THIRTEEN
It was afternoon in Unity Green and a fierce storm was rolling across Liberation Lake, raising three-meter whitecaps and bombing the yammal-jells with fist-sized hail. In the flat light, the bluffs along the lake’s far shore were barely visible, a mere band of darkness rising from the edge of the gray water. But the abandoned skytower project atop the cliffs was all too visible, a line of durasteel skeletons silhouetted against the flashing sky, twisted and bowing beneath the weight of the enormous yorik coral goiters hanging from their necks.
In many ways, Cal Omas viewed the skytower project—and the entire reconstruction of Coruscant—as emblematic of his service as Chief of State, a visionary undertaking being dragged down by the deadweight of selfish concerns and species rivalry. After the devastation wrought by the Yuuzhan Vong, rebuilding the galaxy would have been almost impossible under any circumstances. But doing it as the head of an alliance of semi-independent governments . . . he considered it a testament to his skill and hard work just to have kept the peace for six difficult years.
And now the Jedi were threatening even that one small accomplishment. They had been his most valuable asset for most of his tenure, able to eliminate criminal cabals with a single team of Jedi Knights, or to bring a pair of starving worlds back from the brink of war with the arbitration of a Master. Then the Killik problem had arisen in the Unknown Regions, and the Jedi order had become just one more problem, more deadweight threatening to bring the Galactic Alliance down around his ears.
Sometimes Omas truly did not know whether he was up to the job—whether anyone was.
A female voice spoke from the door to the council chamber. “Chief Omas, the Masters are here.”
Omas turned away from the viewport. “Well, send them in, Salla. I am just a visitor in their Temple.”
Salla, his personal assistant, twitched her whiskers in what someone unfamiliar with a Jenet might have mistaken for condescension, but which Omas knew was simply amusement.
“So you are.” She stepped out of the door and waved the Masters inside. “I’m sure you heard Chief Omas.”
“I’m sure he meant us to,” replied the familiar voice of Kyp Durron. He marched into the chamber with the other Masters at his back, then stopped at the edge of the speaking pit. With a threadbare robe and unkempt hair, he was as raggedly groomed as always. “Thanks for letting us into our own council chamber, Chief.”
Omas accepted the insolence with a smile. “Not at all, Master Durron. After all, the Reconstruction Authority gave the entire Temple to the Jedi.”
Omas’s irony might have been lost on Kyp, but not on Kenth Hamner. “And the Jedi are very grateful,” he said. Though he usually dressed in a civilian tunic or his liaison’s uniform, today he wore the same brown robes as the rest of the Masters. They obviously intended to present a united front. “We’re all here as you requested, Chief Omas.”
“And thank you for coming.” Omas slipped into a comfortable flowform chair at one end of the speaking circle and motioned to the seats nearest him. “Please, sit. Can Salla get you anything from the service kitchen?”
The Masters all declined, of course. Omas had never seen a Jedi Master accept food or beverage when a confrontation was expected. It was part of their mystique, he thought—or perhaps they were simply more cautious than he realized.
“Very well.”
Omas gestured again to the nearby seats, then waited in silence until the six Masters finally realized he was pulling rank on them and perched on the edges of the big flowform seats, their backs ramrod-straight and their hands resting on their thighs. Kyp took the seat nearest him. That was one of the things that had always troubled Omas about the rogue Jedi—he never backed down.
“We need to talk,” Omas began. “Normally, I would bring a matter like this up with the six Masters who sit on the Advisory Council, but Masters Skywalker and Sebatyne seem to be unavailable. I’ve asked Masters Horn and Katarn to sit in their place.”
“On whose authority?” Kyp demanded.
Omas raised his brow in feigned surprise. “No one’s. I felt this discussion should include six Masters instead of four.” He turned to Hamner. “Is that a problem?”
“Yes,” Kyp blurted. “When you handpick—”
“It’s fine,” Hamner said, cutting Kyp off short. He shot the younger Master a warning glance, but the damage had been done. Corran furrowed his brow, and Katarn’s brown eyes grew as hard as larmalstone. “We don’t speak for the entire order, but we can certainly listen on its behalf.”
Omas nodded. “That’s all I ask.” Knowing how easy it was for Jedi to read emotions, he tried not to gloat. He let his gaze drift toward Corran, then said, “First, I must start by saying how disappointed I am that you’ve been keeping Master Skywalker’s absence from me. It has led me to imagine some very disturbing scenarios, I’m afraid.”
Corran’s gaze shifted.
But Kyp said, “Master Skywalker’s whereabouts aren’t your concern.”
“Actually, they are his concern,” Kyle Katarn said. He was still a slim and fit-looking man; his beard and hair were just beginning to show the first shocks of gray. “I’m sorry you felt we were keeping secrets from you, Chief Omas. The truth is that Master Skywalker’s absence took us by surprise, and we were afraid you would try to take advantage of the situation.”
