“Bureaucratic nonsense,” Ackbar raged, his voice rising on a wave of righteous indignation. “Whatever happened to taking the measure of a man’s courage, his honor—the fight in him, and the reasons in his heart? Do they all have to be as stamped-and-pressed alike as stormtroopers to get your approval?” He dismissed the recruiter with a wave. “Get out.”
Grateful to be excused, Warris retreated as Ackbar focused his attention on the supervisor.
“Admiral, we could certainly reconsider the application if you could just give us the context for your concern—” “The context,” Ackbar repeated disbelievingly. “It’s not enough that a man is willing to put on a uniform and fight alongside people he’s never met, just because he shares an ideal with them—no, his offer must come from the right context, and his school papers must be in order, and his arms not too long, and his blood type stocked in the combat medivacs.” Ackbar shook his head in disgust.
“How things have changed. I can remember when we were glad for anyone willing to fight beside us.”
“Admiral—there have to be standards—” The major’s tone was placating, and Ackbar did not wish to be placated. “Major, ask yourself how many of the everyday heroes of the Rebellion—not just the names everyone knows—would have qualified to fight for their freedom under your rules,” Ackbar said, leaning in.
“And then ask yourself if that answer doesn’t make you look just a bit like a dewback’s cloaca.” Then Ackbar turned and stalked out of the office without waiting for a reply, much less a salute.
Halfway down the corridor, Ackbar’s outburst was already making him feel a touch foolish. But what he found when he reached the waiting area left him feeling a deep sadness.
For Ackbar found that all the seats in the waiting area were empty.
Seemingly crushed by the rejection, Plat Mallar had not waited for him.
Without a word to clerk or guard, the young survivor had left the recruiting office, exited through the main gate, and faded away into the city.
Ackbar turned to the gate guard and pointed. “I’m going to need that speeder.”
CChapter 12
from experience on Coruscant and Mon Calamari both, Admiral Ackbar knew that the line that divided the inner circle from the outer circle in any government was access. If you were part of the inner circle, you could see the President simply by walking down a private corridor and through the back doorway into her office; when you called, the President spoke to you directly; when you transmitted a letter, you got a personal response.
Ackbar had enjoyed that status throughout Leia’s tenure in the top office, first as chief of state under the Provisional government, then as President of the New Republic.
Even
under
her
comparatively
open administration, that placed him in select company.
The private door was open to Han, of course. And Mon Mothma, who had chosen to distance herself from the Palace since her close call with an assassin led to her giving up the office. Nanaod Engh, who had not quite become a friend, but whose duties made him an everyday visitor.
Behn-kihl-nahm, though he was too well-mannered not to observe the protocols of high office.
Tarrick and Alole. And Ackbar.
Or so it had been before the Yevethan matter had escalated to a crisis.
But Ackbar had been jarred by the discovery that he was locked out of the President’s residence, his key disabled, his status as a member of the family suddenly withdrawn. So he had chosen to approach the President’s suite on level fifteen through the front door, and tried to prepare himself for another rebuff.
But the security guards outside the suite made no move to stop Ackbar, and though the staff inside showed some slight surprise at seeing him there, no one moved to bar him from the back rooms.
“Good morning, Admiral,” Alole said, looking up from her greatdesk with a smile. “Go right on in—she’s in her conference room, reviewing last week’s Senate debate.”
When he reached the doorway from the office to the conference room, Ackbar hesitated. Leia was standing at the end of the room with her back to him, hugging herself as she looked up at her holoviewer. The image on the screen was of Senator Tuomi. His tone was earnestly reasonable, his words subtly inflammatory.
“Is this door still open to me?” Ackbar’s voice boomed in the confined space.
Leia turned away from Tuomi only long enough to steal a look back over her shoulder. “If you didn’t have to shoot your way past Tarrick, then the door’s still open.”
“I shall try to remember to take a cue from the presence of weapons in the reception area.”