“And we still wouldn’t know the location of the fleet,” Pellaeon said. “But we can still manage this through diplomacy. Prime Minister Saxan has indicated that she would be willing to meet with us in a mission of peace-even travel from Corellia for the meeting. But not here. Not to Coruscant.”
“Where, then?” Luke asked.
“Not yet determined,” Pellaeon said. “That’s not important. It will have to be a system that both sides consider neutral on this issue.
Now, Chief of State Omas cannot represent the Galactic Alliance, since his rank is substantially higher than Saxan’s-for the leader of hundreds of worlds to travel to meet the leader of five would be too great a sign of weakness.”
“Of course,” Luke said. He breathed deeply, willing away the sudden stab of nausea he felt. This was the type of politics he hated most-niggling details based on perceptions of relative merit or importance.
“So it will be me,” Pellaeon continued. “Each side will have a security detail in place. But Prime Minister Saxan has made an interesting concession. She’s willing to stipulate the neutrality of Jedi on this issue, and to have as many Jedi present as you, Luke Skywalker, wish. To defend the diplomatic mission.”
Luke nodded. “Give me the details and I’ll assemble a team. But I don’t understand why she’d do that. The Jedi order is specifically an organization defending the Galactic Alliance. We’re not entirely impartial.
Chief Omas said, “I can only give you a guess. A guess based on decades of political dealings. I think Saxan wants peace-not even necessarily for its own sake, but because war will allow Chief Sal-Solo to assume emergency power and control resources she can’t regulate or restrain. But she has to find a way to preserve the peace that allows the Corellians to save face. Which means, so do we.”
“We could withdraw the units occupying Tralus,” Luke said.
Chief Omas nodded. “Correct. But we’ll let that be one of Saxan’s negotiating points. She’ll certainly insist on it, and we’ll agree to it.”
“We shouldn’t.” That was Niathal, and, if anything, there seemed to be even more grumble to her voice than before. “We should massively reinforce it now, begin a forced relocation of the civilian population. We’ll need it as a jumping-off point if the Corellians don’t comply and we have to conquer the system. Not having it available to us could cost us immeasurably.”
Chief Omas fixed her with an admonishing look. “We’ll agree to it,” he continued, and returned his attention to Luke. “It is a political, rather than a military, tactic. If we just withdraw now, the Corellians become more belligerent, seeing our action as weakness. If we agree to Saxan’s negotiations on that point, we don’t look weak, and Saxan’s position is strengthened.”
“I see.”
Pellaeon said, “Please assemble a list of prospects for your Jedi security team. We’ll let you know as things develop.”
Luke stood. “May the Force be with you, Admiral.”
Pellaeon grinned. “Once upon a time, I was certain I’d never hear those words directed toward me.”
Luke smiled in return. “Times change.” He nodded his respects to the others and swept out of the chamber.
Chapter Seventeen
CORUSCANT
THE AIRSPEEDER WAS BIG, ROOMY INSIDE AND OUTSIDE IN A WAY that had not been in fashion for several years. It was sky blue but scarred and dented by a generation’s worth of ordinary accidents and mishaps, and it looked as slow as a bantha at naptime.
A human male lounged in the backseat, his feet toward the elevated walkway against which the speeder had docked. He wore dark pants with narrow red stripes running up the outsides of the legs, a tan, long-sleeved shirt, a dark vest, and worn boots. A yellow rag was draped across his face. He looked at first glance as though he was sleeping, the rag keeping sunlight from his face, but something in the way his head was propped up against the side of the seat, orienting his eyes toward the adjacent walkway, something in the way his raised right knee hid his hand and perhaps the presence of a blaster pistol-illegal here but hardly uncommon-kept even the most larcenous passersby from giving too much consideration to stealing the speeder.
Moving briskly, a small woman in a brown traveler’s robe, hood up to conceal her face, moved out of the stream of foot traffic and dropped into the passenger seat.
The man in the backseat pulled the rag from his face and rolled forward into the pilot’s seat, fast and graceful. He had the speeder backed up thirty meters and was reversing direction, blasting forward into a traffic lane at a rate that seemed remarkable for such an awkward speeder, before other passersby began to register the fact that he was Han Solo.