Jedi Trial (21 page)

“I understand. I will keep this with me until I decide what to do. Until then, you are to treat this as absolutely top secret, is that understood? Have your log entry show only that a transmission came in from Praesitlyn, nothing more. If anything else like this comes through, I want you to bring it directly to me. Inform your relief that if anything comes in from the communications center on Praesitlyn he’s to do the same thing.”

After Jenbean left, Isard turned to Palpatine and asked, “Do you really think he’ll keep this to himself?”

“No. Armand, where emotion rules, the wise man will hedge his bets every time. Did you see the lieutenant’s expression as we watched the transmission? You know he’d seen that thing several times before he brought it to me. That woman, Reija Momen, she’s an icon; she looks like the ideal mother. Only old
hard cases like us can resist an appeal like that to our basic instincts. What about Tonith? Is he serious about killing the technicians?”

“Yes, Supreme Chancellor, he is fully capable of that once they lose their value to him. Or he may not kill them. It depends on how he calculates his odds for personal survival. He’s a cool one, very dispassionate—what you’d expect of a banker; a living calculating machine, profit here, loss there, balance the account and so on. What will you do with this situation?” He nodded at the recorder.

“Nothing for now. Our young communicator friend will do it for us.” Palpatine smiled enigmatically.

“May I ask how you know?”

Palpatine inclined his head in a slight bow. “Trust me. I know. All I had to do was look at that young man’s face. May I refill your glass?”

Lieutenant Jenbean was incensed, and the farther he got from Chancellor Palpatine’s residence the angrier he became. They had just sat there watching that transmission without even a change of expression. How could those politicians have taken this so lightly? Didn’t individuals count anymore in this Republic? Wasn’t the Republic the guarantor of the freedom and lives of each of its citizens? Surely nobody would expect Palpatine to call off the relief expedition, but shouldn’t he have shared this information with the commanders, demanded a plan to free the hostages?

When the transmission had come through, everyone on his shift had watched it several times, thinking at first it could only be a hoax. None of the communicators
had much knowledge about what was happening on Praesitlyn except that the Separatists had captured it and the Senate had sent a relief force to liberate it. But they all knew Reija Momen—everyone in the field knew her. And there she was—he shook his head and clenched his fists—a prisoner of some fiend, being forced to make this transmission.

Although it was not clear to Jenbean just what Chancellor Palpatine—or anyone else—could do about Momen’s situation, he was incensed that the Chancellor proposed to do nothing at the moment. In just a few minutes one of the technicians on Praesitlyn would be murdered; maybe it had already happened. He shuddered at the thought of further transmissions showing people he knew lying dead in the Praesitlyn Intergalactic Communications Center.

Before he put in place the caveats on the transmission that Palpatine had demanded, Lieutenant Jenbean, staking his entire future on doing what he thought was right, would retransmit Momen’s broadcast to someone who could do something to save her.

Anakin smiled as Halcyon stepped into his command post. They shook hands warmly.

“You’ve done an excellent job landing and deploying the army,” Halcyon told him. “What’s happening?” He nodded toward the high ground.

Briefly Anakin filled him in on the tactical situation. “Our landing went off unopposed. The enemy is withdrawing to the plateau, and we haven’t been able to take advantage of the movement because we weren’t fully deployed when it began. Now they occupy the high
ground, and I’m sure they’re fortified up there, using the communications center and its staff as hostages to prevent us from mounting a full-scale attack. It’s going to be hard to dislodge them.”

Halcyon nodded. “That’s why we’ve got to be flexible. I’ve got a couple of ideas. Have you met Slayke yet?”

Anakin smiled. “Yes. He wants us to visit him in his command post as soon as you’re ready.”

“I’ve never met him in person, you know. He was too busy stealing my ship the only time our paths crossed.” Halcyon grinned. He unfastened his cloak, sat on the nearest chair, and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m tired, and the battle hasn’t even started yet.”

Anakin sobered. “How badly damaged was the
Ranger?
”

Halcyon shrugged. “We had to scuttle her. We lost a large number of her crew, as well. It was close.”