“Take advantage?” Omas kept his voice pleasant. Divide, then conquer. It was one of the lessons he had learned by watching Admiral Ackbar. “By trying to usurp his leadership?”
“We know how upset you have been over the Killiks,” Tresina Lobi said. A golden-haired Chev woman, Lobi resembled a pale-skinned human with obsidian eyes, a heavy brow, and a sloping forehead. “So, yes, we are concerned about your intentions.”
“My intentions are to protect the Galactic Alliance,” Omas said simply. “What the Jedi are doing places our relationship with the Chiss at risk—”
“We prevented an interstellar war!” Kyp interrupted. “We saved billions of lives!”
“That is in the past,” Omas said, raising a hand to stop Kyp’s protest. “I’m talking about the present. The Jedi are the last ones who need to be reminded of the havoc black membrosia is wreaking on our insect worlds. Shipping losses to the Utegetu pirates are approaching wartime levels—and do I really need to remind you of the death of Sien Sovv?”
“The Jedi are well aware of the trouble the Killiks are causing, Chief Omas,” Katarn said. “That doesn’t mean we are ready to surrender control of the order to you.”
“The Jedi need leadership,” Omas countered. “Surely, you all see that as clearly as I do. The situation just keeps growing worse. There’s even a rumor that the Killiks tried to assassinate Queen Mother Tenel Ka!”
Though the Masters’ expressions remained outwardly unreadable, their silence told Omas all he needed to know.
“Something else you have been keeping from me.” He shook his head wearily, then looked out the viewport at the silhouettes of the distant skytowers, bowing and swaying in the wind. “My friends, we cannot go on like this. Too much depends on us.”
“We all agree on that, Chief Omas,” Corran said. “But we’ve discussed this, and we can’t allow you to assume direct control of the Jedi order.”
Omas nodded. “Of course. I’m not a Jedi.”
“Actually, only Master Durron feels that has anything to do with it,” Lobi said. “The problem lies in what you are—the Chief of State.”
Omas frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“We can’t allow the Jedi to become a tool of office,” Hamner explained. “We are guardians as well as servants, and we cannot make ourselves beholden to the same authority we are pledged to watch.”
“And, as the Chief of State, your concerns are too narrow,” Kyp added. “You’re only worried about the Galactic Alliance. The Jedi serve the whole galaxy—”
“The Force,” Corran corrected.
“Right,” Kyp said. “The point is, we have more to worry about. What’s good for the Galactic Alliance isn’t always what serves the Force.”
“I see.”
Omas grew thoughtful—though he was contemplating not the wisdom of what the Masters were saying, but the care they had taken to meet him with a united front. Bringing the Jedi back into the Alliance fold was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.
After a moment, he looked Kyp directly in the eye. “This may surprise you, but I agree.”
For once, the Masters appeared stunned.
“You do?” Kyp asked.
“Who am I to question the wisdom of the Jedi?” Omas replied. “But that doesn’t mean my concerns can be dismissed. The Jedi are floundering, which means the Galactic Alliance is floundering—and that is something I cannot allow. We must do something.”
“We are doing something,” Kyp said. “Han and Master Skywalker are looking for the Dark Nest, and then we’re going to destroy it.”
“Like you did last time?” Omas asked immediately. “I’m sure you’ll understand my complete lack of confidence in that plan. Dark Nest membrosia has ruined the economy of the entire Roche asteroid field, and—as you know better than I—Dark Nest assassins have apparently attacked the queen of an Alliance member-state.”
The Masters fell into silent contemplation. Omas allowed them to ponder his words for a few moments, then decided the time had come to drop his bomb.
“And there is something you may not realize. After the Jedi intervention at Qoribu, the Chiss seem to believe that it is your responsibility to persuade the Colony to withdraw from their frontier. They’ve given you ten days to stop further migration into the buffer zone, and a hundred days to persuade the Killiks to withdraw the Colonists who are already there.”
For the first time he could recall, Omas had the pleasure of watching the jaws of several Jedi Masters drop.
“Those aren’t unreasonable terms,” Hamner said.
“And a remarkable expression of trust, considering that they’re Chiss.” Omas allowed himself one small smirk. “Though, considering the order’s disarray without Master Skywalker available to guide it, I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be more honest to let them know that they’re on their own.”
All of the Masters gave voice to their disapproval and dismay, but Kyp was loudest. “That’s not your decision to make!”
Omas fixed the shaggy-haired Master with his iciest glare. “To the contrary, Master Durron, it is very much my decision. The Chiss chose to transmit their demand through me, so how I respond is entirely at my own discretion. If I feel that the Jedi order isn’t up to the task, then it is not only my right to tell them so, it is my duty.”
