“So what have we learned?” Luke asked. He began counting off on his fingers. “The killers were mostly Corellians, which doesn’t mean anything, since anyone can hire Corellian killers.” He noticed Wedge’s and Han’s stares and amended, “That didn’t come out the way I intended it.”
“Forget it,” Han said.
“This was a sophisticated plan,” Luke continued, “at least in its setup. The planner made use of powerful narcotics to subdue the agents on perimeter duty, and a powerful alkaloid to kill assassins who might have otherwise survived. These toxins aren’t easy to get. The planner knew exactly where everyone was sleeping-or, rather, was supposed to be sleeping, since Admiral Pellaeon and his personnel occupied different chambers without informing the base security detail. Captain Tawaler appears to have been influenced, both into participating in the plan and into killing himself, by means of use of the Force … meaning that, regretfully, we have to conclude that a rogue Jedi or equivalent is involved. Supporting that point is the fact that the weapons they carried were designed for use against Jedi.”
Wedge interrupted, “Much the way the Corellian response to some recent missions was optimized against Jedi.”
Before Luke could reply, Han cut in. “It was Thrackan.”
“That’s one possibility,” Luke admitted. He couldn’t state the thought that next occurred to him: that if Saxan were determined to achieve peace, she might put the secret Corellian fleet on the table as a negotiating item. If Chief Sal-Solo were indeed behind the building of that fleet, he would take whatever steps he thought necessary to keep it from being negotiated away.
“Possibility, nothing.” Han’s voice rose. “Does anybody here not know that it was my boy Jacen and Luke’s boy Ben who wrecked Centerpoint Station?”
Silence fell in the wake of those words. Luke noticed that Ben seemed upset by the announcement. A look crossed his features-Luke would have described it as haunted, and again he wondered whether Ben would ever tell the Solos the portion of the story he’d mentioned only during his Jedi debriefing, the details about the droid that had thought it was Anakin Solo.
Finally Wedge said, “I’ve seen the security recordings from the assault on Centerpoint Station. As the one person present least likely to know otherwise, I’d have to say the answer is no.”
“So?” Han asked, his face reddening. “He wants revenge. The damage at Centerpoint throws his plan back years. But if this assault here, last night, had been one hundred percent successful, he’d have avenged himself and cleared the way to take complete control in Corellia. He’s the only one who profits from what happened here.”
“Not quite,” Leia said. “He only profits if he can take control and then achieve peace. The killing of Prime Minister Saxan reduces the likelihood of peace. The Corellians are going to be hopping mad and pushing for war … Thrackan’s smart enough to realize how ruinous war would be to the Corellian economy. Even if they were to win.”
“It’s Thrackan,” Han said.
“Jacen?” Luke leaned toward his nephew. “While you were running around, chasing Sal-Solo as a distraction for Ben, did you get any sense from him that he’d take your actions more personally than an old conspirator should?”
Jacen thought over the question. In his report, he’d left out the part about him deciding that Thrackan had to die. It appeared that Thrackan had neglected to mention it, too, and now Jacen thought he understood why: by leaving that part of the story out, Thrackan removed a certain amount of motivation that might associate him with this attack. And now Jacen could admit to his attempt on Thrackan’s life-a confession that would further damage Luke’s already diminished ability to trust in Jacen-or deny it and help obscure Thrackan’s association with tonight’s misdeeds.
Well, it was enough that he, Jacen, knew. He could make his own calculations based on what he knew of Thrackan’s motivations. He shook his head. “No, I really didn’t.”
Luke leaned back. “We’ll investigate the Thrackan angle, of course. Anything else?”
“I’ve got something,” Jaina said. From beneath her outer robe she produced a folded packet of orange cloth a bit larger than her fist. She carefully unfolded it and held it out so that the others could see its contents.
At first Luke couldn’t grasp what he was looking at-it seemed to be something organic, the dried, stringy fruit of a mutant tree. It was a pliant thing with a blue-black central core perhaps a dozen centimeters long. From that core sprang twenty or more tubular branches, narrowest where they were attached to the core and at their tips, only slightly thicker in their centers, each about six centimeters long-and each bearing colors, stripes, and other patterns. One, lumpy and knotted, consisted of red and blue stripes in a spiral pattern; another was straight, an eye-hurting yellow with flecks of red and black; a third was a creamy tan with jittery, jagged markings in black.