The Black Fleet Crisis_ Tyrant's Test Part 9

Rattagagech looked up at her in surprise. Her words verged on an insult to his intellect. "President Solo--Princess Leia--physical calculus is the foundation of logical a.n.a.lysis, and logical a.n.a.lysis is the foundation of Elom civilization. This art raised us from what we were to what we are."

"I respect what the Elomin have accomplished," said Leia. "But physical calculus would have told us rebellion against the Empire was futile. And logical a.n.a.lysis will always sacrifice one life for many, or a few for several, and leave you thinking you've done something n.o.ble."

"I must call your attention to the work of Noto-ganarech, who has demonstrated that a properly weighted table tilts to support of the Rebel Alliance--" "When you already know the outcome." She shook her head. "I can't let the tilt of the table decide my course. I just don't believe that everything that matters can be quantified for the calculus."

With his indignation undisguised, Rattagagech gathered his tools and left.

Leia had one last visitor from the ranks of the Ruling Council before the day was out. Dall Thara Dru--the senator from Raxxa, chairman of the Senate Commerce Council, and the only female among the seven--had had nothing to say at the last meeting.

Behn-Kihl-Nahm's head counts included Dru as a supporter, but that made Leia even more unsure about what to expect from her.

"Thank you so much for making time for me," said Dall Thara Dru as she glided into Leia's office. "This terrible business--I can't imagine!

Your life must be completely upside down."

"I appreciate your sympathy--" "This pet.i.tion against you is the worst kind of foolishness I can think of. I just came from Chairman Beruss's office, and I'm afraid I found him quite immovable-stubbornly attached to the notion that you are the problem. As if it were your fault that there are dead planets all across Koornacht Cl.u.s.ter!"

"I'm grateful for your support--" "Still and all, I'm afraid that Doman has influenced enough minds to give you a great deal of trouble when the Council meets on the pet.i.tion. So I've been asking myself, what can be done? How do we rea.s.sure the others that you have matters well in hand? And then I realized that the answer is the question no one seems to be asking!"

"Which is--" "Where is Luke Skywalker?" said Dall Thara Du.

"Where are the Jedi Knights?"

"I'm sorry, Senator Dru," said Leia. "I don't understand."

"Why, Skywalker singlehandedly defeated the Emperor.

Surely he can handle these Yevetha without any trouble. And if he needs help, he's raised an entire army--at New Republic expense, mind you! - - of wizards like himself. Well, no wonder Beruss objects to sending our sons to Koornacht. Why do we have to fight this war?

Where are our Knights?"

"The Jedi are not the New Republic's army, Senator Dru--or its mercenaries, or its secret weapon," Leia said evenly. "If you're suggesting that I come to the Council and say, in effect, 'Don't worry, my brother will take care of this for me'--" "Oh, of course," Dru said breezily. "I know that you can't tell the chairmen exactly what you have planned. Just let them know that the Jedi are standing with you-that's not too much to say, is it? We're trying to sh.o.r.e up their confidence, after all. And who better to inspire confidence than Luke Skywalker?"

"That is too much to say," Leia said. Her tone was frosty, her words blunt. "Chairman Dru, I haven't asked for the help of the Jedi. And neither have they offered it. There are no secret plans to conceal.

The New Republic can and will fight its own battles--as will I. And if you're someone who supported my nomination thinking it was a package deal-- 'Hey, we get Luke Skywalker for free' I'm sorry to say that you were mistaken."

There were no more postponements. The next morning, Leia stood in the well of the Council chamber, facing Doman Beruss.

"President Leia Organa Solo, have you read the pet.i.tion of no confidence offered against you?"

"I have, Chairman." Her voice was steady and strong.

"Do you understand the charges contained therein?"

"I do, Chairman."

"Do you understand the particulars offered in support of the charge?"

"I do, Chairman."

"Do you wish to offer a response to the pet.i.tion?"

Leia glanced at Behn-Kihl-Nahm, seated to Beruss's right, before answering. "Chairman, I contest the pet.i.tion in its entirety.

I'm shocked and dismayed that it was ever offered."

Behn-Kihl-Nahm slumped back in his chair, weariness causing his features to gray.

"It's not only a personal insult, it's a political mistake," Leia continued. "I have to wonder if the chairman has started taking his counsel from Nil Spaar--because he's the only one who stands to benefit from our infighting."

"There need be no infighting," said Krall Praget.

"It's clearly better for all if this matter is resolved quickly and quietly."

