Bloodline (Star Wars) Read online

  His face flushed. “Oh, don’t misunderstand me, please. I would never have wished for the Rebellion to lose the war. I only wish that the war had not been necessary.”

  “You think Palpatine was the only problem with the Empire? Think again. That kind of power structure bred corruption from the highest levels on Coruscant down to the smallest outposts on border worlds. When the people with authority don’t have to answer to citizens of the galaxy, the result is tyranny.”

  Casterfo’s boyish dismay had faded and was now replaced by anger as poorly concealed as Leia’s own. “So the answer is to give power to no one? In order to ensure that no evil can be done by those in authority, we make sure no good can be accomplished by them, either?”

  “What ‘good’ do you think the Empire had to offer?”

  “Very little, it seems. But if the Old Republic had not been flawed in its own right, Palpatine could not have come into power in the first place.”

  This made a certain degree of sense, as Leia was uncomfortably aware. She had heard her father’s stories about the final days of the Old Republic too many times not to have absorbed his warnings about how liberty came to die. But Casterfo had never learned these lessons; he only wanted to excuse the rise of the Empire. “A republic can be changed as needed, because it remains answerable to its people.”

  “A wise and just Emperor would listen to his people as well,” Casterfo insisted. “The only problem was that we had the wrong emperor.”

  The only problem? There was a limit to the amount of stupidity Leia could tolerate in one day, and she’d just hit it. She got to her feet. “I don’t have time for a conversation about galactic politics with someone so profoundly ignorant of their greater implications.”

  Casterfo drew himself up to his considerable full height. “Nor do I have time to discuss these matters with someone so intolerant of other points of view.”

  By that point Leia’s temples were throbbing, hinting at the headache her anger was carving within her skull. “I’ll have my protocol droid come by tomorrow to exchange details about our travel.” She wouldn’t dream of forcing Greer or Korrie to deal with the man one moment longer than necessary. Besides, C-3PO would be thrilled to have something to do. Never had Leia been more grateful for a protocol droid. “My assistant can handle all other details of the trip. There’s no need for us to see each other again until it’s time to depart—if, of course, that’s all right with you.”

  Casterfo folded his arms. “Believe me, I would find that arrangement a great relief.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.” Leia strode out of his office, through the thicket of staffers pretending not to eavesdrop at the door, and back out into the corridors.

  As she stepped back onto the moving sidewalk, she covered her face with one hand. Her temper had gotten the better of her often enough in her life, but not many people had incensed her as quickly as Ransolm Casterfo and his collection of “historical items,” which insulted everything she had fought for. Soon she’d be stuck with him for days, or even weeks—however long it took to get to the bottom of the situation with the Nikto cartels on Bastatha.

  So much for an exciting last mission. It looked like her final days as a New Republic senator were going to be a royal pain in the ass.

  Joph Seastriker had been born and raised on the planet Gatalenta, a world as warm as it was tranquil, famed for its tea, its meditative retreats, and lengthy, erudite poetry. People slept to the sound of wind chimes and woke to thank their suns for rising each day. Gatalenta offered serenity, silence, and calm.

  Joph hadn’t been able to get off Gatalenta fast enough, because he was bored as hell.

  For as long as he could remember, Joph had longed for excitement. For adventure. In his class he was always the loudest, the most restless, and the least content. So his mothers placidly accepted Joph’s desire to join the New Republic military. Maybe it wasn’t like the old days, when you got to be a hero, but at least he could fly the best starfighters and travel around the galaxy. Although he’d left Gatalenta for the Academy only four years ago, Joph felt sometimes as if he’d lived on his home planet in a completely different lifetime. He’d never once looked back.

  (Well, sometimes he missed the wind chimes. But that was it.)

  Upon graduation a few weeks before, he’d been assigned to the precision air team; less than a week ago, he’d been doing starbursts high above the statue dedication ceremony, grinning in triumph as he swooped high into the clouds. At the time it had seemed about as good as duty got.

