Star Wars: Dark Force Rising Read online

  He raised his eyes from the mansion to the dark shadows of the rim mountains surrounding the lake below. Snowcapped in places, barely visible in the faint light of Jomark’s three tiny moons, they were reminiscent somehow of the Manarai Mountains south of the Imperial City on Coruscant. And with that memory came another one: Luke, standing on the Imperial Palace rooftop gazing at those other mountains, sagely explaining to Threepio that a Jedi couldn’t get so caught up in galactic matters that he was no longer concerned about individual people.

  The speech had sounded high and noble when he’d given it. This was his chance to prove that it hadn’t been just words.

  Taking a deep breath, he headed back toward the gate.

  CHAPTER

  15

  “Tangrene was our real crowning achievement,” Senator Bel Iblis said, draining the last of his glass and raising it high above his head. Across the expansive but largely empty headquarters lounge the bartender nodded in silent acknowledgment and busied himself with his drinks dispenser. “We’d been sniping at the Imperials for probably three years at that point,” Bel Iblis continued. “Hitting small bases and military supply shipments and generally making as much trouble for them as we could. But up till Tangrene they weren’t paying much attention to us.”

  “What happened at Tangrene?” Han asked.

  “We blasted a major Ubiqtorate center into fine powder,” Bel Iblis told him with obvious satisfaction. “And then waltzed out right under the collective nose of the three Star Destroyers that were supposed to be guarding the place. I think that was when they finally woke up to the fact that we were more than just a minor irritant. That we were a group to be taken seriously.”

  “I’ll bet they did,” Han agreed, shaking his head in admiration. Even getting within sight of one of Imperial Intelligence’s Ubiqtorate bases was a tricky job, let alone blasting it and getting out again. “What did it cost you?”

  “Amazingly enough, we got all five warships out,” Bel Iblis said. “There was a fair amount of damage all around, of course, and one of them was completely out of commission for nearly seven months. But it was worth it.”

  “I thought you said you had six Dreadnaughts,” Lando spoke up.

  “We have six now,” Bel Iblis nodded. “At the time we only had five.”

  “Ah,” Lando said, and lapsed back into silence.

  “So after that was when you started moving your base around?” Han asked.

  Bel Iblis eyed Lando a moment longer before turning back to Han. “That was when mobility became a top priority, yes,” he corrected. “Though we hadn’t exactly been sitting still before that. This place is, what, our thirteenth location in seven years, Sena?”

  “Fourteenth,” Sena said. “That’s if you count Womrik and the Mattri asteroid bases.”

  “Fourteen, then,” Bel Iblis nodded. “You probably noticed that every building here is built of bi-state memory plastic. Makes it relatively simple to fold everything up and toss it aboard the transports.” He chuckled. “Though that’s been known to backfire on us. Once on Lelmra we got hit by a violent thunderstorm, and the lightning strikes were hitting so close to us that the edge currents triggered the flip-flop on a couple of barracks buildings and a targeting center. Folded them up neat as a set of birthday presents, with nearly fifty people still inside.”

  “That was terrific fun,” Sena put in dryly. “No one was killed, fortunately, but it took us the better part of the night to cut them all free. With the storm still blazing on around us.”

  “Things finally quieted down just before daylight,” Bel Iblis said. “We were out of there by the next evening. Ah.”

  The bartender had arrived with the next round of drinks. Twistlers, Bel Iblis had called them: a blend of Corellian brandy with some unidentified but very tart fruit extract. Not the sort of drink Han would have expected to find in a military camp, but not bad either. The Senator took two of the drinks off the tray and handed them across to Han and Sena; took the other two off—

  “I’m still good, thanks,” Lando said before Bel Iblis could offer him one.

  Han frowned across the table at his friend. Lando was sitting stiffly in his lounge chair, his face impassive, his glass still half full. His first glass, Han realized suddenly—Lando hadn’t had a refill in the hour and a half since Bel Iblis had brought them here. He caught Lando’s eye, raised his eyebrows fractionally. Lando looked back, his expression still stony, then dropped his gaze and took a small sip of his drink.

