Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 07_ Conviction - Aaron Allston [140]
They did, growling to themselves.
Han nodded approvingly. “Good. Now understand something. I said you had the brains of a sand flea not because you do, since you don’t, but as an illustration of my other point, that you’re a slave, which you are.”
“Explain that.”
“Happy to. If I’d wandered into this tent an hour ago and told you, I command you to stand up, grab at your blaster, fail to get it into your hand, and look like an idiot, would you have done it?”
“No.”
“But you did. I made you do it. I walked up here intending that you do this thing, and you did it exactly as I wanted, because you’re a slave. If you can be counted on to do certain things when people say or do certain things to you, you are a slave. A button-operated droid. Trust me, I know, I’ve been one, in the spice mines of Kessel, the most famous and prestigious slave gig in the galaxy. The Sand Panthers know you won’t condemn what Grunel did, and that’s fine by them, because it means they can continue to do their fighting outside the law, since they’ll never go legitimate under you. The Council of Elders know you’re the tool of the Sand Panthers, so they won’t throw their weight behind you, but because you want to lead, they can lure you around and make you dance for their bait. And all your political opponents need to do is question your love of your brother to keep you pinned in place like an insect in a collection. At no point during this whole process do you grow up to be a free man.”
Padnel stared at him for long, hard seconds, then finally spoke. “Put your blaster away.”
Han withdrew it a few centimeters, twirled it, and holstered it. “Going to kill me now?”
“I should.” But instead, Padnel turned away and headed for the tent flap, his body language stiff, furious. When Nialle and his guards moved to follow him, he waved them back and departed alone.
Reni heaved a sigh and looked at Han. Hers was the expression of a sabacc player who’d just been bluffed out of the pot.
Han moved to stand beside Leia. She seemed at ease, but Han had seen her take that balanced, poised stance plenty of times. It meant she was a fraction of a second from drawing and striking with her lightsaber.
He smiled at her. “Lunch?”
They walked out into the sun.
Leia gave him a pensive look. “If I’ve grasped what just happened, you’ve manipulated Padnel into standing up against people who he now thinks have been manipulating him all along, whether or not they really have. And he’ll do it by condemning the destruction of the Fireborn because you’ve led him to believe that’s the only way he can assert his independence.”
Han nodded. “That’s about the size of it.”
“How, exactly, did that work?”
“No man under a certain age, or under a certain intelligence rating, can stand to be called a little boy holding on to his mother’s knee. I’ve fallen for that one plenty of times myself. Luke’s done it to me. You’ve done it to me. I knew I could do it to Padnel. After all, he has the brains of a sand flea.”
“Join me, Han, and we can rule the galaxy as wife and husband.”
He shuddered. “How about lunch with Allana instead?”
“All right.”
HERKAN BASE, GOLAN III SPACE DEFENSE
NOVAGUN, ABOVE NAM CHORIOS
THE NEW SHIFT OF GUNNERY CREW MEMBERS FILED OFF THE SHUTTLE, through the air lock, and into the station. A few meters down the first corridor was a security station, little more than a desk blocking half the corridor and a bored-looking human Alliance Army corporal waving a scanner at the identicards and orders cards presented by each crew member.
One member of the relief crew, a lean young woman with reddish brown hair mostly tucked up under her army billed cap, knelt to adjust the closure on her right boot. By the time she’d finished and risen, all the other members had passed the desk.
She moved to it but did not hold up any cards for the corporal to scan.
He glanced at her, noted her rank markings. “Where are your orders, Private?