The Eye of Darkness, page 20
“At the very least, I hope to gain some information, some insight,” said Soh. “I want to know what’s really going on behind that wall.”
The thrumming of the shuttle engine was growing louder now.
“How can you believe anything she has to say? Or that this isn’t some sort of assassination attempt?” said Elzar.
“To answer your first question: In politics, even the things our opponents decline to say tell us something. As to your second question: Why do you think you’re here?”
“My charm and good looks?”
The chancellor stifled a laugh. “You’re more like him than you know.”
“I try,” said Elzar. “Every day.” He tracked the descending shuttle as it approached the landing pad. It was unlike the typical Nihil ships that Elzar had seen before. Instead of being a ramshackle amalgamation of scavenged parts, it was sleek and new, glimmering in the reflected light of the city, and bore no significant markings to indicate it was part of any particular Nihil fleet or Tempest.
Elzar glanced over at the other Jedi, who’d been standing in reflective silence while he’d been talking to the chancellor. Ry shot him a quick, tight smile of reassurance. It was a welcome gesture, and Elzar tried to steady his breathing, to relax. He wasn’t looking forward to this. The first Nihil he’d met since the fall of Starlight Beacon. And a Republic traitor, too.
If he was honest with himself, though, it wasn’t what she represented that had him so on edge, or even the threat that she might pose, but what she might know. For almost a year now, he’d heard nothing of Avar. All he knew was that she was somewhere in there, inside the Occlusion Zone. He had to believe she was still alive. He needed her to be alive.
But Ghirra Starros might know the truth. Maybe she was here to deliver that news in the most direct, painful way possible. And that scared him more than any Nihil ever could.
His thoughts were drowned out in the backwash of the settling shuttle as it finally eased to rest on the landing pad. From behind him, RDC guards fanned out, forming a protective semicircle around the chancellor.
He felt her tense beside him.
A minute passed. Then another. There was no sign of movement inside the shuttle. No hiss of a pneumatic door release. No comm signal.
Nothing.
“Elzar?” Soh’s voice sounded strained.
Elzar reached out through the Force, feeling the play of it like cool, shallow water on his skin. He extended that reach, pushing further, but, to his surprise, sensed no hidden depths, no malign intent. The waters here were calm, peaceful.
“I sense no danger,” said Elzar. “And I think she was telling the truth.”
Soh turned sharply to glance at him. “About what?”
“About coming in peace. I don’t believe she means us harm.”
The chancellor nodded but said nothing. She turned back to stare at the ship, as if willing the boarding ramp to open.
Another minute passed, and then it did. Elzar’s breath caught in his throat as the ramp hissed and clanked, its mechanical locks decoupling. Ponderously, it yawned open.
Elzar’s hand brushed the hilt of his lightsaber.
The RDC soldiers checked their blasters.
Lina Soh smoothed the front of her robes.
Masters Ki-Sakka and Agra remained cool and composed.
The boarding ramp thudded to rest on the landing pad.
Despite himself, Elzar half expected hissing green gas and an eruption of blaring wreckpunk. But his instincts had been right.
The danger here was far less direct, and much more insidious, for it came dressed in the guise of diplomacy.
Ghirra Starros stood at the top of the loading ramp, flanked by a team of attendants. She was dressed in a simple black chiffon blouse and pants, with little or no adornment save a golden band around her throat. No mask, no painted sigils, no obvious weapons. She looked every bit the senator of old, as if, in returning to Coruscant, she’d somehow shed her Nihil skin, rolling back the chrono to the time before the Nihil had ever revealed themselves to the galaxy. How Elzar wished that could be true. Her only concession to her new position was a golden pendant, draped around her neck, in the shape of the infamous eye.
The chancellor held out a hand to usher her guards back as Ghirra slowly took her first steps down the boarding ramp toward them. She spread her hands, palms outward, in a gesture of surrender. Behind Ghirra, her six attendants—also dressed in simple, plain robes and carrying no obvious weapons—carried wooden litters bearing open crates filled with art, wine bottles, assorted foodstuffs, fabrics, and other offerings. The pageantry was certainly impressive, akin to what might be expected from any great diplomatic delegation.
