[Legacy Of The Force] - 04(110)

That was fine. He wasn’t there to vote. He was there to note faces, identify traitors, and distract everyone present, perhaps by killing them all-when the battle began.

And Lumiya was beside him, acting as backup in case of trouble. Her scarred features concealed under her expertly applied makeup, she now had dark skin and hair like his.

Jacen guided the ugly diskshaped shuttle, of Corellian make, into the approach vector the stern voice on the comm board had assigned to him. “Quite a force,” he said. Through the viewport and on the main sensor display, he could see Bothan Assault Cruisers, Corellian cruisers and frigates, an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, numerous other capital ships, and shuttles. There was a lot of shuttle traffic to the station, which resembled a dome-shaped manual fruit juicer resting on a plate-but a kilometer across.

“And it’s ready for action,” Lumiya said. “Can you feel it in the Force, the readiness of the crews and officers? They want blood. That suggests they’ll be going after the closest of the likely targets.”

“Coruscant herself. Though Kuat’s not that much farther.” The shuttle shook as if fired upon. “Hey.” He’d had no advance warning through the Force of an imminent attack. “Tractor beam,” he said.

“Their security people obviously like to be in complete control,” Lumiya answered.

In minutes, the shuttle was drawn to an external docking station, and Lumiya was proved correct. When the station-side hatch opened, personnel in CorSec uniforms boarded, with their commander stating, “Give your vehicle access codes to Sergeant Mezer. He’ll take your craft to the designated retrieval zone.”

Her voice low and amused, Lumiya asked, “Will he expect a tip?”

The officer blinked. “Regulations of the meeting prohibit any vehicle from remaining within ten kilometers of the station,” he answered, then he realized he hadn’t addressed her question. “No tip is necessary. He couldn’t accept one if you offered it.”

“Pity.” She swept out through the open hatch.

Jacen gave his code to the temporary pilot, then followed Lumiya. He found her being greeted by a white-furred Bothan of decidedly friendlier disposition than the CorSec agents. “Silfinia Ell,” she said, as she allowed the Bothan to squeeze her hand. “Ession Freedom Front. And my nephew, Najack Ell.”

The Bothan blinked, clearly never having heard of either the Front or the Ell family. “Delighted,” he answered. He reluctantly shook Jacen’s hand in turn. “Breyf T’dawlish. One of your hosts.”

“When does the voting begin?” Jacen asked. “We haven’t received a schedule of events.”

“Very funny.” The Bothan waved to the far door out of the antiseptically white and clean room they had entered. “This was once a decontamination chamber. It is, sadly, almost immune to decoration. But beyond that door you’ll find far more congenial surroundings. Food, drink, good company. Like-minded company.”

“I could use some of that,” Jacen said, and heard Lumiya stifle a laugh.



From this shallow depth within the atmosphere of Gilatter VIII, the crews of the Alliance force had a decent view of the distant space station and the stars beyond. The atmosphere made the stars twinkle just a little and made their view slightly hazy; that was all.

“Tight-beam transmission from Stealth One,” Niathal’s aide told her on the bridge of the Galactic Voyager. “A Hutt light cruiser arriving. But that’s the only capital ship in the last half hour. The rate of major arrivals has dropped nearly to zero.”

Niathal, sitting in her multiply articulated swivel command chair, grimaced. The odds were now just the wrong side of even, which would be problematic in a straight-up fight. Fortunately, the Alliance had the advantage of surprise. “Very well,” she said, her words merely acknowledging that she’d heard her aide’s report. “Any major players still missing?”

“No, ma’am.”

Niathal raised her voice so that it could be heard across the entire bridge. “Issue the order to the fleet. All ahead slow. The outlying vessels are not to jump until they receive a direct command.”



Jacen and Lumiya separated once inside, the better to acquire information across a broader area.

The main chamber of the resort, the dome above recently cleaned to provide an unobstructed view of Gilatter VIII, was laid out with long tables full of food and drink. Delegates wandered from one to the next, or from one small standing group to the next. There was no urgency or animosity to be seen among them.

That was … curious. As critical as the election of a supreme war commander should be, Jacen had anticipated more anxiety.