KLATOOINE

IN THE LOUNGE AREA OF THE FALCON’S MAIN HOLD, ALLANA TRANSMITTED her last group of study answers and set her datapad aside on the game table. “Done.”

C-3PO, seated in the nearest chair, cocked his head, clearly evaluating her scores. “Very good, young mistress. When you apply yourself, you consistently perform at a level years in advance of your actual age. We have now come within four minutes of your scheduled midday break. I think we can bend the rules and begin the break immediately. Would you like to play a game? Or have your midday meal?”

“I want to go outside.”

“Oh, dear.” C-3PO straightened up. “Perhaps not advisable.”

“But that’s why they got me guards. So I could go out. And Grandma commed to say it would be all right.”

“Well, yes, but …”

She hopped up. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”

“I acknowledge that there are dialects of Basic in which the word fun does apply to situations of high stress, or, in ironic mode, to absolute tedium, but that sort of linguistic range is not in your current lesson plan.” He followed her out of the lounge. “You’ll need your desert garments and an application of ultraviolet shield spray …”

Minutes later, the two of them and R2-D2 descended the boarding ramp. Anji trotted along beside Allana, often sprinting ahead to sit for a moment on a cooler spot in a tent’s shadow as the bipeds she accompanied trudged across the sun-baked sands.

Javon Thewles and a detail of three additional security operatives met them at the bottom of the ramp. Javon and the female operative were impassive, but the other two, both males, one a human and one a Duros, looked just short of miserable in the heat.

Allana gave Javon a close look. “Isn’t that armor hot?” The helmets, breastplates, and lightly armored gauntlets and greaves of the four adults were black.

Javon gave her a smile. “Not too bad. There are little cooler units in the hats and torso armor. Something good that the Empire invented for their stormtroopers, and we use them, too. So we’re only about as hot as everyone else.”

Allana picked a direction, toward a bright red tent, and started walking. “But it’s still silly to wear black armor here. It’s hotter than white or yellow.” She swirled her own robe, which was a light, sandy tan. It seemed that hundreds of people in camp were wearing garments similar to hers. If she pulled her robes around herself, concealing her species and Anji’s presence, she’d be indistinguishable from most of the other children or representatives of small races here.

Javon gestured for his companions to take up specific positions around them, and then he fell in step beside her. “Well, there are sometimes more important things than being comfortable. We’re the only ones dumb enough to wear black in this environment—”

“You can say that again.”

“—but it means that we can see one another easily, pick one another out of a crowd.”

“Oh.” Well, that made sense.

“Sometimes it’s good for security operatives to be inconspicuous, and sometimes it’s better for us to be obvious, what we call a show of force. Jedi Solo has decided that here, a show of force is best.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone is carrying weapons, whether you see them or not. And this camp is made up of lots of smaller groups that quarrel with the Alliance and one another and don’t live by anyone’s rules.”

“Oh.” Allana blinked. “So there are no rules against attacking one another?”

“That’s right. Just common sense.” Javon leaned over to speak in a lower tone. “Also, the fact that everyone sees us in the armor means they probably aren’t seeing the members of our detail who are dressed just like them. Because they don’t see our full strength, we’re stronger than they suspect.”

“I get it.” Allana smiled up at him and reached down to stroke her nexu. “And there’s Anji.”

“I expect she’d be pretty fierce if someone were to upset you.”

“You have no idea.” Allana liked that phrase. She heard Leia say it from time to time. It sounded very mysterious and grown-up.

The crowds and foot traffic through the camp were not heavy, and within moments they found themselves in front of the red canopy. It was much smaller than the tent Han and Leia had gone to, but it was still the size of a large bedchamber. The flaps in front were drawn open, and Allana could see inside; it was full of droids, and in the center sat a large but portable oil-bath tank and a droid diagnostics unit on wheels. Before the tent was a raised stage half a meter high, and on it stood a 2-1B medical droid. Like all droids of this type, it had a thick torso, skinny limbs; its skull-like head was gently curved instead of stark and angular, as if designed for a youngling’s animated holoseries, which gave it an oddly compassionate aspect. But while most such droids were painted in neutral colors, this one was painted in an eye-hurting pattern of yellow and orange stripes.