  “It was about a month after Tangrene,” Bel Iblis went on, “that we first met Borsk Fey’lya.”

  Han turned back to him, feeling a twitch of guilt. He’d gotten so wrapped up in Bel Iblis’s storytelling that he’d completely forgotten why he and Lando had set off on this mission in the first place. Probably that was what had Lando glaring crushed ice in his direction. “Yeah—Fey’lya,” he said. “What’s your deal with him?”

  “Considerably less of a deal than he’d like, I assure you,” Bel Iblis said. “Fey’lya did us some favors during the height of the war years, and he seems to think we should be more grateful for them.”

  “What sort of favors?” Lando asked.

  “Small ones,” Bel Iblis told him. “Early on he helped us set up a supply line through New Cov, and he whistled up some Star Cruisers once when the Imperials started nosing around the system at an awkward moment. He and some of the other Bothans also shifted various funds to us, which enabled us to buy equipment sooner than we otherwise would have. That sort of thing.”

  “So how grateful are you?” Lando persisted.

  Bel Iblis smiled slightly. “Or in other words, what exactly does Fey’lya want from me?”

  Lando didn’t smile back. “That’ll do for starters,” he agreed.

  “Lando,” Han said warningly.

  “No, that’s all right,” Bel Iblis said, his own smile fading. “Before I answer, though, I’d like you to tell me a little about the New Republic hierarchy. Mon Mothma’s position in-the new government, Fey’lya’s relationship to her—that sort of thing.”

  Han shrugged. “That’s pretty much public record.”

  “That’s the official version,” Bel Iblis said. “I’m asking what things are really like.”

  Han glanced over at Lando. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  Bel Iblis took a swallow of his Twistler. “Well, then, let me be more direct,” he said, studying the liquid in his glass. “What’s Mon Mothma really up to?”

  Han felt a trickle of anger in his throat. “Is that what Breil’lya told you?” he demanded. “That she’s up to something?”

  Bel Iblis raised his eyes over the rim of his glass. “This has nothing to do with the Bothans,” he said quietly. “It’s about Mon Mothma. Period.”

  Han looked back at him, forcing down his confusion as he tried to collect his thoughts. There were things he didn’t like about Mon Mothma—a lot of things, when you came right down to it. Starting with the way she kept running Leia off her feet doing diplomacy stuff instead of letting her concentrate on her Jedi training. And there were other things, too, that drove him crazy. But when you came right down to it … “As far as I know,” he told Bel Iblis evenly, “the only thing she’s trying to do is put together a new government.”

  “With herself at its head?”

  “Shouldn’t she be?”

  A shadow of something seemed to cross Bel Iblis’s face, and he dropped his eyes to his glass again. “I suppose it was inevitable,” he murmured. For a moment he was silent. Then he looked up again, seeming to shake himself out of the mood. “So you’d say that you’re becoming a republic in fact as well as in name?”

  “I’d say that, yes,” Han nodded. “What does this have to do with Fey’lya?”

  Bel Iblis shrugged. “It’s Fey’lya’s belief that Mon Mothma wields altogether too much power,” he said. “I presume you’d disagree with that assessment?”

  Han hesitated. “I don’t know,�
� he conceded. “But she sure isn’t running the whole show, like she did during the war.”

  “The war’s still going on,” Bel Iblis reminded him.

  “Yeah. Well …”

  “What does Fey’lya think ought to be done about it?” Lando spoke up.

  Bel Iblis’s lip twitched. “Oh, Fey’lya has some rather personal and highly unsurprising ideas about the reapportionment of power. But that’s Bothans for you. Give them a sniff of the soup pot and they climb all over each other to be in charge of the ladle.”

  “Especially when they can claim to have been valued allies of the winning side,” Lando said. “Unlike others I could mention.”

  Sena stirred in her seat; but before she could say anything, Bel Iblis waved a hand at her. “You’re wondering why I didn’t join the Alliance,” he said calmly. “Why I chose instead to run my own private war against the Empire.”

  “That’s right,” Lando said, matching his tone. “I am.”