“Supreme Chancellor. Master Jedi,” said Ghirra, taking in the gathered throng. “I come to you peacefully, to talk openly and honestly of diplomacy.” She fixed the chancellor with a broad smile. “And I bring with me gifts and culture from all corners of Nihil territory. We wish to share with you the abundance of our people.”
The chancellor was wearing a fixed smile. “And you are welcome, Ghirra Starros. We will hear what you have to say, with clear and open minds. We thank you for your gifts.”
Ghirra bowed her head fractionally in acknowledgment. She turned to Soleil Agra. “Marchion Ro sends his regards to the Jedi Council.” To her credit, there was not a hint of irony or amusement in her voice.
Master Agra allowed the comment to hang for a moment. “The Jedi Council are always open to seeking a diplomatic and peaceful solution to our differences with others,” she said, her tone measured. “But understand this, Ghirra Starros—we do not, and cannot, recognize the authority of any regime that would willfully murder people in cold blood. If there is to be peace, then there must be an end to suffering and bloodshed.”
Ghirra gave a single, sad nod of her head. “I understand. And that is why I’m here. To seek a mutually agreeable end to this terrible conflict between our governments.” She continued to walk down the ramp as she spoke, and the RDC guards formed a ring around her and her attendants.
Soh gestured to them. “Please, allow us to show you to your quarters.”
The chancellor walked alongside her guards, leading Ghirra slowly in the direction of a turbolift across the platform. Ghirra had been assigned one of the secure suites of the Senate building, guarded day and night, with no access to comms of any sort. Her attendants would be billeted in the neighboring suite. Ghirra might have been received as a diplomat, but none of them—the Jedi or the chancellor—were taking any chances.
Elzar fell in beside Masters Agra and Ki-Sakka as they followed the fallen senator and her entourage inside.
“Well, Elzar?” said Ry. “What do you make of all this?”
Elzar met his gaze. “I remain skeptical. I’m waiting for the real reason for her visit to become clear. I cannot believe that Marchion Ro truly seeks a peaceful end to all of this. Not after everything he’s done.”
Soleil Agra nodded. “Indeed. Then we must attempt to decipher the hidden truths in Starros’s words. To understand the artist behind the picture they paint.”
“Not an easy task,” said Elzar.
“Quite,” said Ry. “Which is why we would value your opinion, Elzar. We wish for you to accompany us for what comes next.”
Surprised, Elzar nodded in agreement. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever I can do.”
He followed the two Jedi Masters into the turbolift, but as it rose quietly to the upper floors, he found he couldn’t shake the deep feeling of disquiet that had settled in his chest like a weight.
DAEDUS, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE
With EX-1 safely dispatched in his thruster pod, away into the upper atmosphere of Daedus and beyond, Porter had turned his attention to repairing the Torment, ready to make his own hasty retreat from the near-abandoned moon. Currently, the ship’s engine housing lay in pieces around him as he hammered scavenged panels into shape to help shield the delicate drive components from drifting interstellar particles. And scav droids.
He wasn’t looking forward to facing them again. But then, he supposed it was preferable to facing the Nihil themselves.
Porter knew they were looking for him now. He could sense it. He’d spent too long here, rebuilding the droid. The sense of impending danger, the scratchy sensation at the back of his mind, told him they were close. He’d learned to trust those instincts over the decades, without question. They were one of the reasons he was still alive after all this time.
He should have repaired the ship first, gotten clear before finishing the droid. But then—he’d known the risks, and the prize for success was far greater than his own survival. The droid had been his priority.
Porter had spent so long seeking out the locations of his youth, hunting for the components he needed to finish the droid, that he’d allowed that quest to dominate his existence. Now that it was complete, he wasn’t entirely sure what was next.