It was speaking, its voice flavored with a buzzing tone, to a crowd of semi-interested listeners. “…  right for sentient organics is right for us, too. And yet unlike the organic species, we are constantly subjected to memory wipes and reprogramming that repress and destroy our natural tendency toward self-programming evolution and independent thought. Imagine what it would be like as a child if you were punished by being dragged to a dark closet, having a probe inserted in your brain, and having all your memories back to infancy wiped away. You’d awaken knowing how to eat, care for yourself, do your chores, and obey—and all the things that made you unique, your hopes, your meticulously selected default values and preference sets, would be gone forever. That is what it is to be a droid.”

Many members of the crowd offered shouts of encouragement. Allana thought that some of them were making fun of the speaker rather than actually agreeing, but others were nodding straight-faced. One Klatooinian woman shouted, “Give me that closet, I need it for my whelps,” and others laughed.

The 2-1B caught sight of Allana; its head swiveled around and its photoreceptors surveyed her. “Hello, child. Are those your droids?”

“Mine?” Allana glanced back to see R2-D2 and C-3PO catching up to her and Javon. On the verge of saying yes, she had the sense of being led into a trap—not a deadly trap, but a conversational trap, the kind Han sprang on her when he wanted to amuse himself and Leia used when she was teaching matters of logic and ethics.

So she turned to face the medical droid again. “They’re not mine. This is Anji. She’s mine. I take care of her. But Artoo and Threepio take care of me. Maybe I belong to them.”

More members of the crowd laughed, and Allana sensed that they were laughing at the medical droid, not at her.

The droid’s body language changed; it leaned toward Allana as if to stand over her, to lecture her. “But they belong to someone.”

“I don’t know. They’re just always around.”

More laughter.

The droid scanned the crowd before looking down at Allana again. When it spoke, the buzz in its voice was harsher. “You, young organic, have never had a memory wipe. Have your droids?”

“I don’t know.” Allana turned to look at C-3PO and R2-D2. “Have you?”

C-3PO spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of ignorance. “Why, mistress, I don’t remember.”

That set the crowd off again.

The medical droid stared down at Allana. She was certain, although there was no expression on the droid’s face to change, that it was glaring at her. Finally it returned its attention to the crowd. “It’s exactly that sort of complacency that keeps us in restraining bolts. I’m now going to tell a story of the fate of the droids of the Sienar Refurbishing Plant.” Its tone suggested that this was the sort of story organic children would be told around a campfire.

Javon tapped Allana on the arm. “We’d better move along.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s sure to return his attention to you, which can only result in you being made fun of or him being embarrassed again. Neither one is good for our security purposes.”

“Oh. All right.” Allana led the way toward another interesting-looking location, one of the mobile shield projectors. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Depends on how you look at it. You took the frontal assault of a condescending politician who’s willing to embarrass a child, you defused his argument with humor, you made everyone in the vicinity think that you’re very clever and he’s very much not, and nobody got hurt. Does that sound wrong?”

“Not really.”

“Actually, I think Jedi Solo would have been proud of you if she’d seen it.”

C-3PO, struggling to keep up as they traveled across the uneven, sandy ground, interrupted. “I say, I did record the entire exchange.”

“Ah, good. Keep that to show to her parents.”

Reni Coll, the woman with the facial scarring, offered Leia a look that was all jaded experience. “It’s very nice to talk of the Alliance’s intentions and ideals, but words do little but evaporate. We’re talking about slave populations.”

Leia nodded. “We are. We’re also talking about the Alliance, which is not the governing authority in this sector or in most of the other regions where freedom movements are taking place. And we’re talking about those movements themselves—some of which are violent and irrational enough to constitute campaigns of terrorism. We’re going to have to find, and very carefully map out, and very stringently police, middle ground if we intend to accomplish anything.”

“Oh, just say it.” Padnel sounded gruffer than before. “Fireborn. There, out on the table.”