"Then ask him to withdraw the pet.i.tion," Leia said, pointing at Beruss.

"This started with him, not with me. It's his fear that's the real issue here."

Beruss said quietly, "The chairman regretfully advises the Council that he cannot in conscience withdraw the pet.i.tion."

Leia turned her gaze on him. "I don't know why or how Chairman Beruss became infected with the creep ing timidity that seems to be on the rise here. But if his worry is that Princess Leia will lead the New Republic into a war to rescue her husband, I suggest he's worrying over the wrong question. And I hope the rest of the Council is about to set him straight."

"Why?" asked Borsk Fey'lya. "How many friends do you think you have in this room? Do you think that there's one of us--even your dear Bennie- -who hasn't had doubts about your fitness in recent months?

Fire and idealism may be fine qualities for the leader of a revolution, but the leader of a great republic needs to be several degrees cooler and a good deal more canny."

"Point of order, Chairman Beruss--" said Behn-Kihl-Nahm.

But Beruss, his eyes darkened by disapproval, was already moving to intervene. "The remarks of Chairman Praget and Chairman Fey'lya are out of order and will be removed from the record. The floor belongs to the President for the purposes of her response to the pet.i.tion."

"I've said all I have to say," Leia said.

Behn-Kihl-Nahm glanced at something lying out of sight on the surface in front of Beruss. "Chairman, point of precedence--" "Go ahead."

"I would like to offer a compromise that I hope may satisfy the concerns of all parties," said Behn-Kihl-Nahm, his eyes warning Leia, You must help yourself now. "If the President will consent to announce that she is taking a brief personal leave, the Council will name Chairman Rattagagech to serve as caretaker until she returns."

It was a judgment call whether Rattagagech or Fey'lya looked more startled.

"We will give the President time to consider this proposal," Beruss said. "The debate is suspended. The vote on the pet.i.tion is tabled until we meet in three days."

He rang the crystal, ending the session, before a startled Fey'lya could speak a word.

Chapter 4.

Colonel Bowman Gavin carried the formal t.i.tle of director of flight personnel, Fifth Fleet Combat Command. But to the more than three thousand pilots and weapons officers of the nearly two hundred squadrons based on the fleet's carriers and Star Destroyers, Gavin was simply fleet air boss.

The fleet air boss had the final say over every "cheeks on the cus.h.i.+ons" decision--flight a.s.signments, ratings, transfers, reprimands, and promotions, from the greenest backseater to the squadron leaders and combat wing commanders. His office was off the hot corridor in Intrepid's flag country, fifteen strides from General A'baht at one end and eight strides from the combat operations center at the other.

Despite his high station, Colonel Gavin was a familiar sight on the flight decks and in the hangar bays of the fleet. Approachable and matter-of- fact, he was by his own admission more comfortable with his feet up in pilot country than he was behind his own desk or at A'baht's briefing table. Gavin disliked working from reports alone, and would not promote or pa.s.s judgment on a pilot or a junior officer until he had made a personal, firsthand a.s.sessment.

The pilots in turn claimed Gavin as one of their own, and trusted him to give them a fair hearing. They knew that he knew what it was like to sit in the c.o.c.kpit of a twisting fighter, guns hot and an enemy thundering in from behind. Though Gavin usually chose to wear only the "new sun" campaign bar he had earned as a B-wing pilot at the Battle of Endor, his service history ent.i.tled him to wear most of the combat decorations the Alliance and the New Republic had created and conferred.

Administrative chaos had arrived along with the five task forces drawn from the other fleets. Gavin had had to suspend his schedule of informal visits and keep his appointments to a minimum just to keep up with the briefings and reports. It was the closest he had ever come to closing his door to the world since being promoted to flag rank, five years ago.

It didn't take many days for the air in his office to thin to half an atmosphere and the bulkheads of his office to close in to the dimensions of a cell in the brig.

But by the time Gavin rebelled and began to plot a temporary escape, the Fifth Fleet had re-formed into double-strength task forces and scattered into the fringes of Koornacht Cl.u.s.ter, taking most of the new arrivals out of ready reach.

But Task Force Gemstone, now attached to the flag task force, offered twenty-two possible destinations for Gavin's getaway. Since a visit to Commodore Poqua's command s.h.i.+p, the carrier Starpoint, would only entangle him in more command-level formalities, Gavin skimmed down the list and chose another vessel.

