“They kicked out the Empire and the Yuuzhan Vong, without any help from us.”
“That still doesn’t mean they want to dominate the galaxy. There are fewer than three million of them on Mandalore now, and they don’t have anything like a government structure that could organize them well enough to take over the GA or the Confederation. They’ll always be the bursa let loose among nuna. They’re opportunistic feeders.”
“But Fett’s a smart, smart man. Forget the Wookiee braids.”
“He wants to see Jacen Solo fall a long way,” Niathal said.
“I don’t buy fostering galactic chaos just to get back at one man, even if it’s Jacen.”
“No, we’ve created our own chaos. Fett’s just the distraction act.” Two minutes to go: Niathal sipped a glass of water and rolled her head to loosen her neck. There was nothing worse than a strained voice caused by tight muscles. She needed to sound relaxed, regretful, but authoritative. “As long as he plays bogeyman, the GA holds together, because the smaller planets are scared the Mandalorians will be back and they’ll cling to us for protection.”
“Or rush to the Confederation …”
“Not if the Confederation buys Fett’s arms, and we don’t. We can rob him of his neutrality, or at least the appearance of it.”
G’Sil continued to look at her as if she’d arrived from beyond the Outer Rim. He was taking this coup—and she was happy to call it that in private—remarkably well. Given his position, she’d expected him to want a piece of the action.
“G’vli, will you run for the Chief of State’s office in due course?”
“Will there be a Chief of State?”
“I fully intend to return to elections and civil rule once the war is over.”
“Then no, I won’t. I’m fine not being where Omas was. If a thing can happen once, it can happen twice.” G’Sil steered her toward the access to the floating platform. “You need to watch your back with Jacen.”
“I know,” she said. “So I’m neutralizing him now. Start as you mean to go on.” The word neutralize had several unfortunate meanings, and judging by the look on G’Sil’s face, he’d thought of the worst one. “No, just tactically. Where is he, anyway?”
“He probably had some fingers he needed to break. Let me worry about finding him later.” G’Sil followed her onto the platform. “Here we go.”
Niathal looked down at her boots as she stepped onto the platform, and when she looked up, the sheer scale of the Senate chamber unsettled her for a split second. It was a blessing: she knew her genuine dismay would come across as humble reluctance. There was nothing worse for a new military dictator than looking too keen.
For a chamber of thousands of delegates—even with the recent secessions and defections—it was remarkably quiet. Her platform drifted serenely into the center of the massive chamber. She was looking into lights and shadows, generally unable to see faces. It was, in so many senses, a theatrical stage complete with blinding footlights.
“Gentlebeings,” she began. Formal: strictly formal was the best bet, she calculated. “I never expected to be addressing you in this way, and I find myself barely prepared for it. I greatly regret the need to stand on this platform. But the need has arisen, it will be a need for the shortest period possible, and apart from the temporary leadership of the GA, nothing else will change. I stress that. There is no curfew, no censorship, and none of the other trappings of martial law. Had Chief Omas been taken ill, I would be standing here anyway, and nobody would be panicking. What’s happened overnight is no more constitutionally significant than that. I’ve merely exercised my responsibility as the Supreme Commander to deputize for the Chief of State, on the advice of the GA security services. As soon as the general security situation with the Confederation is resolved, and I expect that to be within the short term, I’ll step down and we’ll hold elections for the Chief’s office.”
There wasn’t a single lie in there. There was never any need to lie. She meant every word. There was simply information that the Senate didn’t have, and everyone went through life with an incomplete picture of the galaxy anyway.
One of the representatives for Kuat signaled to speak.
“When you refer to the security services, Admiral, do you mean Alliance Intel or the GAG?”
Niathal wondered if G’Sil had engineered the question, because it was so perfectly on cue. “I’d like to share some material with you,” she said. “So that you understand where the need to act arose.”