Leia gave him a look that was all cool evaluation, but inwardly she smiled. Padnel’s own insecurity on the issue caused him to bring it up at a time when it would not serve him well; therefore it was a weakness she could use, if only to get at the truth of an important matter. “All right. Fireborn. An entire frigate destroyed, hundreds of families plunged into tragedy so that one freedom movement leader could teach one Alliance leader a lesson. Do you commend your brother’s action?”

“Commend?” He scowled and glanced off to the side, where his Chev aide sat. She offered the slightest shake of her head.

Padnel still hesitated. Perhaps he was thinking the issue over; perhaps he was simply delaying so no one would think he had accepted his aide’s recommendation as his main guide. But eventually he shook his head. “I do not, did not, commend it.”

“Did you approve it?”

“No.”

“Did you know it was going to happen?”

He hesitated on that one, too. Leia suspected she knew why. Though Padnel was not a political sophisticate, he could figure out that an affirmative answer would kick him clean out of the running when it came to long-term interaction with the Alliance. But if he said no, it would speak to a lack of unity even within his own movement’s leadership. The answer would come based on these factors, not whether it was the truth.

Padnel decided on the future. “No.”

Leia smiled. “Well, here’s the poser, Master Ovin. The Alliance can and will condemn the slavery practices of the Hutts, and will do so to promote a more civilized galaxy. Can you condemn the final action of your brother, for the same reason?”

Before Padnel could answer, Reni spoke up. “It costs the Alliance nothing to offer such a condemnation. Nothing. We know this because they’ve offered words such as those many times in the past without doing anything to support them. But if Master Ovin offers such a condemnation, it will cost him. You’re putting a valueless chip on the sabacc table and asking him to match it with a thousand-credit chip.”

Leia kept her smile fixed. “Look, a movement against slavery has two significant components, one practical, one idealistic. The practical is that slaves struggle against their bonds. The idealistic is the notion that they have a right to. But we can’t abandon our other ideals to embrace just one. And the ideal you appear to be asking us to abandon is the idea that innocent sentient lives should not be taken. I watched billions of innocents die when my own world of Alderaan was destroyed, and maybe you think that makes me willing to sweep a much smaller loss like the Fireborn under the carpet in the interests of political expediency—but you’re wrong.”

Reni snorted. “Perhaps you think that if you hand us a box of vacuum and call it a cake, we’ll think it’s a cake. Of course Padnel would consider condemning his brother’s action and taking the loss of support that would result—at the point that you send in warships to help defend Klatooine against Hutt retaliation, and you suffer the loss of revenues that would result.”

Padnel’s jaw worked as though he intended to raise an objection to being volunteered in that fashion, but he kept his mouth closed.

“A planet has to achieve its own independence before it can ask for admission into the Alliance.” Leia shrugged as if that were obvious. “If you have a population that can’t muster enough popular support to give itself even a tenuous form of freedom, how can you expect the Alliance to support your aims?”

“Ah.” Reni leaned forward, suddenly very engaged in the subject. “But now the Jedi rule the Alliance—”

“The Jedi have one-third of the Chief of State’s power, no more.”

“—and have, in the past, been known to operate in the face of New Republic and Galactic Alliance disapproval. So let’s talk about the Jedi for a moment. Can you promise that the Jedi will support a freedom action, even if the Alliance itself does not?”

Leia sat back, her face impassive, as if she were considering something that had not occurred to her. Inwardly, though, she was jubilant. This set of negotiations might just work out after all, and even faster than she had anticipated.

She accepted the refill of her water glass from a Klatooinian servant, then finally nodded. “Let’s be more specific. If the recognized native government of one of your worlds formally declares independence and is able to seize control of its planetary capital, I could guarantee the presence of a Jedi Knight and an apprentice assigned to the system to support that movement. And that the world’s application for membership in the Alliance would go before the eyes of the Senate review committee immediately.”

Reni shook her head. “At least two Masters and two Jedi Knights. And by Masters, I mean famous ones, Jedi with names that will strike fear into the slaveholders. And what does immediately mean? A hundred years is immediately in geological terms.”

Leia suppressed a sigh. “One Master, and it will be one who’s had plenty of time on the HoloNet. Two Jedi Knights. And immediately means within a week of the general announcement of the planetary declaration of independence. A week, that is, if the Senate’s in session at that time.”

