“If there’s anything out there to lose,” Fey’lya said.
Leia put a warning hand on Han’s arm. “That should be easy enough to check,” she jumped in before Karrde could respond. “We can send a ship and tech crew out to take a look. If the fleet is there and seems operational, we can start a full-scale salvage effort.”
From the look on Karrde’s face she could tell that he thought even that was moving too slowly. But he nodded. “I suppose that’s reasonable enough,” he said.
Leia looked at Mon Mothma. “Mon Mothma?”
“I agree,” the other said. “Councilor Fey’lya, you’ll speak to Admiral Drayson at once about assigning an Escort Frigate and two X-wing squadrons to this mission. Preferably a ship already here at Coruscant; we don’t want anyone outside the system to get even a hint of what we’re doing.”
Fey’lya inclined his head slightly. “As you wish. Will tomorrow morning be sufficiently early?”
“Yes.” Mon Mothma looked at Karrde. “We’ll need the fleet’s coordinates.”
“Of course,” Karrde agreed. “I’ll supply them tomorrow morning.”
Fey’lya snorted. “Let me remind you, Captain Karrde—”
“Unless, of course, Councilor,” Karrde continued smoothly, “you’d prefer I leave Coruscant tonight and offer the location to the highest bidder.”
Fey’lya glared at him, his fur flattening. But there was nothing he could do about it, and he knew it. “In the morning, then,” he growled.
“Good,” Karrde nodded. “If that’s all, then, I believe I’ll return to my quarters and rest awhile before dinner.”
He looked across at Leia … and suddenly, there was something different in his face or his sense. She nodded fractionally, and his gaze slid unconcernedly away from her as he stood up. “Mon Mothma; Councilor Fey’lya,” he said, nodding to each in turn. “It’s been interesting.”
“We’ll see you in the morning,” Fey’lya said darkly.
A faintly sardonic smile touched Karrde’s lips. “Of course.”
“Then I declare this meeting adjourned,” Mon Mothma said, making it official.
“Let’s go,” Leia murmured to Han as the others began collecting their data cards together.
“What’s going on?” he murmured back.
“I think Karrde wants to talk,” she told him. “Come on—I don’t want to get bogged down here talking to Mon Mothma.”
“Yeah, well, you go on,” Han said, his voice oddly preoccupied.
She frowned at him. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” he said. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, and she glanced around in time to see Fey’lya stride from the room. “Go on. I’ll catch up with you.”
“All right,” she said, frowning at him.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, reaching down to squeeze her hand. “I just need to talk to Fey’lya for a minute.”
“What about?”
“Personal stuff.” He tried one of those lopsided smiles she usually found so endearing. It didn’t look nearly so innocent this time as it normally did. “Hey—it’s okay,” he repeated. “I’m just going to talk to him. Trust me.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Leia sighed. But Luke had already left the room, and Karrde was on his way out … and Mon Mothma had that look about her that signified that she was about to come over and ask Leia for a favor. “Just try to be diplomatic, all right?”
His eyes flicked over her shoulder again. “Sure,” he said. “Trust me.”
Fey’lya was heading down the Grand Corridor toward the Assemblage chamber when Han caught sight of him, walking with that peculiar gait of someone who’s in a terrific hurry but doesn’t want anyone else to know it. “Hey!” Han called. “Councilor Fey’lya!”
The only response was a brief flush of pale red across the nearest of the line of ch’hala trees. Glowering at the back of Fey’lya’s head, Han lengthened his stride, and within a dozen quick paces had caught up with the other. “I’d like a word with you, Councilor,” he said.
Fey’lya didn’t look at him. “We have nothing to discuss,” he said.
“Oh, I think we do,” Han said, falling into step beside him. “Like maybe trying to find a way out of the jam you’re in here.”
“I thought your female was the diplomat of the family,” Fey’lya sniffed, throwing a sideways look at Han’s shirtfront.
