a feeling I have the same idea you do. Come on, let's hurry and catch her
up, before she has us thrown in the brig for disobeying a direct order."
Tendra Risant figured she had to be the first one in. She had to be. It
didn't take much of a guess to figure that whoever had dropped the field had
done it to jump their own ships in, or that the ships would be at the ready.
But even so, she would get there first. The Gentleman Caller was old and
slow, to be sure, but how many other inbound ships were there likely to be
inside the interdiction field? It was not until after the automatics
activated the hyperspace drive that it dawned on her that being first might
not be the best idea when jumping into a war zone. After all, she knew for a
fact that there were warships waiting in-system, at least some of them in
the vicinity of Centerpoint-the spot she was headed for. The crews of those
ships would be able to detect the interdiction field going down every bit as
well as Tendra could-better, in fact. And they would know that meant
ships-warships, enemy warships-coming in. So the incoming ships would be on
alert, because the Bakuran ships would be on alert, with their weapons at
the ready-in short, a fearful muddle of everyone on alert. And she would get
there first. All of a sudden, that didn't feel like anything to be quite so
pleased about. For fleeting seconds Tendra considered aborting the run and
bailing out of hyperspace early. But if she knew two things for sure, one
was that she was not a particularly skilled or practiced pilot, and the
second was that, lacking skill or practice, the odds on surviving an
uncalculated jump out of hyperspace were near zero. Besides, she didn't have
much more than fleeting seconds to think about it. The hop she was making
was not long at all. In fact, the navicomputer was already counting down the
final few seconds before the drop back into real space. There was little
Tendra could do besides check her seat restraint and instrument display, and
hang on for the end of the ride. The navicomputer counted down to zero, and
suddenly the viewport was a blaze of light once again, the starlmes flaring
down into the all-but-unchanged stars of the Corellian system. The stars
were the same, but not the rest of the sky. There, dead ahead, was the
heart-stoppingly lovely sight of the Double Worlds, two blue, white, and
green globes seen in quarter phase, their cloud tops and oceans and
continents bright and clear and beautiful. And there, directly and exactly
between them, the strange shape of Centerpoint, a white-gray sphere with a
fat cylinder stuck on each end. Her destination was in sight. Tendra all but
sobbed in relief. She had made it. She had made it. After all the endless
days and weeks, time that seemed as long as months or years, she was no
longer alone, cut off from the outside universe. She was here. And soon she
would be able to get off this damned ship, stretch her legs a bit on
something besides one little bit of ship corridor, eat something besides-
"Unidentified ship! This is the Bakuran destroyer Sentinel Respond at once
or be fired upon!" Tendra would have jumped right through the viewport if
her seat restraints hadn't held her down. It had been so long since the com
system had been of any use that she almost forgot how to use it. But that
"almost" had best not come true if she wanted to live through the situation.
She concentrated for a moment, remembered what button to push, and spoke.
"Ah, um, hello, Sentinel This is, ah, Tendra Risant aboard the Gentleman
Caller!" "Stand by, Gentleman Caller. Please activate your standard identity
code transponder." "What? Oh!" Tendra reached over and flipped the
appropriate switch. The transponder would transmit the Gentleman's identity
whenever queried by a standard traffic control system. "I forgot that thing
was off. Hasn't been much use for a while." "True enough, Gentleman Caller.
You are cleared to proceed, but are cautioned not to approach within one
hundred thousand kilometers of Centerpoint Station. There will be no
warnings if you approach closer. Sentinel out." That sounded ominous, and it
definitely put a crimp in her travel plans. But it didn't take much thought
seem the moment to call them back and ask if they knew where Lando was. But
then how was she going to find Lando? And where should she go, if not to
Centerpoinl? But, at that moment, the Gentleman Caller's, detection system
chimed for her attention. Tendra paged her main display to the appropriate
screen to see what was up. And suddenly where to go was the least of her
problems. Getting away from where she was, in any direction at all, had just
become a top priority. All of a sudden she had company out here. Lots of it.