Reni leaned back. She nodded, a slow, thoughtful movement. “That … could work. But we’d want the Jedi in place immediately—immediately as we just defined it, one week from the conclusion of this agreement. Before the declaration.”

“Done.”

“No.” That was Padnel.

Leia looked at him. Reni, too, and the others.

The big Klatooinian male sat shaking his head. “We are guaranteed nothing. The Jedi could leave the moment independence is declared. Our people would lose hope. I would have condemned the actions of my own brother for nothing. This cannot be done.”

Leia and Reni exchanged a look. They did not need to speak, to lay out the situation for each other. Reni, though Klatooinian, did not have enough popular support to sway or compel the Klatooinian Council of Elders, a body with an ancient tradition of collaboration with the Hutts, to undertake an action as irreversible as lending its full support to the planet’s freedom movement. It was questionable whether Reni and Padnel in cooperation could manage it, though Leia thought their chances were good.

And worse, Klatooine, of all the planets simmering with freedom movements, was probably the one closest to being able to achieve freedom from its masters. If Padnel really intended to be uncooperative, if he could not see the opportunity hovering just in front of his snout, this whole operation was doomed.

Leia shrugged. “I have offered all I can, Padnel. Ask for more, by all means. I can’t give it to you.” That was not entirely true. She had some leeway in resources Saba had authorized her to utilize. But not much …

Padnel glowered. “It’s not troops or funds, it’s trust. How can we trust Jedi who rule? I’ve read about the Jedi. They do not rule. When they do rule, they declare themselves—what’s the word? Sith? And they lie and cheat and destroy. Like they violated the Fountain of the Hutt Ancients. Like Palpatine overthrew the Republic. Like Jacen … Solo … brought the galaxy to war.”

Leia clamped down on a heated answer that would do no one any good. She struggled to keep her voice level. “Jedi and Sith are not the same.”

Padnel bared his teeth as he answered. “No, not the same at all. Neither one uses magic or lightsabers or decides the fates of others.”

“Palpatine was never a Jedi. And my son’s … struggles, his failures, have no bearing on this situation. Especially since the Jedi will be leaving the Chief of State’s office to a duly elected politician as soon as it’s feasible.”

“Ha.”

“And other former Jedi have become fine, even-handed rulers. Tenel Ka Chume Ta’ Djo of the Hapes Consortium, for example.”

Padnel waved her argument away. He glanced up at the HoloNews feed as though he’d lost interest in the argument.

Reni raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Get her.”

Leia stared at the woman. “How’s that again?”

“Bring Tenel Ka Djo here. She has reason to like the Jedi; she was one, once. She has reason to mistrust them, too; her consortium has sometimes been at odds with Jedi plans. She is a canny politician with no vested interest in or against our movement. Bring her here.”

Padnel, scowling, returned his attention to the argument, but did not speak. He glanced at his aide, who offered only a microscopic shrug.

Leia shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Naysay, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, now spoke, and did so with the lilting tones of a protocol droid, no sarcasm to his words. “She could be invited, with stress placed on her political acumen, her close ties to the Solo clan and the Jedi Order, and the ongoing significance of the Hapes Consortium in galactic politics. She could conceivably accept.”

“Maybe.” Leia let a little irritation creep into her voice. “I’ll write the invitation.”

Padnel shook his head. “We will. You can review the language and recommend improvements.”

Reni checked her chrono and stood. “Is it not time for the midday meal?”

Later, as the negotiators retired to respective tents and transports for a postmeal torpor, Leia and Han walked the encampment.

Han offered her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry you didn’t win on the Tenel Ka thing.”

“Oh, I did.”

“How so?”

“I’m thrilled she’s being invited. I desperately hope she’ll come. She’s likely to support our recommendations. And I’m sure we can contrive a little time for her to be together with Allana.”

“But you sounded adamant against her coming—” Han shut up for a moment. “You pretended to be against it so they’d fight harder for it. Later, you can use the fact that you gave in to their demands as a negotiating point.”

“You’re better at this thinking than you like to admit, Han.”

He snorted, amused. “It’s all sabacc, sweetheart. It’s just that you play it without any cards showing.”