  But now he’d been assigned as a military escort to a senatorial mission—to one headed into the criminal underworld, no less. That was the kind of excitement he’d been craving all along.

  Joph brought his X-wing fighter into the Senate hangar, spinning it around sharply to land next to the ship even now being loaded with supplies. Sure enough, the info grid on his console told him this was the Mirrorbright, personal spacecraft of Senator Leia Organa herself. He took some satisfaction in determining that he was in fact the only X-wing pilot around; during the past few days, his orders had fluctuated several times, from being part of an entire squadron to accompany the senators on their mission to being told that there would be no military escort at all. Apparently there had been some bickering higher up about this. Joph neither knew nor cared about the details.

  The air in the hangar smelled of rubber, grease, and solder. In the distance, he saw low-level maintenance droids shuffling from craft to craft and sparks flying from repair torches. The Mirrorbright stood out from the others the way the moon outshone the stars, its surface a glossy white and its edges curved, broadcasting its status as a civilian craft.

  Joph hopped out of the cockpit with a grin on his face. As his boots thudded on the tarmac, he caught a glimpse of the person he assumed was the Mirrorbright’s pilot, sitting on a storage crate with her back to Joph as she checked in the material being loaded aboard. Her gray jumpsuit was civilian issue, as was the heavy woolen shawl draped across her shoulders. Her thick black hair hung loose down her back, another hint that she’d never been military.

  Still, she’s your copilot for this entire mission. So play it cool, make a good first impression, and for once in your life don’t try too hard, Joph thought.

  As he stepped closer, she heard his approach and turned.

  She was the kind of pretty that wasn’t merely seen—instead it hit you like a tidal wave. Lustrous black hair, full lips, deep coppery skin…

  But no sooner had the rush of infatuation spilled over him than it subsided. This woman was so far out of Joph’s league that even a crush was impossible. It would’ve been like getting lovesick over a sunset.

  He relaxed and walked forward with a grin. “I’m Lieutenant Joph Seastriker, and I’m your escort for the mission.”

  She frowned. “You’re Seastriker?”

  Joph had run into disbelief before; he kept promising himself not to get defensive about it, but it was hard to resist. “You can check my ID and everything. If you think I’m too short, well, I’m one and a half millimeters above minimum regulation height.”

  “One and a half,” she repeated, and he could’ve winced. Joph could never quite keep himself from adding the half. But he hated it when people thought he was a mechanic instead. Still, her smile was warm rather than mocking, and she held out her hand. “I’m Greer Sonnel, the senator’s assistant and pilot of the Mirrorbright. Glad to have you along.”

  A political staffer and a pilot? That seemed like a strange combination. Before Joph could inquire, though, Greer continued, “If you ask me, we ought to bring a couple of extra starfighters. Bastatha’s no place for law-abiding people.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “No, but I’ve worked with pilots who have. All underworld spaceports are potentially dangerous. Bastatha isn’t one of the worst, but we’ll have to watch ourselves.” Greer patted the nose of the Mirrorbright. “At least we’ve made a few custom modifications t
hat should allow her to hold her own if we run into any trouble.”

  Joph realized the Mirrorbright’s unconventional W-shape allowed for weapons stations to be tucked into the corners, unobtrusive and almost invisible. While the average transport would have no weaponry save perhaps defensive shielding, this ship could probably hold its own in a firefight. “So the senator believes in peaceful negotiations, huh?”

  Greer’s full lips quirked in a smile. “Let’s just say she believes in being prepared. Her husband and I installed these guns a few years ago, when I first started working for him.”

  “…her husband?” Stay calm. Do not freak out. Don’t say the name Han Solo unless you’re totally sure your voice won’t squeak. “You, uh, know Captain Solo?”

  “I won the Junior Sabers competition a few years back.” Greer shifted from foot to foot. “Ancient history.”

  Anyone good enough to win a Sabers race, even at the junior level, knew what she was doing. Joph wanted to be impressed, but instead he felt intensely jealous. While he’d been taking exams at the Academy, she’d been out winning races, flying with the Han Solo, and having all the exciting times he’d been denied. Not that excitement was a finite resource some people used up before others could get their share—but still.

