Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [41]
“Thanks for the advice,” Han said. “So what do you want from me?”
“Prevent your mate from making that mistake,” said Nil Spaar. “Persuade her to recall her fleet. Promise us on the blood of your own children that what is ours now will be ours forever. You will preserve the blood of thousands—and your own as well.”
“You’ll let us go?” Barth asked, an eager hopefulness coloring his words.
The viceroy did not look away from Han. “You are more useful to me as a witness than as a martyr, General,” Nil Spaar said, rising from his stool. “Come—look.”
The viceroy led Han to the window, then stepped aside to allow Han an unimpeded view. Squinting, Han looked out on a tumble of buildings and, beyond, a great field of giant silver spheres—Aramadia-class thrustships. It was a stunning, numbing sight. The starships were parked so closely together that it was difficult to count them, even though Nil Spaar allowed him to linger at the window.
“What you see is the product of the Nazfar Metalworks Guild,” said Nil Spaar softly. “There is such a guild on every world of the Twelve, General. Do you understand? You cannot prevail against us. But you can preserve your children’s blood, if you choose to.”
Shaking his head, Han turned away from the window. “Why? Why even make the offer, unless you think we might win?”
“Because you would become our obsession, for as many years as it took to destroy you,” the viceroy said. “And there are better uses for blood and the labor of our young. I have paid you the compliment of believing the same is true for your kind.”
The roar of undampered pulsejets drew Han’s attention to a thrustship climbing skyward from the far edge of the array. Torn by conflicting impulses and struggling to focus his thoughts, Han stalled by making his way slowly back to the bench.
“What did you see? What’s out there?” Barth asked.
“A fleet of new warships,” Han said. “At least a hundred of them.”
“Well, there’s only one choice, then, isn’t there? He’s right—stopping the war would be an act of mercy. Now that you know what we’d be up against, you have to stop it.”
Han’s gaze jumped from Barth to Nil Spaar. “Only if I’m willing to forget the blood that’s already been spilled,” he said. “You didn’t see the intelligence reports I saw, Lieutenant—colonies scoured off the face of planets, entire populations exterminated as though they were no more than kitchen pests—”
“Han, please think about this. Do you want the next planet to be Coruscant or Corellia?” Barth pleaded.
Han kept his gaze fixed on Nil Spaar, who was listening impassively. “Do you know that they recorded it all, without even the decency to look away or feel shame? As though they were proud of it—of how efficiently they could murder millions.” He shook his head slowly. “No. You can’t compromise with an evil as cold as theirs, Lieutenant—not even to spare the lives of our mother’s children.”
Still Nil Spaar said nothing. But Barth was nearly frantic with fear. “Please, do what he asks. Think of all the casualties, the ships burning—Han, they’re going to kill us!”
“Would you rather live as a coward?” Han demanded. “It’ll be a tragedy for even one more good pilot to die fighting them. But it’d be something far worse if we turned our backs and walked away—if no one stood up for the millions who are already dead. And I’ll be damned if I’ll be part of it.” His eyes burned into the viceroy’s. “You can burn to blazes. I won’t help you.”
Nil Spaar nodded agreeably and spoke a word in Yevethan. Two guards appeared at the doorway and bound Han to the bar just as Barth had been.
“Please, do something—tell him you’ve changed your mind—”
“Get a grip on yourself, Lieutenant,” Han said grimly. “He doesn’t deserve to enjoy this.”
The viceroy moved closer, his fighting crests becoming engorged until they seemed to be