Kyp began to work his mouth in soundless anger. Omas sighed, then slumped back in his chair. Hamner, who had nearly as much experience on the bureaucratic battlefield as Omas himself, was the first to realize that the Chief was waiting for them to open negotiations.
“What are you looking for, Chief Omas?” he asked.
Omas allowed himself a moment of dramatic silence, then spoke without straightening himself. “A leader.”
“A leader?” Katarn asked.
Omas nodded. “Someone to take charge of the Jedi and handle this mess until Master Skywalker returns.”
Kyp frowned, clearly suspicious. “Who?”
“One of you.” Omas leaned forward. “Starting today. Beyond that, I really don’t care. How about you?”
Kyp was just as astonished the other Masters. “Me?”
“You seem to have a very clear idea of what the Jedi should be,” Omas said. “I think you’d make a fine leader. And, believe it or not, you and I want the same thing—a peaceful end to the Killik problem.”
A distant light came to Kyp’s eyes, and if he noticed the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the other Masters, he did not show it.
“I suppose that’s true,” he said.
Hamner cleared his throat and sat forward. “No offense to Master Durron, but the Jedi order is led by a council of senior Masters. You know that, Chief Omas.”
“Of course.” As Omas replied, he was watching the light vanish from Kyp’s eyes. “But we all know that Master Skywalker is first among the Masters. I’m merely suggesting that Kyp step up and take his place—just until Master Skywalker returns, of course.”
“I see what you’re doing—and it won’t work,” Kyp snarled. “Master Skywalker leads the Jedi.”
“Not from Woteba, he doesn’t,” Omas replied. “And if you’re counting on Princess Leia’s rescue mission to bring him back soon, I’m afraid you’re going to be waiting a very long time.”
Omas had expected a feeling of alarm to fill the council room when he announced this, but the Masters disappointed him—as they were doing in so many ways, these days. They simply closed their eyes and fell silent for a moment.
Tresina Lobi was the first to open her eyes again and look at him. “Where is she?”
“I’m afraid Admiral Bwua’tu has impounded the Falcon.” Omas forced an apologetic smile. “It seems Princess Leia and her friends were trying to run the Utegetu blockade.”
“You interfered with their mission?” Katarn demanded. “You’re putting Han and Luke in danger!”
“Not intentionally, I assure you,” Omas said smoothly. “But these things happen when we keep secrets from each other.”
“We’ve already explained that,” Katarn said.
Omas shrugged. “It doesn’t change what happened.” He turned to Hamner. “Forgive me, but when I couldn’t get Master Skywalker to return my messages, I assumed the worst.”
“That we were going to help the Killiks move the Utegetu nests to the Chiss frontier?” Hamner asked. “We would never—”
“How am I to know what the Jedi would or would not do?” Omas nodded toward Kyp. “As Master Durron says, your concerns go beyond the Galactic Alliance. Mine do not—and the Jedi have placed our interests second before.”
“A peaceful galaxy is in everyone’s best interest,” Kyp countered.
“And when you can guarantee that, the Galactic Alliance will gladly support a Jedi government.” Omas allowed his anger to show. “Until then, we will look out for our own interests—and if that means arresting Jedi when they attempt to run our blockades, so be it.”
“You’re holding Jedi hostage!” Kyp snarled.
“Not at all,” Omas said. “Admiral Bwua’tu is merely providing accommodations until we come to an agreement.”
“There won’t be one.” Kyp rose and started for the door. “Not while you’re still Chief of State.”
“Master Durron!” Hamner jumped up to go after him. “That kind of talk is—”
“Kenth . . . Kenth!” Omas had to yell before Hamner stopped and turned toward him. “Let him go. He’s not wrong, you know. I am forcing your hand.”
Hamner let out a breath of exasperation, then said, “It had not escaped our notice, believe me.”
“And I’m sorry.” Omas’s apology was sincere. “But it’s time we started to work together again, don’t you think?”
“It appears we have no other choice,” Lobi said. Her eyes flicked down the line of Masters beside her. “Who are we going to elect our temporary leader?”
“Not so fast,” Katarn said. “Before we go on, maybe we should see if anyone else intends to join Master Durron.”
“Of course,” Omas said. “I wouldn’t want to force anyone to be part of this.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” Cilghal said.
To Omas’s surprise, she rose and started for the door. He waited until she was gone, then turned to Katarn.
“And what is your decision, Master Katarn?”
“Oh, I’m staying.” Kyle extended his legs and folded his arms across his chest. “I wouldn’t want to make this too easy on you.”
“Of course not.” Omas smiled. Now that he had brought the Masters in line, he needed a temporary leader who was incapable of uniting the Jedi in support of the Killiks—and who would have no choice but to yield the position once Luke Skywalker was allowed to return. After all, Omas was not trying to destroy the Jedi, merely keep them out of the way while the Chiss dealt with the Killiks. “Perhaps you would care to be the one who nominates Master Horn as the temporary leader of the order?”