THREE

The mourners wore gaily patterned tabards brighter than anything Cal Omas had ever imagined a Sullustan owning, but they approached the vault in somber silence, each masc setting a single transpariblock into the seamweld the crypt master had spread for him, each fem taking the weld-rake in her left hand and carefully smoothing the joints.

This being Sullust, and Sullustans being Sullustans, the tomb-walling ceremony followed a rigid protocol, with the crypt master inviting mourners forward according to both their social status and their relationship to the deceased. Admiral Sovv’s younglings and seven current wives had placed the first blocks, followed by his grown children and the other husbands of his warren-clan, then by his blood relatives, his closest friends, the two Jedi Masters in attendance—Kenth Hamner and Kyp Durron—and the entire executive branch of Sullust’s governing corporation, SoroSuub. Now, with only one gap remaining in the wall, the crypt master summoned Cal Omas forward.

Omas’s protocol droid had warned him that before placing the last block, the person called upon at this point was expected to deliver a brief comment of exactly as many words as the deceased’s age in standard years. This was not to be a eulogy—recounting the departed’s life would have been considered an affront to those present, implying as it did that the other mourners had not known the dead person as well as they thought. Instead, it was to be a simple address from the heart.

Omas took his place in front of the vault and accepted the transpariblock. The thing was far heavier than it looked, but he pulled it close to his body and did his best not to grimace as he turned to face the assembly.

The gathering was huge, filling the entire Catacomb of Eminents and spilling out the doors into the Gallery of Ancestors. The throng contained more than a hundred Alliance dignitaries, but they went almost unnoticed in the sea of Sullustan faces. As the Supreme Commander of the force that had defeated the Yuuzhan Vong, Sien Sovv had been a hero of mythical proportions on Sullust, an administrator and organizer who rivaled the stature of even Luke Skywalker and Han and Leia Solo in other parts of the galaxy.

Omas took a deep breath, then spoke. “I speak for everyone in the Galactic Alliance when I say that we share Sullust’s shock and sorrow over the collision that took the lives of Admiral Sovv and so many others. Sien was my good friend, as well as the esteemed commander of the Galactic Alliance military, and I promise you that we will bring those who are truly responsible for this tragedy to justice . . . no matter what nebula they try to hide within.”

The Sullustans remained silent, their dark eyes blinking up at Omas enigmatically. Whether he had shocked the mourners with his suggestion of foul play or committed some grievous error of protocol, Omas could not say. He knew only that he had spoken from the heart, that he had reached the limits of his patience with the problems the Killiks were causing, and that he intended to act—with or without the Jedi’s support.

After a moment, an approving murmur rose from the back of the crowd and began to rustle forward, growing in volume as it approached. Kenth Hamner and Kyp Durron scowled and peered over their shoulders at the assembly, but if the Sullustan mourners noticed the censure, they paid it no attention. There had already been rumblings about Master Skywalker’s conspicuous absence from the funeral, so no one in the crowd was inclined to pay much attention to the opinions of a pair of bug-loving Jedi.

Once the murmur reached the front of the crowd, the crypt master silenced the chamber with a gesture. He had Omas hoist the heavy transpariblock into place, then invited the mourners to retire to the Gallery of Ancestors, where SoroSuub Corporation was sponsoring a funerary feast truly unrivaled in the history of the planet.

As Omas and the other dignitaries waited for the catacombs to clear, he went over to the two Jedi Masters. Kenth Hamner, a handsome man with a long aristocratic face, served as the Jedi order’s liaison to the Galactic Alliance military. He was dressed in his formal liaison’s uniform, looking as immaculate and polished as only a former officer could. Kyp Durron had at least shaved and soni-smoothed his robe, but his boots were scuffed and his hair remained just unruly enough for the Sullustans to find fault on such a formal occasion.

“I’m happy to see the Jedi were able to send someone,” Omas said to the pair. “But I’m afraid the Sullustans may read something untoward into Master Skywalker’s absence. It’s unfortunate he couldn’t be here.”

Rather than explain Luke’s absence, Kenth remained silent and merely looked uncomfortable.

Kyp went on the attack. “You didn’t help matters by suggesting that the Killiks were responsible for the accident.”

“They were,” Omas answered. “The Vratix piloting that freighter were so drunk on black membrosia, it’s doubtful they ever knew they had collided with Admiral Sovv’s transport.”

“That’s true, Chief Omas,” Kenth said. “But it doesn’t mean that the Killiks are responsible for the accident.”

“It certainly does, Master Hamner,” Omas said. “How many times has the Alliance demanded that the Colony stop sending that poison to our insect worlds? How many times must I warn them that we’ll take action?”

Kyp frowned. “You know that the Dark Nest—”

“I know that I’ve been attending funerals all week, Master Hamner,” Omas fumed. “I know that the Supreme Commander of the Alliance military and more than two hundred members of his staff are dead. I know who is responsible—ultimately, utterly, and undeniably responsible—and I know the Jedi have been shielding them ever since Qoribu.”

“The Killik situation is complicated.” Kenth spoke in a calming voice that immediately began to quell Omas’s anger. “And inflaming matters with hasty accusations—”

“Don’t you dare use the Force on me.” Omas stepped close to Kenth and spoke in a low, icy tone. “Sien Sovv and most of his staff-beings are dead, Master Hamner. I will not be calmed.”

“My apologies, Chief Omas,” Kenth said. “But this sort of talk will only make matters difficult.”

“Matters are already difficult.” Omas lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “You told me yourself that Master Horn suspected this was more than an accident.”

“I did,” Kenth admitted. “But he hasn’t found any evidence to suggest that the Killiks were the ones behind it.”

“Has he found any evidence to suggest that someone else was?” Omas demanded.

Kenth shook his head.

“Maybe that’s because it was only an accident,” Kyp suggested. “Until Master Horn finds some proof, his suspicions are just that—suspicions.”

“Taken with what we already know, Master Horn’s suspicions are quite enough for me,” Omas said. “The Killiks must be dealt with—and it’s time that you Jedi understood that.”

“Hear, hear!” a gurgly Rodian voice called.

Omas glanced over and found Moog Ulur—the Senator from Rodia—eavesdropping with several of his colleagues from barely an arm’s length away. To be polite, the Sullustan dignitaries had moved off to a distance of a dozen meters or so—but, of course, Sullustans had better hearing.

Omas straightened his robes. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time I made my way to the feast.” He turned toward Ulur and the other Senators, then spoke over his shoulder to the two Masters. “Have Master Skywalker contact me at his earliest convenience.”