Allegiance (46 page)

Mara stiffened, her relief transforming instantly into icy rage. So she’d been right the first time. Only instead of listening to her instincts, she’d let Caaldra and his smooth talk convince her otherwise. And now Marcross and the others were about to pay the price for her failure.

She stretched out to the Force, trying to pull the blaster rifle from Choard’s hands. But the distance, the emotional turbulence generated by a roomful of stunned partygoers, and the simmering distraction of Mara’s own burns combined to defeat her efforts.

Which left her only one option, only one chance to help LaRone and the others. Digging into one of her belt pouches, she pulled out the mist canister she’d been planning to use earlier to cover their approach across the palace grounds. The device wasn’t really intended for indoor use, but with her blaster gone and her useless grenades back at the
Happer’s Way
it was all she had.

Thumbing off the canister’s safety catch, she stretched out to the Force for strength and prepared for action.

Marcross stopped short, staring at the governor. “Uncle?” he said, sounding stunned. “Uncle, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting out of here,” Choard answered, gesturing with the E-11 for Marcross to join the others. “It would have been nice to make the announcement of Shelsha’s independence from the palace, but it’s hardly necessary.”

“What are you talking about?” Marcross demanded as he stepped back to LaRone’s side. “Are you saying—you can’t be
serious.
”

“You never
did
understand how the galaxy really operates, did you, Saberan?” Choard said contemptuously. “It’s all about power, my idealistic little nephew: actual power, potential power, or perceived power. Fortunately, with the forces I now have at my command, I have all three.”

“Tarkin had power, too,” Grave reminded him coolly. “You saw where it got him.”

Choard snorted. “Tarkin was a fool. I won’t make his mistakes.”

“Then you’ll make others,” LaRone said. “People like you always do.”

The E-11 swiveled to point at LaRone’s chest. “No, it’s people like
you
who make the mistakes,” Choard said. “Now, very quietly—”

“No, Uncle, he’s right,” Marcross said, his voice suddenly very tired. “The mistakes were all yours. Your first was to give the BloodScars your private unregistered HoloNet contact, the one Crayg always called when he and I were offplanet and he needed extra money. It was the last call the pirates made—I saw it on their comm setup record.”

LaRone looked at the other in surprise. So that was what had caused Marcross’s reaction back on Gepparin, and why he’d been so quiet and tense ever since. The knowledge that his own uncle was committing treason …

“But I wasn’t absolutely sure no one else had access to that number,” Marcross went on. “So I had to give you this chance to prove it, one way or the other. That was your second mistake: you talk too much. You always did.” He waved an arm at the crowd around them. “And this time in front of witnesses.”

“They can babble all they want,” Choard bit out. His face had gone the color of a thundercloud, and his blaster rifle was now pointed at Marcross. “In an hour Shelsha’s message of defiance will be all across the HoloNet.”

Marcross shook his head. “No, Uncle. Because you made one final mistake.” He pointed at the weapon in the governor’s grip. “You think that blaster is loaded.”

And without warning, a small object arced over the crowd onto the floor directly in front of Choard and exploded into a cloud of white mist.

Choard jerked back in reaction, the blaster bolt lighting up the mist as he fired. But the sudden move had
thrown off his aim, and the shot intended for the center of Marcross’s chest shattered instead into his right upper arm. Marcross grunted, staggering a little with the impact.

“Troopers!” LaRone barked, ducking down and scooping up his E-11. But there was no need for orders. Grave and Quiller had already retrieved their weapons and were charging in opposite directions around the expanding mist, moving to flank their enemy. Gripping his E-11 firmly, LaRone charged straight into the cloud.

Only to be bounced straight back again as Choard’s huge bulk slammed into him, knocking him out of the mist and throwing him flat on his back on the floor. Spitting a curse, Choard swung his stolen E-11 around to point at LaRone’s face, his eyes crazed above the barrel as he squeezed the trigger.

Only this time, nothing happened.

He tried again, and again, the wildness in his eyes turning to sudden horror as he worked the useless weapon. Peripherally, LaRone saw Grave and Quiller charge back out of the mist, their E-11s tracking—

“No!” LaRone barked. “No.”

The two stormtroopers came to a slightly confused halt. “Commander?” Grave asked uncertainly, his blaster still pointed at Choard.