  I’ll get my chance, he reminded himself. From the sound of things, Bastatha might provide plenty of opportunities for action.

  “Good morning.” Across the hangar walked Senator Organa, although it took Joph a moment to recognize her; instead of formal senatorial robes, she wore a simple cream-colored tunic and leggings, and her hair was gathered into a braid down her back. “How’s she looking, Greer?”

  “She’s ready to fly when you give the word,” Greer promised. “And our X-wing escort just showed up. Senator, this is Lieutenant Joph Seastriker. Joph, this is Senator Leia Organa.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Wait. Was that right? “I mean, Senator. Or, uh, Princess—no, Your Highness!”

  A golden protocol droid shuffling up behind them said, “Either Senator or Your Highness at first reference. Ma’am or Princess Leia is acceptable thereafter.”

  “That’s See-Threepio,” Princess Leia said with a skyward glance and a shake of her head. For a legendary war hero, she turned out to be pretty grounded. “Don’t worry. He’ll tell you more about etiquette than you ever wanted to know; Threepio worries about it so I don’t have to. And this is our staff intern, Korr Sella.”

  Korr couldn’t have been more than sixteen, which meant Joph wasn’t the youngest person on the mission. Compared with her, he was experienced. Worldly, even. He felt more confident already, and the mission was looking up—until a male voice called, “Are we ready for departure?”

  Everyone tensed. Joph turned to see a tall, pale, skinny guy walking toward them in a blue velvet cloak that would’ve been appropriate on the floor of the Senate or at a wedding but was absurdly posh for a hangar bay.

  “Very nearly, Senator Casterfo!” C-3PO said cheerfully. “You’re right on time, sir.”

  Casterfo stopped short, apparently taken aback to see everyone else in standard space jockey attire. Although Princess Leia smiled at Casterfo, it was the kind of smile that hit harder than a punch. Korr bit her lower lip, and Greer’s sigh clearly meant something like, Oh, brother, here we go. Joph could almost have felt sorry for the guy, if Casterfo weren’t so obviously in love with himself.

  “Well.” Senator Casterfo didn’t seem to know what else to say to the shabbier people around him. “I’ll have the droids load my trunks aboard.”

  “Please do.” With that, Princess Leia headed onto the Mirrorbright herself, either to check things over pre-launch or to avoid Casterfo as long as possible. Probably both.

  Once all the higher-ups had walked away, Joph muttered, “Is it my imagination, or did the temperature in here just drop almost to freezing?”

  Greer gave him a sideways glance. “Let’s put it this way. You’re going to have a way more comfortable ride in that X-wing than we will on the Mirrorbright. Because it’s only getting colder from here.”

  —

  Leia remained in her cabin for as long as possible during the voyage to Bastatha, using the hours to snatch a quick nap, and then send another communiqué to Luke and Ben. (The Force alone knew when they would hear it. Luke’s last message to her had been a while ago, and badly corrupted by radiation interference; wherever they were in the galaxy, they were cut off from communication for the time being.) Only at the end of the trip did she prepare herself for the diplomatic visit. Her deep-maroon gown had been richly embroidered in blue and silver at the edges, and she had ornamented her long braid with dull pewter pins inset with small, glittering stones. More flashy than valuable, but in a place like Bastatha, where style was forced to stand in for substance, a little theater went a long way.

  When she could procrastinate no longer, Leia emerged from her cabin, determined to face Casterfo as calmly as possible, but he was nowhere to be seen. From the cockpit, Greer called, “He just gave up a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Leia went into the cockpit herself. Greer sat at the main controls, but there was a chair for a copilot or auxiliary gunner—currently empty. When Leia sank down into it, she saw the strange, warped blue waves of hyperspace in front of them, beckoning and forbidding all at once. “What did he say?”

  Greer shrugged. “He tried to make conversation with Korrie until she came up with some excuse about reviewing her work. Then he talked with me for a little bit about racing, where he actually knows his stuff, so, give him some points there.”