It was possibly contempt of court to show the images of Omas’s meeting with Gejjen; evidence like that would prejudice his chance of a fair trial, but she had a shrewd idea that Omas wouldn’t be cleared by a jury, return to work with his reputation intact, and sue the GA for wrongful arrest. In his case, the arrest was verdict and sentence in one. She gestured for the images to be projected onto the viewing screen on each delegate’s platform.
It was gratifying to hear the faint exclamations of surprise as the scene played out, complete with Alliance Intel officers. Niathal displayed a little dignified pain at the moment of betrayal, when Dur Gejjen discussed how to remove her and Jacen from their posts. The silence that followed was perfect.
“So, you’ll understand why I felt I had to take advice from the GAG, because Alliance Intel’s objectivity may have been compromised by attendance at that meeting,” she said. “And while it’s not illegal for two heads of state at war to have discussions, it’s unacceptable for them to plan the removal of a Supreme Commander without consulting the Security and Intelligence Council.”
She hoped they noted that the chair of that council was sitting at her right hand. It was time for him to do his party piece, so she sat down and let G’Sil have the floor.
“I’ve got very little to add,” G’Sil said. “Except to say that I’m saddened to come to this. A word about the presence of GA troops on the streets alongside CSF officers. This is simply a precaution in case the anarchic elements on Coruscant try to take advantage of the situation. As in any democracy, they have the right to exist and to speak, but if any of them attempt to capitalize on the situation, then the rule of law will be upheld.”
“Well, there’s no need for the anarchists to overthrow the government now, is there?” said the delegate from Haruun Kal. “You got there first …”
“With that in mind,” Niathal continued, “I intend to ask Colonel Jacen Solo to act as joint Chief of State with me. A matter of checks and balances, so that the temporary power doesn’t rest with one person, and one can subject the other to scrutiny.”
She let the comment from Haruun Kal pass. Nobody else picked up on it. By failing to invoke the full range of emergency restrictions she now had the right to impose, she felt she’d sent out a clear message that this really was a case of an embarrassed and reluctant military being hauled in to mind the shop because the civilian head of state had been a very naughty boy. It seemed to have worked. Either the Senate was collectively terrified, or it was 90 percent convinced, 10 percent wary.
She would settle for either.
G’Sil followed her back to her office. She sat down and felt the relief flood her.
“Next?” said G’Sil, and poured two cups of caf from the dispenser. “We have a breathing space while the Senators panic about their share prices and the Corellian administration flounders like beached daggerts.”
“Reopen the stock exchange,” she said. “I need to see the finance secretary at some point today to arrange for Treasury intervention if the market panics again. I’m bringing Alliance Intel under GAG command, and assigning Captain Girdun to that—”
“Oh, classic—”
“—and I want Omas’s office sealed until further notice.”
G’Sil looked mildly surprised. “You’re not moving in there?”
“I’m not, and neither is Jacen. It smacks of enthusiasm for power rather than necessary duty. We seal it as it stands, which is best practice in terms of allowing CSF to preserve
a potential crime scene.” She tapped the internal comm code for Senate Building Maintenance into her desk keypad. “And nobody fights over whose chair it is.”
G’Sil finally gave way to the smile that was trying to cross his face. “And what an elegant way to neutralize Jacen, should he hanker after power. Give it to him to start with.”
You don’t need to know we did a deal. “I don’t like having opposing forces approaching from the rear, G’vli. I like them where I can see them.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to Jacen as … opposing.”
“We want the same outcomes,” she said carefully, aware of how ephemeral alliances were in this game. “Order, stability, and peace. I don’t care for his methods, that’s all. Once I manage to teach him that putting citizens in camps and killing prisoners is not the done thing, we’ll get on just fine.”
“You have to see the Jedi Council, too.”
“I’ll see Skywalker later, but not the rest of the armed mystics …”
Niathal paused and sent a message to Luke that she wanted to continue the good working relationship he’d had with Omas, and that he would be welcome for an informal discussion. She’d remain cautious, though, because they seemed to represent a third and unelected power, neither civilian nor military, and every time she looked at Jacen Solo she saw just what Jedi could turn into.
