[Black Fleet Crisis] - 02(122)

The blow fell on his right arm, right above the blaster burn from Captain Sreas’s panicky, mistimed shot. The force of the blow drove the ball into his shoulder joint, leaving the arm suddenly numb. The next was aimed at his face, and Han was able to soften the impact by turning with it. But it still scalded him with pain.

The beating seemed unpracticed, experimental. Nil Spaar stood calmly watching, as though waiting for something—an almost clinical curiosity, with no sign of gloating. Han wondered if the guard had ever seen a human before and tried to make note of how and where he was struck, thinking it might offer clues to Yevethan vulnerabilities.

It lasted only until a head shot left Han crumpled on his side on the floor with blood running from his mouth and nose. Then Nil Spaar spoke sharply to the guard, who immediately backed away. The viceroy approached Han and crouched down beside him, peering curiously at the injuries. He reached out with one gloved hand and dabbed the fingertips in the small pool of blood collecting by Han’s head.

Bringing the glove up to his face, he passed the bloody fingertips through the air over the ridges of his face, as though sniffing them.

“Your blood is weak—as weak as any vermin’s,” Nil Spaar said. “It does not cause the heart to rise. It does not feed the mara-nas. It does not ripen the birth-cask.

I do not see why she has given herself to you. I do not see why you did not die unmated.”

Then he stood, stripped off his gloves, and dropped them on the tile.

“Tar makara,” he said to the guards. “Talbran.”

Both knelt and offered their necks to the viceroy.

“Ko, darama,” they murmured.

When Nil Spaar was gone, the guards scrubbed Han and the chamber down with equal diligence and vigor, then took him away, back to the cell where Lieutenant Barth and the body of Captain Sreas were waiting.

Admiral Ackbar returned to the family room wearing a longer face than he had when he left a few moments before. He looked at Leia, who was sitting in the middle of the floor, her arms wrapped around Jaina, whispering Words of hope and comfort to her, and knew that those words could not possibly reach the anguish in Leia’s own heart.

“Leia.” Ackbar cleared his throat. “Will you come with me, please?

There is something you must do, and I’m afraid it cannot wait.”

She looked at him with a plaintive look that said, Please. No more.

But she let Winter take Jaina and followed Ackbar out of the room and into the yard.

“Have you heard something more about Han?

Something from the Yevetha?”

Ackbar shook his head and gestured down the walk toward the gate, where a messenger stood waiting outside.

Throwing Ackbar a disbelieving look, Leia moved down the path to where S-EP1 was vigilantly guarding the entry.

“Princess Leia, I have been sent by the acting chairman of the Ruling Council of the Senate to deliver this summons into your hands.”

She reached out and took it from him. As she did, she saw Behn-kihl-nahm standing a few steps behind the messenger, hovering at the edge of the shadows.

“I’m sorry,” he said, moving forward. “There was nothing I could do.”

“Let Bennie in, Sleepy,” Leia said, stepping back to make room on the path. “Who? Who would do this to me now?”

Behn-kihl-nahm’s face wrinkled, as though he was reluctant to answer.

“The summons is at the initiative of Chairman Beruss.”

Bail Organa’s old friend, and second only to Bennie as her ally. The name hit her like a roundhouse punch.

“Why?” she asked plaintively.

“Doman feels that someone less personally involved must make the decisions now,” Behn-kihl-nahm said gently. “He hopes you will understand this and step down on your own. He fears that you may act—precipitously.”

“Precipitously!” Her laugh had a bitter edge. “Oh, he knows me—I’d like nothing more than to send the Fifth in to burn the Yevetha off the face of N’zoth. But how can I? How can I do anything, Bennie?” she asked, her voice pleading for an answer. “The Yevetha have my husband.

My children’s father is in the hands of Nil Spaar.”

About the Author

Michael P. Kube-McDowell is the pen name of Philadelphia-born novelist Michael Paul McDowell. His highly praised prior works include the star-spanning 1985 Philip K. Dick Award finalist Emprise and the evocative 1991 Hugo Award nominee The Quiet Pools.

In addition to his eight previous novels, Michael has contributed more than two dozen short stories to leading magazines and anthologies, including Analog, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, After the Flames, and Alternate Warriors. Three of his stories have been adapted as episodes of the horror-fantasy television series Tales from the Darkside. Outside of science fiction, he is the author of more than five hundred nonfiction articles on subjects ranging from “scientific creationism” to the U.S. space program.