  Leia couldn’t help chuckling. “You’d forgive anyone if he had a fast enough cruiser, wouldn’t you, Greer?”

  “Or if he backs the right teams.” Greer’s smile made her seem even younger than her years, like the scrap of a girl she’d been when Leia first met her. Han had taken countless young pilots under his wing during the past several years, many of whom remained close to them both even now.

  His willingness to take on the role of mentor was one of the first things she’d noticed about Han Solo, years ago—well, one of the first things she’d liked about him. For all his griping about “farmboys,” Han had dedicated himself to Luke in the days after the first Death Star’s destruction. Leia had watched as Luke slowly overcame his grief for Obi-Wan Kenobi and his aunt and uncle, while learning about gunnery, ship repair, and countless other things from Han. The sarcasm and wit Han used disguised his concern from Luke, and even Leia took a while to realize that Han was looking out for her, too.

  Han was just as committed to his current crop of young pilots. Leia wished she could believe he mentored them out of the same impulse that had led him to befriend Luke; probably, on some level, he did. But Han was also teaching these kids the same lessons he’d wanted to teach their son.

  Footsteps from behind made Leia turn around just in time to see Casterfo stepping back into the main living area. His velvet cloak had crumpled somewhat during their journey in hyperspace, but he drew himself upright with as much dignity as he could muster. “I take it we’re nearing the Bastatha system?”

  “Not quite.” Greer didn’t glance away from her controls. “But it’s only going to be a few more minutes.”

  Leia got to her feet and strolled past Casterfo, the better to help herself to some Gatalentan tea from the Mirrorbright’s stores. As she busied herself with its preparation, she said, “I take it your accommodations are comfortable, Senator Casterfo?”

  She expected him to reply in kind: formal, stiff, and barely within the boundaries of courtesy. Instead, Casterfo stepped to her side, where it was impossible not to look at him. “Senator Organa, I realize our initial conference went poorly, in large part due to my own tactlessness. My conversation was more theoretical in nature—philosophical—”

  What philosophy is it that leads you to worship the Empire? Leia thought but did not say. The man was trying to be polite, and she could at least respect the effort. They
had a job to do on Bastatha, a potentially important one; there was no point in letting Casterfo’s distasteful politics get in the way.

  “—and in my enthusiasm for the concept of monarchy, I failed to take your personal experiences into account,” he continued. “We both said things that were ill advised, but your reason for speaking so heatedly was far more excusable than my own. I can only hope you will forgive me.”

  Leia had been a diplomat too long not to recognize a good apology when she heard one. “I understand, Senator Casterfo. Please don’t worry about it any longer. The past is the past, and we have work to do.”

  “My thoughts precisely.” Casterfo straightened the collar of his cloak as he pulled himself back up to his full height. Whatever sense of humility he’d mustered had already dissolved. “On to Bastatha.”

  The planetary surface on Bastatha was superheated by its red giant of a sun, uninhabitable by all but the most ineradicable bacteria and the sturdiest mining droids. As the Mirrorbright sliced through the hazy golden sky, it drew trails in the clouds of sulfur and methane that boiled in the valleys.

  On Bastatha, the underground was literally underground.

  Leia watched as the Mirrorbright dived straight toward the surface of the planet, nimbly turning sideways just in time to slip into a narrow crack that turned into a cavern. Joph Seastriker’s X-wing followed behind, keeping close despite the numerous stalagmites and stalactites now breaking up the narrow spaces they had to traverse. The thin rays of the sunlight above soon faded into nothingness, and the air cleared into something humans could breathe. Greer cut their speed as they began to navigate by sensors and running lights alone.

  Finally they reached the platform where the “municipal authorities” were waiting for them—an oasis of light amid the stony gloom. As Greer lowered the Mirrorbright for its landing, Leia smoothed her hair. “Let me do the talking.”

  Casterfo didn’t like this any better than she’d expected him to. “The local authorities will no doubt wish to hear from us both.”