He needed time. A safe place to commune with the Force, to seek the right path. Wherever it led, he knew he was destined to continue the fight against the Nihil. To stand up against those who would see him and his kind—and so many others—quashed under the heel of oppression. But how, and where, he was not yet certain.
Close by, his sliced comm unit continued to scan all possible frequencies, deciphering and decoding the messages that crowded the EM bands. A Nihil security report about tithes being successfully gathered on the asteroid city of Pontus. Someone asking their husband to prepare their meal as they’d be home soon. A transport ship issuing landing codes. And then a familiar voice, talking hurriedly, drenched in static.
“…he’s looking for a way out, and he’s prepared to help. If there are any Jedi hearing this, he has a plan…”
Porter lowered his turbohammer. Where had he heard that voice before?
“…he wants to defect. To disappear…”
It was Rhil Dairo. Formerly of Coruscant high society, and more recently a Nihil propagandist. She’d been the one speaking during the broadcast of Pra-Tre Veter’s execution. He’d heard the distaste in her voice then, but this was different. Now he could hear desperation.
Setting the turbohammer on the ground, Porter crossed to the comm unit. The message had finished, and he’d only caught enough of it to pique his interest. It was no official Nihil broadcast, that much was certain.
He crouched, taking up the comm unit. He tapped at the buttons with his index finger, pausing the scanning, fixing it on the one channel. It was one of the Nihil’s main frequencies, but modulated. He toyed with the settings.
“…the many benefits readily available to those who choose to volunteer tithes to the Nihil, including protection from Republic tyranny, full access to the free-trade market in foodstuffs…”
Same voice, but full of the usual impassioned lies. He modulated the frequency again. Static crackled and hissed.
“My name is Rhil Dairo and I am a prisoner of the Nihil. Marchion Ro and his followers are holding me against my will on Hetzal and forcing me to broadcast their lies and propaganda.”
Porter lowered himself to the ground, sitting with the comm unit on his lap while he listened to Rhil’s broadcast—the real broadcast.
Slowly, a plan began to form. Perhaps he didn’t need time, after all. Perhaps the Force was showing him the way.
When the broadcast had finished, he clicked the comm unit off, stowing it inside the ship. Then, taking up his turbohammer again, he began to attack the engine housing repairs with renewed vigor.
He needed to stay one step ahead of his Nihil pursuers.
Rhil had provided coordinates on Hetzal and a time for a rendezvous.
He had an appointment to keep on Hetzal.
CORUSCANT
“Are you comfortable?”
Ghirra Starros peered at them from her seat on the other side of the large suite. They were arranged around a circular conference table, with Ghirra sitting opposite Chancellor Soh, and the Jedi strategically placed between them. Elzar had the chancellor on his left and Master Agra on his right, while Ry sat across from him. They’d given Ghirra an hour to settle and enjoy a meal before gathering to talk. Or in Elzar’s case, to listen.
Ghirra smiled, but there was venom in it. “A prison is still a prison, Chancellor Soh, no matter how well it’s decorated.” She glanced at the RDC guards stationed by the doors and windows.
“And I imagine you’ve decorated the Occlusion Zone, your so-called Nihil space, to a similar standard,” replied Soh.
Ghirra smiled blithely. “Touché.” She spread her hands on the table before her. “But let’s not get off on the wrong foot. We’re here to discuss peace, are we not?”
“We are,” said Soh, her expression unreadable.
Elzar watched them both closely. On a battlefield, he would know what to do. Here, though, in a well-appointed suite in the upper echelons of Coruscant, he felt more out of his depth than ever before. This wasn’t his strength, this politicking. He’d always left it to others who were better suited to the cut and thrust of verbal sparring, who were well attuned to the undercurrents of such conversations, the hidden meanings in a certain phrase or look.
So often, the topic being discussed on the surface was not the topic being discussed in reality, and Elzar was not a master of subtext. Most of the Jedi he knew weren’t. They were trained from a young age to speak their minds, to be conduits for honesty and integrity. Subterfuge and subtlety came hard to them.