“This has been surprisingly civilized,” G’Sil said. “The business of the chamber is going on as usual. No riots, no protests, no counter-revolution.”
“It isn’t lunchtime yet.”
“Nevertheless, this is remarkable.”
“And we have a war going on. Even if the Corellians are spinning their wheels at the moment, Bothuwai isn’t. I have crews out there on the front line.”
It was simply a statement of fact. She still wore a uniform, and whatever her ambitions the service ethic was very nearly coded into her genes by now. She really did have a war to win and people to bring home alive.
“Oh, you’re good,” G’Sil said, misreading her totally. “You’re very good. Stang, I might even vote for you on the strength of today’s showing.”
That was the only way Niathal wanted to remain in this post—by election; it made it much easier to hang on to it than being a dictator. She was also an officer who liked her moral lines, her rules of engagement, completely clear.
Within those, though, she believed in taking the battle to the enemy and pressing home every advantage.
“I look forward to it,” she said.
JEDI COUNCIL CHAMBER
It had been a long night, and the morning’s news left Luke reeling. He looked at Mara across the chamber, noted that her injuries were largely healed, and wondered when she was going to be ready to talk to him about what was making her grind her teeth in her sleep.
Something had got to her, and the fact that she was silent and not raging about it worried him. It meant it was more than Lumiya or Alema.
“Makes you wonder what tomorrow might bring,” Kyp said wearily, scratching his head with both hands as if he were shampooing his hair. “A bombshell with every bulletin.”
“I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye with Omas, but I don’t believe he’s a security risk.” Luke had never handled frustration well, and age hadn’t mellowed that. He could see what was happening; he knew his history, and he had no love of military government. Nobody of his generation who’d grown up under the Empire did. “So now we have two threats—an external war, and an internal coup. Where do we concentrate our efforts?”
“Well, Niathal is well within her rights to assume power under the circumstances,” Corran said. “So it’s not exactly a coup, and much as we might not like it as citizens with a vote, as Jedi we have no business interfering in that.”
“Can I say it?” Kyp asked. “Because it’s just staring us in the face and nobody’s mentioning it.”
“Go on …”
“Jacen. There, I said it. Jacen, Jacen, Jacen. What in the name of the Force is going on here? Okay, maybe we should have taken him to task when he started kicking down doors with the GAG. Now, overnight, he’s busted the Chief of State and taken over. Extreme? Out of control, my friends.”
“Has he actually declared himself joint Chief of State? Personally?”
Cilghal looked up. “Admiral Niathal announced it. We’ve heard nothing from Jacen.”
“Then maybe it wasn’t his idea.” Luke looked at Mara to catch her eye, but she seemed in a world of her own. “Mara?”
“Sorry.” She snapped to attention, blinking. “I don’t see Jacen being dragged kicking and screaming to the big office, somehow. Regardless of who came up with the idea, he’s hardly rushed to decline the honor.”
“He’s gone to ground,” said Kyp. “We’ve been through a whole twenty-four hours of news bulletins without seeing him. He must be chained up somewhere to keep him away from reporters.”
“How would we know?” Corran asked. “He never talks to us, and he’s holed up in his cozy GAG bunker when he’s not out harassing Corellians.”
“Time I went to see him,” said Luke. “I mean really see him. Niathal’s sent a message saying she wants to maintain the good relationship between the Jedi Council and the Chief’s office. I’m taking her up on that as soon as she can clear her schedule.”
Mara seemed to be concentrating on the proceedings again. “If I didn’t know Corellia was in dire straits over Gejjen’s death, I’d have said it was an outside attempt to destabilize the GA. If he’d still been alive, they’d have moved in on us by now.”