  Bel Iblis gave him a long, measuring look. “I could give you several reasons why I felt it was better for us to remain independent,” he said at last. “Security, for one. There was a great deal of communication going on between various units of the Alliance, with a correspondingly large potential for interception of that information by the Empire. For a while it seemed like every fifth Rebel base was being lost to the Imperials through sheer sloppiness in security.”

  “We had some problems,” Han conceded. “But they’ve been pretty well fixed.”

  “Have they?” Bel Iblis countered. “What about this information leak I understand you have right in the Imperial Palace?”

  “Yeah, we know it’s there,” Han said, feeling strangely like a kid who’s been called on the carpet for not finishing his homework. “We’ve got people looking into it.”

  “They’d better do more than just look,” Bel Iblis warned. “If our analysis of Imperial communiqués is correct, this leak has its own name—Delta Source—and is furthermore reporting personally to the Grand Admiral.”

  “Okay,” Lando said. “Security. Let’s hear some of the other reasons.”

  “Ease off, Lando,” Han said, glaring across the table at his friend. “This isn’t a trial, or—”

  He broke off at a gesture from Bel Iblis. “Thank you, Solo, but I’m quite capable of defending my own actions,” the Senator said. “And I’ll be more than happy to do so … when I feel the time is right for such a discussion.”

  He looked at Lando, then at his watch. “But right now; I have other duties to attend to. It’s getting late, and I know you really haven’t had time to relax since landing. Irenez has had your baggage taken to a vacant officers’ efficiency back toward the landing pad. It’s small, I’m afraid, but I trust you’ll find it comfortable enough.” He stood up. “Perhaps later over dinner we can continue this discussion.”

  Han looked at Lando. Such convenient timing, the other’s expression said; but he kept the thought to himself. “Sounds fine,” Han told Bel Iblis for both of them.

  “Good,” Bel Iblis smiled. “I’ll need Sena with me, but we’ll point you in the direction of your quarters on our way out. Unless you’d rather I assign you a guide.”

  “We can find it,” Han assured him.

  “All right. Someone will come to get you for dinner. Until later, then.”

  They walked in silence for probably half the distance to their quarters before Lando finally spoke. “You want to go ahead and get it over with?”

  “Get what over with?” Han growled.

  “Chewing me out for not bowing and scraping in front of your pal the Senator,” Lando said. “Do it and get it over with, because we have to talk.”

  Han kept his eyes straight ahead. “You weren’t just not bowing and scraping, pal,” he bit out. “I’ve seen Chewie in a bad mood be more polite than you were back there.”

  “You’re right,” Lando acknowledged. “You want to be mad a little longer, or are you ready to hear my reasons?”

  “Oh, this should be interesting,” Han said sarcastically. “You’ve got a good reason to be rude to a former Imperial Senator, huh?”

  “He’s not telling us the truth, Han,” Lando said earnestly. “Not the whole truth, anyway.”

  “So?” Han said. “Who says he has to tell strangers everything?”

  “He brought us here,” Lando countered. “Why do that and then lie to us about it?”

  Han frowned sideways at his friend … and through his annoyance he saw for the first time the tension lines in Lando’s face. Whatever Lando was reaching for here, he was serious about it. “Okay,” he said, a little more calmly. “What did he lie about?”

  “This camp, for starters,” Lando said, gesturing toward the nearest building. “The Senator said they move around a lot—fourteen sites in seven years, remember? But this place has been here a lot longer than half a year.”

  Han looked at the building as they passed it. At the smoothness of the edges where the memory-plastic would fold up, at the signs of wear in the subfoundation …

  “There are other things, too,” Lando went on. “That headquarters lounge back there—did you notice all the decoration they had in that place? Probably a dozen sculptures scattered around on those corner ledges between the booths, plus a lot of light poles. And that doesn’t even count all the stuff on the walls. There was a whole antique repeater display panel mounted over the main bar, a ship’s chrono next to the exit—”

  “I was there, too, remember?” Han cut him off. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that this place isn’t ready to pack up and ship offplanet on three minutes’ notice,” Lando said quietly. “Not anymore. And you don’t get this soft and comfortable if you’re still in the business of launching major attacks against Imperial bases.”