"Roust my pilot and prep my gig," he said, calling down to Intrepid's No. 1 flight deck. "I'm going to pay a visit to Floren."

"Acknowledged, Colonel. We'll notify flight control."

With the fleet on level one alert, even Colonel Gavin was obliged to don combat flight garb when leaving Intrepid in a smaller craft. Apart from the time lost climbing into and out of the five-piece high-flexibility pressure suit, Gavin didn't object to the requirementand the typically spirited and ribald ready-room chatter usually made that time pa.s.s quickly enough.

But at midrotation, the ready room was deserted, and Gavin had to struggle with the waist ring without benefit of a helping hand. It was not until Gavin was in the middle of the helmet-on pressure test that another pilot joined him there--a young alien wearing a purifier pack on his chest and the red emblem of a provisional flight officer on his Collar.

Instead of going to one of the lockers, the pilot walked to within two meters of Gavin and stopped, as though waiting for him. When the test rig chimed its approval, Gavin broke the neck seal and removed his helmet.

"Are you looking for someone, son?" Gavin asked, noting the absence of aFifth Fleet insignia on the pilot's uniform.

The officer saluted belatedly, as though it were an unpracticed reflex.

"Are you Colonel Gavin, sir?"

"Guilty as charged. And you are--" "Plat Mallar, sir. Sir--they told me that you make all the decisions about pilot a.s.signments."

"They?"

"The crew of the gig. And the crew chief told me where I might find you. I'm one of the ferry pilots from Coruscant."

"The escort flight for Tampion," Gavin said, nodding.

"I know that you were all cleared by Intelligence, but I'm a little surprised to hear anyone's talking to you.

Did you ever think they might not be doing you a favor, telling you to come see me?"

"Colonel, you make all the decisions about flight a.s.signments, don't you? "

"Yes."

"Then who else could I see?"

Gavin nodded thoughtfully. "What is this about, then?"

"It's about my orders, sir. There are five of us being sent back to Coruscant on the fleet shuttle, as s.p.a.ce is available. We were brought over from Venture this morning to wait."

"That's right. What's the problem?"

"Sir, I don't want to be sent back. I can't be. I want to stay and be part of this fight. You have to let me do something."

"No, I don't," said Gavin, tucking his helmet under his right arm.

"But I'll give you a chance to convince me that I ought to. Mind you, though, I signed off on your orders. To be blunt, we do need pilots, but no one wanted you or the others. None of you is experienced enough for the squadron leaders who've shorthanded to take a chance on you."

"If it makes any difference to you, I have another hundred and ninety hours in a TIE interceptor that don't show up on my service record."

"In a TIE?" Gavin raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Give me your ID disc."

The young pilot complied, and Gavin studied the data in a portable reader. When he was finished, he looked up and fixed Mallar with a quizzical look.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "I can't figure out what you're doing out here in the first place. You have more hours in sims and fewer hours in a c.o.c.kpit than anyone I've ever seen in a combat zone."

"I've worked as hard as I can, Colonel, so I could have a chance. I spent every minute my check pilot could spare me flying. I spent every other minute I could training in the simulator. I'll work just as hard here, if you don't send me back."

"Your check pilot, yes," said Gavin, handing the ID disc back. "He seems to have run you through primary training in about a third of the usual time, even though he graded you not much better than pa.s.sing.

What's the missing piece of this picture, Mallar?"

The question seemed to crush Mallar. "I suppose I should have let the admiral put it all in my file, like he wanted to," he said dolefully.

"He even wanted to give me a confirmed kill."

"A kill? For what?"

"For the Yevethan fighter I shot down over Polneye, the day the Yevetha destroyed it--the day they killed my family," Mallar said, and shook his head. "I didn't want any special treatment--I wanted to be good enough on my own. Just good enough to do something to help. But I'm not--or you wouldn't be trying to send me back. So all I can do now is beg you, Colonel---don't send me back."

"Offer me an alternative," Gavin said quietly.

"It doesn't matter," Mallar said. "Find something I can do to help.

Anything. Find some way that my being here makes it easier for you to hand the Yevetha the same kind of hurt they handed me. That's all I ask.

Because what they did to us was wrong. Just let me be a little part of teaching them that lesson. That's the only thing that matters to me now. I'm the only one left I have to speak for all of them."

Gavin studied him as he spoke, and for a long time after. "Draw a flight suit," he said finally. "Meet me at my gig in ten minutes.

We'll talk more on the way to Floren."