[Black Fleet Crisis] - 02(109)

Praget’s obvious eagerness to give the Bothan the floor only confirmed that expectation. But Fey’lya changed direction abruptly, leaving their expectations falling to the floor as dust.

“President Organa Solo,” Fey’lya said, smiling politely.

“I’m sorry we’ve had to take up so much of your time at such a critical juncture. I have just one question for you this morning. If you could revisit any of these decisions of the last several days, with no more knowledge than was available to you the first time, would you change any of them?”

Leia blinked in surprise—Fey’lya might as well have laid his coat across a puddle for her. Praget gaped, then fell into a coughing fit.

“No, Senator,” Leia said, unable to see a trap. “I believe we were right to demand that the Yevetha withdraw, and that I consulted properly with the Defense Council before doing so. I believe we were right to try to enforce the ultimatum with a blockade, and that I consulted properly with the Supreme Commander before doing so. I believe we were right to respond to the Yevethan ambush immediately with the forces available, and that General A’baht acted within his authority in doing so. The outcome wasn’t what we wanted, but not for reasons we had any cause to anticipate.”

Praget snorted derisively at the last, but Fey’lya accepted her answer with a nod. “Thank you, Princess.

Chairman Beruss?”

The balance of the discussion was brief and inconsequential, and they voted with Leia still present. The vote was two to five against, with only Rattagagech joining Praget.

“The petition fails,” said Beruss. “That being the only business before the Council, this session is adjourned.”

Jaw set and an ugly look in his eyes, Praget headed directly for Fey’lya. Buoyed by relief, Leia headed for the corridor. Before she reached it, Behn-kihl-nahm joined her, and they walked away from the chambers together.

“I thought it would be Fey’lya,” she said.

“It will be,” Behn-kihl-nahm said. “Krall Praget got there first.”

“Why?”

“Turf violation,” Behn-kihl-nahm said. “You didn’t consult with Praget before acting. And the intelligence you depended on didn’t come through him.”

“So why didn’t Fey’lya support him? Did someone forget to bring the rope for the hanging?”

“Because the moment is premature. Because he knew that the petition would not carry, even with his vote,” said Behn-kihl-nahm. “The outcome was foreordained, long before you were called in.”

“How?”

“By the outcome of the vote on who would chair the meeting. When Fey’lya saw that Praget would not get to run the session, he knew that this was not the day.”

“Would it violate the secrecy of the proceedings to tell me who raised that issue?”

A hint of a smile tugged tellingly at the corner of Behn-kihl-nahm’s mouth. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty.”

Leia’s answering smile was broad and affectionate.

“Whoever it was, Bennie, please thank him for me.”

“I’m sure he would not think that necessary. I’m certain he would say he was acting for the good of the Republic.”

“Thank him anyway,” Leia said. “So what happens now?”

“You have a little time. But not so much as you would like, or probably as much as is required,” said the chairman. “When the air is saturated with fear, it needs only a seed around which it can begin to coalesce. The same is true of ambition. This is only the beginning of the challenges, Leia. And if nothing changes, the next time you may not survive.”

Viceroy Nil Spaar’s newly expanded breedery on the top level of the palace quarters now had sixteen alcoves.

All but one of them contained a birth-cask, supple and fertile, or a maturing nesting, bulging and fecund.

The empty space had once been occupied by the mara-nas of Kei, who had been his first. Her birth-cask had brought forth two handsome nitakka and a strong marasi before succumbing to the gray death. He had left that alcove open to respect Kei’s place as darna of his family, and to give her some comfort against her envy of his younger mates.

By design and custom, the breedery was a quiet, private place. But Nil Spaar had chosen to have his visitor brought to him there.

“So you are Tal Fraan,” he said.

“Yes, darama,” the young proctor said, kneeling in submission.

“Rise,” Nil Spaar said. “I am told you are the architect of the rout of the vermin at Preza.”

“I am honored by the darama’s notice,” Tal Fraan said, his glance jumping past the viceroy to the alcoves beyond. “But the opportunity for success was created by the darama, with the aid of our shipbuilders, who have given us such splendid weapons.”