The view from the Hag bridge was certainly informative. There was no doubt
about that, but what he could see from there did not exactly make Lando
happy. The main screen was showing the tactical schematic display from the
Sentinel, relayed back to the Intruder. It showed the Sentinel, the
Defender, the relative positions of Talus, Tralus, and Centerpoint-and at
least fifty unidentified ships, with more appearing at every moment. "The
Sacorrian fleet," Lando said to Kalenda. "The Triad fleet that Tendra warned
us about." "But what are they doing here?" Kalenda demanded. "Whose side arc
they on?" "I think a better question might be, 'Who is on their side?' "
said Admiral Ossilege, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere al all. "I
expect they will change their minds in a hurry, but right at the moment,
that fleet is in search of the people who have caused them the most trouble
in this system-and I'm afraid our little squadron does not meet that
qualification." "But who's caused them more trouble than we have?" Gaeriel
demanded. "The Human League," Kalenda answered. "The Human League hijacked
their whole operation-or at least tried to." "Exactly," said Ossilege. "The
Sacorrians, or at least the Triad who rule that world, they were the ones
behind it all." "The Triad?" Gaeriel asked. "That is the name given to the
oligarchy, or joint dictatorship, that rules Sacorria, so-called because
there are three of them. One human, one Drall, one Selonian. No one knows
anything about the three dictators-not even their names. "In any event, they
discovered the secret of Centerpoint, and the existence of the repulsors. I
expect it was the Drall who found it, buried in records in some ancient
archive. The Dral! keep excellent records. But that is not important. They
recruited malcontents on the various worlds to front revolutions for them,
with the intent of creating chaos and confusion -something they could hide
behind while digging up the repulsors. They timed the revolts to coincide
with the trade summit on Corellia, with the hopes of catching as many big
fish as possible in-systcm. That part of the plan certainly worked. I expect
the other revolts were set to go off at the first report of trouble on
Corellia." "How do you know all this?" Kalenda asked. "I know almost none of
it," Ossilege said, "i
f you require a person to have proof, evidence,
witnesses, documents before they know a thing. I am guessing. But if my
guesses are wrong, I, frankly, would be astonished." "But you're saying that
something went wrong with the plan,'1 said Lando. "Has there ever been a
plan more complicated than crossing the street where something didn't go
wrong?" Ossilege asked. "But yes, something did go wrong. And the something
was named Thrackan Sal-Solo. Somehow or another, he inveigled his way into
the inner reaches of the starbuster plot, and he betrayed it. I expect the
Triad sent him technicians, and he either bribed or tortured them, or
perhaps both, until they agreed to work for him. Those technicians were able
to put him in control of Centerpoint's jamming capabilities, and the
interdiction system, but not its starbuster mode." Lando thought for a
moment and nodded. "That makes sense. The starbuster seems to be running on
automatic pilot right now, anyway. Somebody-this Triad, I guess-worked out a
whole detailed program for it, with stars to shoot at and the times to do
it, and so on. Then they just set it running, and it hasn't stopped yet.
There must be some way to transmit a stop code, once they got what they
wanted. I don't suppose you've figured out how that is transmitted, have
you?" Ossilege smiled coldly. "Not as yet," he said. "But, in any event,
getting back to Sal-Solo. In the first public message regarding the
starbuster, he declared that he, not the Triad, controlled the device. He
laid claim to th e Corellian system-indeed, the Corellian Sector-in his own
name, not in the name of the Triad, and made impossible demands for no
better reason than to throw everyone into confusion. Then he activated the
interdiction field and the communication jamming." "But what was the point
of it all?" Lando asked. "He had to know that sooner or later all those
ships out there would show up, one way or the other." "I'm starting to pile
guesses on guesses here, but my hunch is that he understood the real power
of the planetary repulsors, something none of the other rebel leaders did.
Controlling one gives him tremendous bargaining power with the Triad. He can
shut down their whole starbuster operation any time he wants to. I think he
was planning to be in control of one before he let in the Sacorrian ships.
And, in point of fact, he is in control of one." "But where did all those
ships come from?" Kalenda demanded. "Sacorria's a pretty small planet to be
able to throw that big a fleet around." "Quite right," said Ossilege, "but I
expect you'd be able to answer your own question, if you gave it a bit more
thought." Kalenda frowned, and then her eyes widened. "From here," she said.
"They come from here. That's why none of the Corellian rebels were able to
throw anything but LAFs and PPBs at us. The Sacorrians had the rest of their
ships." "But how did the Sacorrians get hold of them?" Lando asked. "And how
were they able to find crews for that many ships?" "My guess is that the
plain old-fashioned answer is that this is the Corellian Sector," said
Ossilege. "Practically everything is for sale-or for rent-in these parts.
Probably the Sacorrians bought or leased ships, and hired crews, from the
rebel groups they created, the rebel groups having stolen them from wherever
they could. Easy for them to arrange, when you recall that the Sacorrian
Triad owns the rebellions." "But probably the majority of the ships and
crews out there are ex-Corellian Defense Forces sold out to the highest
bidder," Kalenda said. "The spaceside CDF betrayed Governor-General
Micamberlecto wholesale, the first chance they got-after they shot up my
ship and threw a scare into Han Solo. And most of the CDF ships used to be
Imperial ships. Probably a fair fraction of the crew too. They're older
ships, but that doesn't mean they aren't good." "And what are you going to
do about them?" Gaer-iel asked Ossilege. "They've been continuing to arrive
while we've been talking here. There must be seventy-five of them out there.
