Apocalypse (47 page)

Jagged lowered his hand. “Charming to the last, I see,” he said. “Very well, Admiral. I trust you intend to honor the terms of the Election Accord we signed?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Daala replied. “After Hagamoor Three, I have no doubt about the outcome of this election.”

Jag lowered his hand. “I guess I wouldn’t, either, if I were in your position,” he said. “That
was
a rather unfortunate mistake. Perhaps our intel was bad.”

Daala gave him a tight smile. “You’ll have to do better than
that
if you expect to win, Head of State Fel.”

Jag gave her a reluctant nod. “Don’t I know it.”

A voice sounded over the house speakers, announcing that the broadcast would begin in ten seconds. Jag returned to his own podium in the center of the stage and took a couple of deep breaths he really did not need—he felt surprisingly calm—then listened politely as the moderator welcomed the audience and introduced the candidates.

No sooner had the man finished than Daala went off-script and walked over to wish luck to her opponents, going to shake hands first with Reige, then with Jag. With the holocams emitting a barely perceptible whine and floating just out of Jag’s sight line, there could be no doubt that they were on live HoloNet.

Jag squeezed her hand and smiled. “Admiral Daala, how nice of you to offer your hand … now that the holocams are live.”

Daala returned his smile with one even broader. “I only wanted to do it once, Head of State,” she said. “I’m sure you understand.”

The retort, amplified by her mike, drew a spontaneous chuckle from many of the Moffs. Jag was left with little choice but to dip his head and acknowledge that Daala had drawn the first blood. She returned to her podium, then listened politely as the moderator announced that each candidate would be allowed five minutes for an opening statement.

The mike light on Jag’s podium turned green, and a digital readout began to count the five minutes of allotted time for his statement. Jag removed a datapad from the inner pocket of his dress tunic and propped it over the readout. He really didn’t care about the debate rules—and he was fairly certain that once he began to speak, only one person in the room would want to silence him.

Jag looked into the audience and located Moff Getelles, who was seated alone in an empty side section, accompanied only by the two armored guards standing behind him. Jag nodded to the old man. When Getelles reluctantly nodded back, Jag smiled and looked directly into the holocam hovering in front of him.

“Esteemed Moffs, Loyal Citizens …,” Jag began, “when Grand Master Skywalker and the Moffs asked me to become the Empire’s temporary Head of State at the end of the Second Civil War, there
were two things I did not expect to happen. First, I never expected to survive nearly four years as the leader of the Moff Council.”

This drew a chorus of pointed chuckles from the in-house audience. Jag looked up and smiled as though he, too, found the Moffs’ habit of murdering their leaders a laughing matter, then continued.

“Second, I did not expect to come to love the job as much as I have. For both of those things, I am grateful. And because of that gratitude, I have held your interests at heart in every decision I have made as your Head of State.”

Jag turned to look into the holocam, now addressing himself directly to the common people of the Empire.

“But you deserve more than that. As citizens of the Empire, you also deserve a government that is open and honest, and I am sorry to say I have not done as well in this. That changes
now
. Early this morning, I signed a new charter for the Imperial News Network, bestowing on it an endowment large enough to operate for centuries to come. Even more important, this charter also grants INN independence from any form of government censorship.

“In exchange,” Jag continued, “I have charged the Imperial News Network with the duty to investigate and report on government affairs at every level, including those of the Head of State and the Imperial Moffs. I have done this so that you, the citizens of the Empire, will have the knowledge required to hold your government accountable.”

An angry rustle filled the auditorium as the Moffs began to plot and complain among themselves. Jag paused, confident that the sensitive holocam mikes would pick up and relay every whisper to INN’s viewing audience. After allowing the murmur to build for a few moments, he looked straight into the holocam again.

“As you can tell, not everyone is happy about that.”

Someone behind the stage let out an involuntary snort. Jag allowed himself to smile along, knowing that the billions of people watching on their home planets would also be laughing along. He paused for a few moments, allowing time for his tone to grow serious, then continued.

“Unfortunately, as almost everyone in the Empire must know by now, it appears that Shei Harsi and the INN editorial board took me
at my word, and now I find myself in the position of having to give an accounting of recent events on Hagamoor Three.”

Jag grabbed the sides of the podium, trying to look as though what he was about to say would be difficult for him.

“I am sorry to inform you that
most
of Shei Harsi’s report is correct. I
did
order the
Consolidator
to bombard Admiral Daala’s secret campaign headquarters in the Moon Maiden on Hagamoor Three.”

He paused. There were no outbursts of rage or disgust or surprise from the Moffs, or even Daala—which said a lot about the Empire. Such tactics were simply how things were done in Imperial politics, and the lack of even
feigned
indignation among the Moffs made him wonder if he might be trying to usher in democracy a little
too
quickly.

“There are two facts that you should know,” Jag continued. “First, any speculation that Admiral Reige had any knowledge of those orders is entirely unwarranted. I issued my orders directly to the
Consolidator
, deliberately excluding Admiral Reige from the chain of command. When he learned what I had done, he grew so angry that he accused me of being spacesick.”

This drew a chuckle from the moderator and several members of the backstage crew.

“The second thing you should know,” Jag continued, “is the
reason
I ordered the bombardment. The Moon Maiden was much more than Admiral Daala’s campaign headquarters—it also housed a secret nanotech laboratory. And that lab was developing an illegal youth serum extracted from
drochs
.”

At last the auditorium reacted. Drochs were the horrific insects responsible for the Death Seed Plague that had claimed billions of lives in two separate sector-spanning pandemics. Literally stealing the life energy from their hosts, drochs were extremely difficult to detect in an infected person, and it was for that reason that experimenting with drochs was well beyond the limits of civilized behavior, even in the empire. Hearing Jag’s statement, most of the Moffs cried out in genuine anger and indignation. And Daala’s voice was louder and more vehement than all the rest.