“He
is
a traitor, sir,” Quiller reminded him darkly.

LaRone looked into Choard’s eyes, at the impotent rage and thwarted ambition still simmering there. It was tempting, he had to admit. It was awfully tempting. All the chaos and destruction the man had caused, all the innocent lives his twisted ambition had cut short …

Innocent lives. Like those of the people on Teardrop.

And with that, LaRone suddenly realized how very tired he was of killing. “Yes, he’s a traitor,” he told Quiller as he climbed back to his feet. “But he’ll stand trial for it. Let him find his fate there.”

Deliberately, he turned his back on the man. “Marcross?” he asked, stepping over to his friend.

Marcross was clutching at his arm, an instinctive if fairly useless exercise with the armored sleeve still in place. “I’m all right,” he said. “I guess it still had one shot left.”

“I guess it did, you crazy idiot,” LaRone said. He looked back at the dissipating mist that had probably saved his friend’s life, then turned to the balcony.

She was there, of course, gazing down at them like an avenging angel. “Governor Choard,” she called in a clear, cold voice, “you’re under arrest for treason.”

From the hallway beyond the light curtain came a clatter of running footsteps, and a moment later a liveried servant charged into the ballroom. “Your Excellency—” He broke off, coming to a sudden halt as he caught sight of the stormtroopers.

“What is it?” LaRone asked.

With an effort, the servant dragged his gaze back to his governor. “There’s word from the gate, Your Excellency,” he managed, the words coming out as if squeezed from a putty tube. “Lord Vader has entered the grounds with—” His eyes flicked surreptitiously back to LaRone. “With a group of Imperial stormtroopers. Chief Administrator Disra is reported to be with them.”

“Excellent,” Jade called down from the balcony. Startled, the servant twisted his head to look up at her. “Meet Lord Vader at the nearest door and escort him here.”

Her eyes shifted to LaRone … and in her face LaRone saw that she knew. That she knew everything—who he was, who the others were, how they’d all gotten here. It was over, and they were as good as dead.

But then he looked back at Choard, a man whose path was littered with the corpses of hundreds of innocent
people and who would have killed millions more if he hadn’t been stopped. LaRone, Grave, Quiller, Brightwater, and especially Marcross had helped prevent that.

Yes, it was over. But it had been worth it.

Grave had Marcross’s sleeve armor off and was working on his injury when Jade joined them. “How is he?” she asked.

“Bad burn, but the armor caught most of it,” Grave reported. “He’ll be all right.”

“Good,” Jade said, shifting her cool gaze to Choard. “I trust you realize you should have died right then,” she told him. “If I’d been here instead of these men, you
would
have died.”

“I’m sure that matters to someone,” Choard bit out. Even at the end, LaRone thought, the man still had defiance to burn.

What a waste.

A nervous ripple ran through the crowd of elite citizens now lined up against the walls. Bracing himself, LaRone turned around.

Darth Vader stood just inside the light curtain, his fists on his hips as he surveyed the situation, his black mask and armor a stark contrast with the gleaming white of the stormtroopers filing quickly and efficiently into the ballroom behind him.

“Lord Vader,” Jade said, nodding to him.

“Emperor’s Hand,” Vader replied, dipping his helmet briefly. He strode forward, his cloak billowing behind him. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“As have you,” Jade said. “I understand you have Chief Administrator Disra in custody?”

“Protective custody,” Vader corrected. “Two hours ago he came to me with a full accounting of Governor Choard’s treason.”

“Did he, now,” Jade said drily. “Interesting how fast
the rock mites leave the ore carrier on the way to the crash. I had one try the same thing on me.”

“The administrator’s case is different,” Vader said, his voice cooling warningly.

“I’m sure it is,” Jade said, inclining her head again. “And I’m sure his evidence will prove useful at Choard’s trial. My congratulations. Would you be able to arrange prisoner transport back to Imperial Center? My ship isn’t particularly spaceworthy at the moment.”

“So I’ve heard,” the Dark Lord said. LaRone tried to imagine him smiling behind that faceplate, but it was a futile effort. “What about these?” Vader added, nodding toward LaRone.

“What about them?” Jade asked.