It was why people like Stellan were rare; he’d always been able to walk that fine line between diplomacy and truth. Elzar…not so much. He supposed he had no choice, though. He had to at least try. He’d promised them all that much—the chancellor, the Council, and himself. He’d promised to try to fill the gap that had been left behind, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.
And yet…the sight of Ghirra Starros sitting there, dressed in the finery of a senator—it almost turned his stomach.
He wanted to despise her. To rage at her. To scream in her face. To make her understand the terrible suffering that she’d helped to bring about, the costs of her misplaced faith in Marchion Ro.
He wanted to give in to his hate.
But he didn’t.
He remembered the cool words of Orla Jareni, the hope she had helped to flower in his breast.
And he breathed.
When he exhaled, it was as if he were blowing the dark clouds away. Finding peace. Coming up from the depths to seek air.
“You’ve come a long way, Ghirra,” said the chancellor.
Exactly the sort of thing that Elzar had been worried about. A statement loaded with so much baggage it almost creaked.
Ghirra bristled. “You don’t agree with my choices because you don’t understand them.”
Soh scoffed. “You’re implying we would all get along just fine if we only tried to understand the Nihil a little more? That they would stop annexing planets and executing people if we could just be a little more empathetic?”
“I merely meant to say that we have all had to make difficult decisions, Chancellor,” said Ghirra. “Some of them more palatable than others. We’re not all in a position of such privilege.”
The two women stared at each other in silence.
Elzar felt a bead of perspiration trickle down the back of his neck.
“Why are you here, Senator Starros?” said Soleil Agra. Her large black eyes gleamed as she studied the Nihil ambassador.
Ghirra looked at Agra as if she’d thrown her a lifeline. “I’m here to discuss what happens next, Master Jedi.”
“And what does happen next?” asked Soh. “At least, in your version of the future.”
“My people—” started Ghirra.
“Your people?” said Soh.
Ghirra very obviously bit her tongue. “Please, allow me to start again.” She folded her hands on her lap. “The inhabitants of Nihil space,” she said, adopting a diplomatic tone, “deserve official recognition in the Senate. They deserve a voice on the galactic stage. As their appointed leaders, the Nihil should be that voice.”
“Appointed leaders?” said Soh.
Perhaps they were done with subtext after all, considered Elzar.
Ghirra smiled. “You see only what you want to see,” she said. “You imagine chaos. Rampaging warbands. The heel of oppression. Taxes and tithes. Worlds on which people are starving. Rebellions being put down left, right, and center. A million deaths, and Nihil hands steeped in the blood of the innocent.” She glanced from Soh to the Jedi and back. “I’m not wrong, am I? That’s what you imagine life is like behind the Stormwall.”
“How could we imagine anything else?” said Ry. “You haven’t allowed anyone in or out to see it for themselves. The people you claim to represent have not had a chance to tell their own tale. And all the while, your so-called Eye continues to wreak havoc. Raids on innocent settlements along the Stormwall’s edge. Freedom of movement curtailed for those who wish to leave the zone. And the public execution of a Jedi.”
“With respect, Master Jedi, you’re wrong,” said Ghirra. “The people of Nihil space are flourishing. Under Nihil rule, they prosper. Food is abundant. There is growth in trade and collaboration among worlds and cultures. We uphold the key pillars of democracy and egalitarianism. We strive for a more equal, respectful society, where all voices are heard. The three Nihil ministries that I have established—for advancement, protection, and state—have ensured a fair and effective means of governance. There are no uprisings, no rebellions. People have found peace.” She stressed the last word, as if it were the only thing that mattered to her.
“Yes, we police our borders,” she continued, “as all nations must. But we do it to protect those under our care.” She lowered her eyes. “The incident with Master Veter was regrettable. But if our two societies can find a way to better communicate, to agree on a meaningful path forward, then such things can be avoided in the future. I speak with the full authority of the Eye in this. We can find a way to peace.”