Shouldn't we be getting back to Centerpoint to help out Defender and
Sentinel^" "No," said Ossilege. "We will do no such thing." "What?" Gaeriel
said. "What do you mean?" "The Intruder must complete her mission here
before rejoining the other ships. The assault on the repulsor is still our
top priority." "But Defender and Sentinel are outnumbered seventy-five to
two!" "And no one is shooting. Yet. Moving this ship toward the fleet could
be seen as an aggressive act. And if it comes down to a shooting war, I
doubt that seventy-five to three gives us much better odds. Frankly,
seventy-five ships is a lower number than I expected. Either our friend
Tendra Risant miscounted, or the Sacorrians have left a substantial reserve
of ships back home." "But if those ships move on Centerpoint- "Two ships, or
three, it will be impossible to stop them. Please try to understand. If we
lose all our ships, and control a repulsor, we win. But if we completely
wipe out the enemy fleet, and Thrackan Sal-Solo still controls this
repulsor, we have lost. And then the eight million people, or tweive million
people, of Bovo Yagen, on their one planet or two, depending on what report
you believe, will all die." Gaeriel seemed about to protest further, but she
said nothing. Lando understood how she felt. It seemed as if there should
have been some way to answer Ossilege. Unfortunately, of course, there
wasn't.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Evasive Maneuvers Han Solo paced the ground, back and forth, back and forth,
the gravel crunching underfoot. He almost tripped over Artoo once or twice,
until he managed to shoo the droid out of the way. "Go over this one more
time," he said, turning to Dracmus. The Selonian had joined Han, Leia, Luke,
and Mara for dinner on the grounds of the villa. By all rights, they should
have been lounging about the table, relaxing in the gentle breezes of
perfect twilight, after a first-rate dinner. But Han just couldn't do it. It
seemed utterly criminal just to be hanging around, lolling in the lap of
luxury, while the whole star system was falling to pieces. Everyone kept
telling him that there was nothing they could do but wait, but Han had had
enough of waiting about five minutes after Luke had told them about
Centerpoint. "I know I need to understand the situation," said Han, "but I
also know I'm completely lost. So please. Explain to me why it's in our best
interest to just sit here and wait Explain to me what it accomplishes."
"Yes," said Luke. "Please do. I'd like to hear this." "Very wellness," said
Dracmus, "let me be trying it again. You have to start with knowing the idea
that the three things that matter most to Selonians are honor, consensus,
and the Den. All else cornes behind those three. Everything, and far
behind." "All right, that much I get," said Han. "But what's that got to do
with why having the Triad Selonians on repulsor duty was such a big deal?"
"Merely everything, that's all," said Dracmus. "The Triad Selonians on
Sacorria descend from despised offshoot of a bloodline discredited long ago.
I will not be going into the w
hole history, but suffice to be saying that
the ancestors of the Triad Selonians disputed a just settlement in a matter
of vitalness, centuries ago. Some of them tried to lie and cheat their way
into a position of advantage over other members of their own Den. As a
consequence, the Den was split up into two groups-the victims of the fraud
and the nasty perpetrators. The perpetrators were kicked off Corellia by my
ancestors, the ancestors of the Hunchuzuc, and also removed from Selonia by
the Overden. So bad was the scandal that the victims formed a new Den under
a new name, because the old name was utterly dishonored. Even now I must not
speak it. It is obscenity, only to be used when time is right for splendidly
rotten insult. This name-losing had never happened to any other Den ever
before, and it has never happened again since." "It doesn't seem quite fair
to blame people for what their ancestors did," said Luke. "Is muchly more
fair for Selonians than humans, I am believing. Remember that the Den is
all. The Den lives on while the individuals die. Also recall that the new
individuals arc virtual clones of the old ones. You humans tend to think of
a Den as collection of individuals. But we are not like humans. In many
ways, we are more like highly intelligent social insects. We are
individuals, but the individual is completely in service of the Den. Well,
nearly complete. We are something closer than your families, but not quite
as close as the cells in the body." "That's going a bit far, isn't it?"
asked Mara. "And it still doesn't seem fair to kick everyone out for the
sins of the ancestors," said Luke. "Leia and I would be in very big trouble
if humans did that." Dracmus bowed very slightly to Mara, an almost
imperceptible movement. "Maybe analogy is too far. Maybe yes and maybe no.
But, Master Skywalker, when you bleed, do you worry how blood cells that go
out of you feel about leaving? If some of your blood cells are diseased, do
you think about what is fair to cells that are still healthy when you treat
the illness-or do you get your blood changed completely, just to be on the
safe side, just to make sure illness cannot come back?" Han resisted the
urge to start pacing again. "It's the story of my life with you, Dracmus,