“For Captain Slayke, too,” Anakin told him. “They put up a great fight, but his army was almost destroyed.”

“Not good, not good,” Halcyon said, shaking his head. He was silent for a long moment. At last he took a deep breath and stood up again. “Shall we go pay the Great Man a formal visit in his lair and get this army moving?”

T
heir courses inexorably set, the vast armada sped through the cold, eternally dark reaches of space. Aboard each ship systems pulsed with energy as its computers, carefully attended by an army of perfectly functioning droids, kept it on its predetermined course. Weapons systems that could destroy whole fleets were at the ready.

These were dead machines, almost as cold inside as the vacuum of space outside their hulls, kept just warm enough to prevent metals and plastics from weakening and lubricants from freezing. They had no names, only numbers and nomenclatures. Nowhere except on the flagship—a monstrous killing machine in its own right—was there to be heard the voice of a single living being; no laughter, no cursing, no complaining, no life; just the muted whispering of machinery. And on the flagship itself, grim-faced beings went about their duties with the calm born of an ingrained military discipline as rigorous as the technology that controlled the droid infantry in the transport ships following the battle cruisers. In those transports silence pervaded the compartments crammed with hundreds of thousands
of battle droids folded motionless in their racks, waiting for the signal that would turn them into dispassionate, efficient killing machines.

Had there been living beings on board these transport ships, and had they walked through the storage compartments where the droids awaited the call to battle, it would have been like visiting a vast crypt where the bones of a monster species sat patiently entombed while awaiting resurrection. The huge bays were silent except for the constant pulsation of the ships’ drives sending their vibrations through the deckplates. The droids were lined up perfectly in their serried ranks; occasionally a slight course deviation or a change in the ships’ rate of speed caused them to sway minutely in their racks to the soft
click-click-click
of metal on metal. And were a visitor to stare too long and too closely at those skeletal miracles of mechanical invincibility, especially were his attention to be drawn into the black sockets of their optics, he would shudder with the vision of his own mortality reflected there, and scurry back into the world of warmth and fellowship and hope that distinguish the living from their machines.

This fleet was the long-awaited Separatist reinforcements, the armored fist reaching out to smash the world known as Praesitlyn.

“Welcome to my humble and last remaining strong-point,” Slayke boomed in greeting as he bounded to his feet. His officers stood around silently, staring at the two Jedi and their three companions. Slayke narrowed his eyes at the companions but said only, “Let
me introduce my staff.” He introduced each officer, who bowed slightly to the visitors.

“I presume, sir, that you are the—” Slayke hesitated for just a brief instant, but that hesitation spoke volumes to Nejaa Halcyon. “—inestimable General Halcyon?” He extended his hand. At his full height, with his broad chest and shoulders and shock of flaming red hair, Slayke was an imposing figure.

“The same, Captain,” Halcyon answered. They shook. As they made physical contact each looked into the other’s eyes, two wary rivals sizing each other up. Anakin tried to keep his own expression neutral; he realized he was very much the junior partner in the triumvirate Halcyon was about to propose, and he knew instinctively that silence right now was the best asset he could bring to this situation.

“What do you have that I can steal from you this time?” Slayke asked, a wry, challenging expression on his face.

Halcyon ignored the question. “This is my deputy, Commander Skywalker.”

“We’ve met.” Slayke bowed slightly. “And those two strapping lads over there?” he asked, indicating the two guards Halcyon had brought along.

“Corporal Raders and Private Vick, my confidential advisers on military affairs,” Halcyon answered.

Slayke nodded. “It’s a smart commander who listens to the voices from the ranks. I’m beginning to like your style.” The two guards stood self-consciously among Slayke’s officers.

“I see you’ve dragged him along, too,” Slayke
sneered, nodding at Grudo, who was trying to remain inconspicuous at the rear of the crowd.

“Grudo goes where I go—that’s the way it’s going to be,” Anakin answered at once.

“My, my, this sprout certainly has a mind of his own.” Slayke chuckled. “I like soldiers who have minds of their own—they’re much harder to steal than, say, someone’s starship.” He laughed enormously.

Again, Halcyon refused to acknowledge the jibe. “Can we talk in private?” He nodded at the officers standing about.