“We take turns,” Han told him, trying real hard not to dislike the other. “See, what got you into trouble here was trying to play politics by Bothan rules. That bank thing made Ackbar look bad, so like any good Bothan, you jumped on him. Trouble is, no one else jumped with you, so you were left there all alone with your neck stuck way out and your political reputation on the line. You don’t know how to back out gracefully, and you figure the only way to salvage your prestige is to make sure Ackbar goes down.”
“Indeed?” Fey’lya said acidly. “Did it ever occur to you that I might have stuck my neck out, as you put it, because I truly believed Ackbar was guilty of treason?”
“Not really, no,” Han told him. “But a lot of other people think that, and that’s what’s got your reputation on the line. They can’t imagine anyone making such a fuss without some proof.”
“What makes you think I haven’t any proof?”
“For starters, the fact that you haven’t shown it,” Han said bluntly. “Then there’s the fact that you sent Breil’lya scrambling out to New Cov to try and make some sort of high-prestige deal with Senator Bel Iblis. That is what Breil’lya was doing out there, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fey’lya muttered.
“Right. And that’s the third thing: the fact that five minutes ago you were ready to throw Bel Iblis to the cravers if it would buy you enough time to bring in the Katana fleet.”
Abruptly, Fey’lya stopped. “Let me speak frankly with you, Captain Solo,” he said, still not looking directly at Han’s face. “Whether you understand my motivations or not, I certainly understand yours. You hope to bring the Katana fleet to Coruscant yourself; and with that leverage to force my downfall and Ackbar’s reinstatement.”
“No,” Han said tiredly, shaking his head. “That’s the whole point, Councilor. Leia and the others don’t play by Bothan rules. They make decisions based on evidence, not prestige. If Ackbar is guilty, he gets punished; if he’s innocent, he gets released. It’s that simple.”
Fey’lya smiled bitterly. “Take my advice, Captain Solo, and stick with smuggling and fighting and other things you understand. The private rules of politics are far beyond you.”
“You’re making a mistake, Councilor,” Han said, trying one last time. “You can back out now without losing anything—you really can. But if you keep going, you risk bringing the whole New Republic down with you.”
Fey’lya drew himself up to his full height. “I do not intend to fall, Captain Solo. My supporters among the New Republic military will see to that. Ackbar will fall, and I will rise in his place. Excuse me, now; I must speak with Admiral Drayson.”
He turned and stalked off. Han watched him go, the sour taste of defeat in his mouth. Couldn’t Fey’lya see what he was doing? That he was risking everything on a single long-shot bet?
Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it took an experienced gambler to see how the odds were stacked here.
Or a politician who wasn’t so set in his own system that he couldn’t change.
Fey’lya reached the end of the Grand Corridor and headed to the left toward the Admiralty center. Shaking his head, Han turned and headed back toward Karrde’s guest quarters. First the Coral Vanda, and now this. He hoped it wasn’t the start of a trend.
Mara stood at the window of her room, staring out at the Manarai Mountains in the distance, feeling the oppressive weight of black memories gathering around her mind. The Imperial Palace. After five years, she was back in the Imperial Palace. Scene of important governmental meetings, glittering social functions, dark and private intrigues. The place where her life had effectively begun.
The place where she’d been when it had ended.
Her fingernails grated across the carved swirls of the window frame as well-remembered faces rose before her: Grand Admiral Thrawn, Lord Vader, Grand Moff Tarkin, advisers and politicians and sycophants by the hundreds. But above them all was the image of the Emperor. She could see him in her mind’s eye as clearly as if he were staring in at her through the window, his wrinkled face frowning, his yellow-tinged eyes bright with anger and disapproval.
YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER.
“I’m trying,” she whispered to the words echoing through her mind. But even as she said it she wondered if it were really true. She’d helped save Skywalker’s life on Myrkr; had come begging for his help on Jomark; and had now uncomplainingly come to Coruscant with him.
She wasn’t in any danger. Neither was Karrde. There was no way she could think of why Skywalker would be useful to either her or any of Karrde’s people.