  “Maybe they decided to lie low for a while,” Han said. This business of having to defend Bel Iblis was starting to feel uncomfortable.

  “Could be,” Lando said. “In that case, the question is why? What else could he be holding his ships and troops back for?”

  Han chewed at the inside of his cheek. He saw where Lando was going with this, all right. “You think he’s made a deal with Fey’lya.”

  “That’s the obvious answer,” Lando agreed soberly. “You heard how he talked about Mon Mothma, like he expected her to declare herself Emperor any day now. Fey’lya’s influence?”

  Han thought it over. It was still crazy, but not nearly as crazy as it had seemed at first blush. Though if Fey’lya thought he could stage a coup with six private Dreadnaughts, he was in for a rude surprise.

  But on the other hand— “Wait a minute, Lando, this is crazy,” he said. “If they’re plotting against Mon Mothma, why bring us here?”

  Lando hissed softly between his teeth. “Well, that brings us to the worst-case scenario, Han old buddy. Namely, that your friend the Senator is a complete phony … and that what we’ve got here is a giant Imperial scam.”

  Han blinked. “Now you’ve lost me.”

  “Think about it,” Lando urged, lowering his voice as a group of uniformed men rounded a corner of one of the buildings and headed off in another direction. “Garm Bel Iblis, supposedly killed, suddenly returned from the dead? And not only alive, but with his own personal army on top of it? An army that neither of us has ever heard of?”

  “Yeah, but Bel Iblis wasn’t exactly a recluse,” Han pointed out. “There were a lot of holos and recordings of him when I was growing up. You’d have to go to a lot of effort to look and sound that much like him.”

  “If you had those records handy to compare him with, sure,” Lando agreed. “But all you’ve got is memories. It wouldn’t take that much effort to rig a fairly close copy. And we know that this base has been sitting here for more than a year. Maybe abandoned by someone else; and it wouldn’t take much effort to throw a fake army together. Not for the Empire.”

  Han shook his head. “You’re skating on drive trails, Lando. The
Empire’s not going to go to this much effort just for us.”

  “Maybe they didn’t,” Lando said. “Maybe it was for Fey’lya’s benefit, and we just happened to stumble in on it.”

  Han frowned. “Fey’lya’s benefit?”

  “Sure,” Lando said. “Start with the Empire gimmicking Ackbar’s bank account. That puts Ackbar under suspicion and ripe for someone to push him off his perch. Enter Fey’lya, convinced that he’s got the support of the legendary Garm Bel Iblis and a private army behind him. Fey’lya makes his bid for power, the New Republic hierarchy is thrown into a tangle; and while no one’s watching, the Empire moves in and takes back a sector or two. Quick, clean, and simple.”

  Han snorted under his breath. “That’s what you call simple, huh?”

  “We’re dealing with a Grand Admiral, Han,” Lando reminded him. “Anything is possible.”

  “Yeah, well, possible doesn’t mean likely,” Han countered. “If they’re running a con game, why would they bring us here?”

  “Why not? Our presence doesn’t hurt the plan any. Might even help it a little. They show us the setup, send us back, we blow the whistle on Fey’lya, and Mon Mothma pulls back ships to protect Coruscant from a coup attempt that never materializes. More chaos, and even more unprotected sectors for the Imperials to gobble up.”

  Han shook his head. “I think you’re jumping at shadows.”

  “Maybe,” Lando said darkly. “And maybe you’re putting too much trust in the ghost of a Corellian Senator.”

  They had reached their quarters now, one of a double row of small square buildings each about five meters on a side. Han keyed in the lock combination Sena had given them, and they went inside.

  The apartment was about as stark and simple as it could be while still remaining even halfway functional. It consisted of a single room with a compact cooking niche on one side and a door leading to what was probably a bathroom on the other. A brown fold-down table/console combo and two old-fashioned contour chairs upholstered in military gray occupied much of the space, with the cabinets of what looked like two fold-down beds positioned to take up the table’s share of the floor space at night. “Cozy,” Lando commented.