“I’m told they refused to identify their unit earlier this evening,” Vader said, his voice darkening. “I also have word now from the
Reprisal
that they have five stormtroopers missing.”

LaRone felt his throat tighten. So they wouldn’t be going to Stormtrooper Command, or even be turned over to the ISB. Vader himself would be dealing with them.

At least it would be quick. Probably.

But to his amazement, Jade shrugged. “Interesting, but irrelevant,” she said. “These stormtroopers are mine.”

“
Yours
?”

“You have the entire Five-oh-first,” Jade reminded him. “You certainly won’t begrudge me my Hand of Judgment.”

For a long moment Vader stared down at her. Jade stared back, her face impassive but firm.

Then, to LaRone’s relief, the Dark Lord stirred. “As you wish,” he said, lifting a hand slightly. “Commander?”

A stormtrooper group commander stepped forward. “Yes, Lord Vader?”

“Take Governor Choard to the
Executor,
” Vader ordered. “Then have your men search this palace.” He gestured toward the Makrin City citizens lined up against the walls. “Beginning with them.”

“Yes, sir.” The commander gestured, and two of his men came forward, stepping to Choard’s sides and nudging him into sullen movement toward the exit. Another dozen fell into step around them, while the rest fanned out toward the Makrin City elite lined up against the walls.

Vader turned back, and for a long moment the blank black faceplate stared down at LaRone. Then, half turning, he inclined his head to Jade. “Emperor’s Hand,” he said. With a swirl of his cloak, he turned and strode away.

LaRone looked at Jade, to find her looking back at him. “Orders, ma’am?” he said, keeping his voice professional.

“We’re done here,” she said in the same tone. “We’ll pick up Brightwater on the way out and head back to Greencliff and your ship.” Her eyes hardened. “And on the way, you’re going to tell me a story. A
real
one this time.”

L
EIA’S FACE WAS SHEENED WITH SWEAT BY THE TIME
Han let her out of the cabin’s secret armory. “It’s okay,” he said, offering her a hand. “They’ve finished and gone.”

“They were certainly thorough enough,” she commented, ignoring his hand and stepping out of the cramped space on her own. “I could hear them walking around in here at least three times.”

“They weren’t very happy about the speeder bikes in the cargo bay,” Han said as Leia sat down on the bed. She didn’t look very much like a princess right now, he thought, with stray hairs plastered to her neck and her tapcafe server’s covergown still wrapped around her. But underneath it he could still see all that royal dignity stuff. It made for a nice combination, actually. “But I did a little song and sync about military surplus, and they seemed to buy it,” he added.

“They’ve probably gone off to run the serial numbers,” Leia warned.

“Let ’em,” Han said with a shrug. “We’ll be long gone before they can track any of that down. Brightwater just called—they’re on their way back.”

“Brightwater being one of these stormtrooper deserters you told me about?”

“Don’t worry, we can trust them,” Han assured her.
“Though we probably don’t need to tell them exactly who you are. Anyway, I’ve got Chewie prepping the engines—a couple of hours out to where we stashed the
Falcon
, and we’ll be done with them.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you want to stick around and see if you can talk LaRone into joining the Rebellion.”

“Former stormtroopers?” Leia countered with a wry smile. “I don’t think so.” She hesitated. “Especially since I can’t even talk
you
into joining up.”

Han grimaced. So she
had
noticed. That was a little awkward. Still, it was kind of flattering that she’d taken the time to figure it out. “It’s a pretty big step,” he reminded her.

“I know,” Leia said. “Especially for someone who’s used to taking orders only from himself. But it was a step we all had to take.” Her eyes drifted to the hidden closet and the suits of stormtrooper armor. “And after Alderaan, I don’t think it’s possible to be neutral anymore,” she added quietly. “Either you support the Empire’s oppression, or you fight it.”

“I suppose I
could
stick around a little longer,” Han hedged. “But I’m not ready to pledge undying loyalty to Mon Mothma and Rieekan and the others.”

“Then don’t start with them,” Leia said, looking earnestly back at him. “Start with loyalty to just one person.”

Han looked at her, a funny feeling in his stomach. Was she actually saying …?

“Chewbacca wants to join us,” Leia went on. “Do it for him, and for what his people have suffered under the Empire.”