It was an interesting thought that suddenly got more interesting in Luke’s mind as he rolled it around. Mara could always spot the issue. The two events might have been coincidental, or they might not, but the assassination was tied up with the removal of Omas, and not only because he’d been meeting the Corellian shortly before he died. The crazier news programs were speculating wildly that Omas had been directly involved in the assassination, but Luke felt that something more convoluted was happening, and judging by the grinding-cogs expression on her face, Mara did too. She wasn’t quite talking to herself, but her lips moved occasionally, involuntarily, as she stared into the mid-distance.
You used to talk everything through with me, Mara. What happened?
“You know what?” Kyp said. “We’re missing an important point. As Jedi, either we’re players in GA politics, or we’re another instrument of the elected leadership, like the fleet. If we’re the latter, then we might have our opinions, but we do as the legitimate leadership directs. If we’re not, then we’ve got no more right to start interfering with the status quo than the Monster Raving Anarchist Party. Jacen might be completely off the charts now, but he’s not acting as a Jedi. He’s an officer in the security forces who happens to be a Jedi.”
“When my front doors come crashing in with a GAG boot,” Corran said, “that’s going to make me feel so much better.”
Kyp twisted around in his seat to jab a finger in Corran’s direction. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t act. Just that we need to be clear where we stand. And Niathal and Jacen are within their rights.”
“There’s rights,” said Mara, “and there’s right.”
Kyp raised an eyebrow. “And the semantics thought for the day was brought to you by our sponsors …”
“I’m seeing Niathal,” said Luke, slapping his palm down on the arm of his chair. I should have gone with my gut so long ago. I really did take my eye off the ball trying to live up to this role. “And before we start griping about lack of action, think about this. When it was a matter of your not approving of Ben’s involvement with the GAG, it was a choice between letting him carry on and hauling a teenage boy home. Now we’re talking about action against … what, exactly? Stage our own coup? Depose Niathal? Confiscate Jacen’s lightsaber? I’m up for most things, I admit, but we have to think this through, because we might leave matters worse than before we started.”
“Well, trying
to talk him around is off the menu,” said Mara. “So I’m sticking with going after the irritant in this. Lumiya. But let’s not forget that Omas didn’t exactly behave sensibly, and Niathal isn’t in Lumiya’s thrall. She’s got her own agenda, and I don’t get any sense of the dark side influencing that.”
Luke knew she was right. The dynamics were complex. The best thing Jedi could do was to tackle the things that non-Force-users couldn’t. Once again, he missed the clarity of thoroughly evil adversaries, or at least those he thought were evil.
It was hard to turn against your allies. It was as hard as turning against your own family. Now they were one and the same.
GAG HEADQUARTERS, CORUSCANT
The worst thing about waking up that morning was the few seconds of blank comfort before remembering what had happened, and then the world collapsed again. Ben couldn’t stop seeing Jori Lekauf everywhere he looked. He couldn’t face staying at home: he needed the company of his friends, the people who missed Lekauf, too. As he walked through the GAG security gates, and the system accepted his identicard to open the blastproof doors, every face in the corridor was Lekauf’s. When Ben went into the locker room, he could hear his voice. It was a running nightmare conjured up by a combination of his Forcesenses and the simple human reaction to fresh bereavement. He wanted it to stop, but he felt he was being disloyal to a dead friend for wanting not to see him everywhere.
Zavirk was still in the monitoring room. He looked up at Ben and tapped the MUTE button on his earpiece. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“I won’t say it.”
“Fine.”
“And not your fault, okay? Could have been any one of us.” Zavirk tapped the button again and dragged the adjacent chair closer for Ben to sit down. “You heard that the boss is … well, really the boss now?”
“Yeah.”
“Should be good news for us.”
Ben knew that his father would say it wasn’t good news at all. He sat in the monitoring room for a while, just grateful to be among the troopers, and then wandered off to find a quiet spot. If he couldn’t handle this kind of stuff without being devastated, he’d be no use in the GAG. Every other trooper here got on with it. Shevu had probably had an awful conversation with Lekauf’s parents, but when Ben walked by his office, he was hard at work, marking up a duty roster on the wall and getting on with things.