard about this, Corran. He smiled and looked over at Rima. He caught her staring at him for a moment, but her eyes had enough of a soft focus that he knew she’d not been seeing or thinking about him. “Imperial Center to Rima. Hello?”
She blinked, then grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
“That was apparent. What about?”
Rima hesitated and that caught Corran’s full attention. Throughout the time he had spent with her he’d come to realize two things: She was incredibly observant and she seemed to forget little or nothing of what went on around her. Actually Corran couldn’t remember having caught her out at having missed a detail about something, and he’d frequently been corrected by her. The only times she had previously hitched before answering a question were times when the answer had the potential of violating the security envelope surrounding the mission.
Rima’s expression softened somewhat and Corran sensed she was about to open up a bit about herself. “I was thinking that we might
actually have a friend in common. He was from back home, though I did not know him there. I was wondering how he was.”
Corran smiled and picked up his cold cup of espcaf. He’d assumed all along she was from Alderaan. She’d never confirmed this, nor had she denied it. He couldn’t remember having said anything to her that told her his assumption, but from the look in her eyes, he had no doubt that he had said something, allowing her to phrase her question in such an oblique manner.
He lowered his cup and kept his voice neutral. “Do you mean Sel?” He abbreviated Tycho’s last name, assuming that even if the conversation were being overheard, the intelligence value of one syllable was tiny.
“Yes, I was thinking of him.”
Erisi smiled. “He is doing well. He recently got me out of a very tight spot. Quite a treasure.”
“Really? That’s good.”
Corran caught a flicker of surprise and hurt in Rima’s eyes. She covered it quickly, but he thought he recognized jealousy in her reaction to Erisi’s flirtatious response to the question. She and Tycho must have some history. “I guess you know him better than either one of us. We’re really just casual acquaintances of his.”
Rima’s eyes sharpened slightly. “Only casual acquaintances? I would have thought you two would have been fast friends.”
“We could have been, but the man has secrets.” Corran shifted his shoulders uneasily. Despite his original resolve to trust Tycho, reality had slowly impinged on him. The preparation for the mission to Coruscant had stressed trust and sharpened his sense of paranoia. At the core of the Tycho problem was the fact that no one save Ysanne Isard knew if Tycho was her puppet or not. Corran had emotionally begun to insulate himself from Tycho, but until now had not realized how far along that unconscious process had gotten. “Secrets establish a distance and undercut trust.”