“Liar!”
Her eyes were wide and mad, and the fury in her voice suggested that, while the accusation had taken her completely by surprise,
she had grasped instantly the damage it would do. “If you think you can divert attention from your own crime by accusing
me
of involvement in another, you are badly mistaken. The citizens of the Empire are much too smart to fall for such an obvious deception.”

Once the audience had quieted, Jag merely nodded. “Indeed, they are smart.” He looked up into one corner of the audience seating, where Moff Getelles was sitting flanked by his two armed guards, and cocked his brow. “Which is why I won’t ask them to take
my
word alone.”

Getelles rose on cue. Speaking as loudly as his wavering voice would allow, he called, “Head of State Fel is telling the truth.”

This caused another outburst among the Moffs, and a floating holocam went zipping away from the stage area toward Getelles. As it traversed the thirty meters of distance, Daala turned at her podium and glared at Jag with an expression that seemed equal parts hatred and appraisal. It was impossible to say how much she had known about the lair, whether she believed that it was a political fabrication or realized that Abeloth had indeed been working her Force magic from Getelles’s secret nanotech lab. But it
was
clear that she understood that even the mere accusation of being involved with drochs was going to cost her the election.

When the holocam reached him, Getelles drew himself up straight and addressed Daala directly. “I’m sorry, Admiral,” he said. “But there’s no use lying. They have
evidence
.”

“Of course they do,” Daala said from her podium. She turned back to Jag. “
Manufactured
evidence. Head of State Fel has obviously planned this charade to the last detail.”

“I
am
determined to bring the truth out into the open,” Jag replied. He waved a hand toward Getelles. “Please continue, Moff Getelles.”

“If I must,” Getelles said reluctantly. “The truth is that Head of State Fel discovered the existence of these experiments several weeks ago. He ordered me to shut down the project in exchange for leniency, but I couldn’t do it. I needed the youth serum, both to use on myself and for the credits it would bring to my treasury, so I struck
another
deal with Admiral Daala’s representatives. I agreed to help the admiral
win the election, and in exchange, Daala would allow me to develop and sell my youth serum when she took office.”

“My congratulations, Head of State,” Daala said to Jag. “That’s a very convincing lie. What did it cost you?”

“A full pardon,” Jag answered honestly. The representatives that Getelles had mentioned were, of course, the Squibs. Like Getelles, they had been determined to have the youth serum for their own family. But Jag saw no need to mention that. Mentioning Squibs rarely inspired confidence in
anyone
’s account. He glared up at Getelles. “I hated to grant that pardon—especially a
second
time—but the good of the Empire demanded it.”

“You have a rather self-serving definition of what is ‘good’ for the Empire, Head of State
Fel
,” Daala said. She made his surname sound like an insult. “But your story has the feel of desperate convenience to it. There’s no reason to believe a word that
either
you or Moff Getelles says. This incredible story is clearly an attempt to transfer
your
guilt onto the victim of your crime—namely, me.”

“I can think of one very good reason to believe evreything I say,” Jag said. “Because I have nothing to gain by lying about it.”

Daala openly snorted. “You call being the Imperial Head of State
nothing
?”

“Of course not. But my name is no longer on the ballot.” Jag looked directly into the nearest holocam and said, “I have already issued instructions to remove my name from the electronic ballots that our citizens will be using this afternoon.”

“What?”
Daala nearly screeched the question. “You can’t be serious!”

Jag continued to look into the holocam. “I am—very serious. What I have not yet explained is
how
Moff Getelles’s illegal droch project was discovered. The truth is that I
did
send an Imperial agent to find—and destroy—Admiral Daala’s campaign headquarters.”

He didn’t mention anything about Abeloth, of course—there were still
some
things that the average citizen was better off not knowing.

“And it was only through the commission of
that
crime that I discovered Admiral Daala’s involvement in an even greater crime,” Jag said. “Therefore, for the good of the Empire, I have decided to withdraw
from the election and endorse the only worthy candidate in the race, Admiral Vitor Reige.”

“What?”
It was Reige, rather than Daala, who cried out. “You can’t be serious!”

“I am
entirely
serious.”

Jag had to struggle to keep the elation out of his voice. And it was not just because he had blindsided Daala so completely that she could never win the race. He had never wanted to be the Imperial Head of State in the first place. At the end of the Second Civil War, Luke Skywalker had thrust him into the position as one element of an overarching peace plan, and he had accepted only to help assure an end to hostilities. Now, with him out of the race and Daala tainted by an illegal droch experiment, only one viable candidate remained—the best man for the job, in Jag’s opinion.

Jag gave Daala a sly wink, then left his podium and stopped to shake hands with Reige.

“Congratulations, Vitor,” he said. “You’re going to make an excellent Head of State.”

B
EN AWOKE
. H
E FELT THE FAMILIAR SOFTNESS OF
S
HIP’S GEL-CUSHION
floor beneath his aching body, and his temples pounding with the aftereffects of anesthetic gas … the same gas that filled the passenger cabin every time he tried to free himself.

As was his practice, he lay motionless, waiting for the fog to clear, trying to take stock of his circumstances. His hands remained behind him, secured by the same pair of stun cuffs that he had been trying to open when the gas had last come hissing from circulation vents. Judging by the numb ache in his shoulders, his arms had been folded under his back without moving for quite some time, and his tongue felt swollen with thirst. Clearly, this time he had been unconscious longer than a normal sleep cycle—for at least twenty-four hours, maybe even forty-eight.