“No. Whatever we have to say, my officers can hear. I don’t keep vital information from my troops.” Slayke motioned to a sergeant standing nearby to clear off a field table. “Excuse the disarray, but, ah, we moved in here on rather short notice, and my cleaning staff hasn’t had a chance to tidy things up.” He grinned. “The detritus of battle,” he said, gesturing around the room, “which includes my troops and me, I’m afraid. But you and your army are unbloodied, vigorous, straining against the traces, eager for battle! Take your seats and I’ll tell you a thing or two about the battle we’ve fought here.”

Halcyon and Anakin joined Slayke at the table.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have refreshments for my honored guests,” he told them, “but we’re fresh out of ale and cakes. Now …” He rubbed his big hands together. “I have devised several maneuvers that I’m confident, with the timely arrival of your troops, I can use to successfully assault the enemy’s positions on the plateau. Please observe the schematic of the terrain on that screen. What I propose we do is—”

“Excuse me, Captain,” Halcyon interrupted. “I’m very anxious to hear your battle plan, but first there’s something we’ve got to get straight.”

Slayke pretended surprise. “Please proceed, Nejaa—you don’t mind if I call you Nejaa, do you?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The command post, crowded as it was, had gone utterly quiet, the silence broken only by the static-laden voices of Slayke’s unit commanders making their reports, the muted background music common to military command centers.

“You can call me what you like, as long as you mean
sir
. I was sent here by the Senate to take command of this operation, and take command I will. You will place your remaining troops under me. While I value your opinion and look forward to hearing your advice, I’ll make the final decisions on any plans for the employment of this army, is that clear?”

Anakin realized instantly that Halcyon had taken the wrong approach with Slayke, but held his tongue. There was more going on here than the mere execution of orders.

Slayke leaned back in his chair and puffed out his cheeks. “Well, that’s a mighty big speech from a guy”—he leaned forward across the table—“who can’t even keep his pocket from being picked.” He grinned evilly.

Halcyon still refused to be drawn in. “Captain, I have the authority of the Senate—”

“Tell them to kiss my sweet toes,” Slayke retorted.

“—I have a fleet in orbit and I have an army of fresh troops—”

“Blasted faceless clones,” Slayke spat. “Look around
you! This is an army—these are soldiers, battle-hardened veterans who’ve withstood the worst the enemy has thrown at them and still have fight in them! You think your clones can match spirit like that? Ha!” He placed his hands behind his head. A susurration of agreement swept through Slayke’s assembled staff officers. “And, I might add, you took your sweet time getting here!”

“Captain.” Anakin leaned forward so he could speak confidentially. “You would never have survived that final attack. I’d say you owe us, not the other way around.”

“Oh, ho, ho, the nursery speaks!” Slayke roared. Several of his staff snickered. “General Halcyon, maybe you’d like your
Plooriod Bodkin
back? I’ll trade her for your own flagship. Now that I’ve bloodied the enemy’s nose, I think I need a vessel fitting a man of my considerable skill, don’t you agree?” He roared with laughter and pounded the frail table with a massive fist.

“My flagship was scuttled and most of her crew killed when we broke the cordon and restored communications, Captain,” Halcyon answered, his voice flat and hard.

“Yes? And while you were taking your time getting here, we were fighting and I lost thousands of good troops! Do you think any of us care in the least about your flagship’s crew?” Slayke’s face had flushed with anger. “We didn’t have the ‘Force’ to help us, either. I suppose you called on it to extricate yourself?” He sneered.

“Yes, and this.” With one smooth motion made so fast nobody—not even Anakin—saw it coming, Halcyon
drew his lightsaber and activated it. The onlookers gasped at the sight of the brilliant blade of pure energy.

Slayke’s eyes narrowed and his body tensed, but he didn’t move or even show any degree of surprise. “Any more tricks?” he asked in a normal voice.

Halcyon deactivated the lightsaber and hooked it back onto his belt. “I rather like these things,” he said pleasantly, patting the weapon affectionately. “They come in handy when you’re outnumbered a hundred to one. You were saying?” He smiled engagingly.