Omas paused to try to look her in the eye. “Admiral, you strike me as an officer raised in the traditions of decency. Honor. The rule of law. That goes out the window all too often in trying times.”
“I stick to what I’m tasked to do, and I’m grateful I don’t have to get involved in GAG business.”
Omas appeared to note the ambivalence. “Nominally, the GAG is under your command.”
Nominally … “You feel Colonel Solo is exceeding his boundaries and that I should apply them a little more emphatically.”
“I’m concerned about his operating procedures with suspects, I’ll admit that.”
“What do you wantfor me to admit I’m concerned, too?”
“Are you?”
“Sometimes.”
Omas’s brows lifted in a split second of hope. “I appreciate that it’s not easy to curb an officer who does so much to reassure the public.”
“We all need heroes in difficult times, even if we don’t need their protection as much as we think.”
“Indeed. And for all their muttering, I do believe the Jedi Council secretly relishes seeing one of their own kind adored for his two-fisted and muscular approach to keeping the peace. It dispels the image of their being passive mystics out of touch with grim reality.”
“Success is everyone’s child. Failure is an orphan.”
Omas smiled ruefully. “Well, he’ll either win the war for us … or bring us down.” He went back to his polished plain of a desk, looking somewhat shrunken when he sat behind it now. The small bronzium vase holding a single purple kibo bloom made the desk look all the more vast and empty. “Heroes have a habit of doing that.”
Us. Bring us down.
And politicians had a habit of sowing doubts and ideas that wormed into the subconscious. Niathal noted Omas’s subtle warning and almost began to explain that she already had the required degree of paranoia for a more political career, but he probably knew that by now. If he didn’t, she was slipping.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” she said.
Omas was a consummate statesbeing who’d survived attempts on his life and his career several times. He’d understand the entire conversation that was packed into that one line: that she knew Jacen was a loose cannon, that she knew he was massively, overwhelmingly ambitious, and that she knew she might find herself sidelined by him if she didn’t keep on her toes. And that she knew Omas was aware that her eyes were on his job, and that he might make that accession easier for her one day if she worked with him rather than with Jacen Solo.
Us. Political code was a very economical way of imparting delicate information without actually using incriminating words. It saved a lot of time and trouble.
Niathal took the silence as a cue that the meeting was over. As the doors closed behind her, she glanced back at Omas; her last glimpse
was one of a man who shut his eyes for a second as if completely exhausted.
He’ll strut back into the Senate in a couple of hours as if everything’s under control. Do I really want a job like that?
She still thought she did.
She had lunch in one of the Senate’s many eateries. There was always at least one tapcaf or restaurant open at any time of the day or night, some of them relaxed, some of them formal, all of them hotbeds of gossip, debate, and deal making. More government business went on in these places than ever transpired in the Senate chamber. They were also relatively safe places to talk to beings who might attract attention if she met them at the officers’ club. Hiding in plain sight worked remarkably well now, and nobody took much notice of the fact that she happened to be grabbing a snack at the same table as a Gossam called Gefal Keb, a senior civil servant in the public protection department. Their voices were drowned in the general chatter. They referred to Jacen as the New Boy, the GAG as the Club; Omas became, inevitably, the Boss. It was unoriginal, but for ears attuned to picking out names from across the room, it seized no attention.
“Is the New Boy under any threat from our boisterous friends in Keldabe?” she asked.
“Not a word coming out of there.” Keb had a way of slowly taking in everything around him, 360 degrees. “But if they were planning anything, they wouldn’t tell CSR Word is that Shevu is seriously hacked off with his way of doing business, too.”
“Shevu’s very old-fashioned about losing prisoners. Anyone else in the Club unhappy with the management?”
“Oddly, no. The New Boy’s willingness to lead from the front does breed loyalty, I admit.”
“Who’s he spying on now?”
“Not you, as far as I can tell. I’d be very surprised if he wasn’t keeping an unauthorized eye on the Boss, but I don’t have any hard evidence yet. The Club’s good at covering its tracks, as you’d expect.”