“I’m sorry.” Caedus tried to feel sorry, tried to remember that Turl was to Nevil as Allana was to him, but that mathematical equation was as close as he could come. Turl Nevil was a nobody, and now he was a nobody twisted and compressed by unimaginable gravitational forces into a tiny spot in space. Still, Caedus managed to keep an expression of sympathy fixed on his face.
Nevil apparently accepted it as such. “Thank you, sir.” He turned away, walking stiffly, to return to his duties.
The meeting took place in Caedus’s private office. Again, Admiral Niathal stood and paced while Caedus, imperturbable, sat.
“The Second Fleet is a shambles.” Niathal’s voice was deeper than usual, its pitch lowered by emotion.
Caedus nodded.
“The flagship, Blue Diver, was lost, and Fleet Admiral Limpan with her.”
Well, she wasn’t all that spectacular an admiral anyway, was she? “I know. It’s a disaster. I told you it was a trap. We just had no conception of the scope of the trap. Lure me out into open space, send up some derelict warships with skeleton crews to hold me in place for a few moments, and then fire the biggest gun in the universe at us. It had the elegance of simplicity.”
“How did you survive?”
Caedus sighed, then mentally trotted out the story he’d spent some time working up. “During my discussions with Captain Hoclaw, I felt a presentiment in the Force. A realization that part of the plan, a sideline to it, was that an elite unit was coming to retrieve the Hapan princess Allana. That’s what the Jedi Solo was there for. Once she escaped my security team, I retrieved the girl from her holding area and took her out in a starfighter to lure the retrieval team to me. The team consisted of Jedi in StealthXs. To my surprise, they were willing to kill me and let the little girl die, too, so I admit I underestimated their priorities a bit. Still, I had no problem eluding them until the primary wave of relief arrived, a squadron of starfighters, and drove them off. I’d ordered the Anakin Solo to follow the starfighters, which is why it was away from the engagement zone when the Centerpoint weapon fired.”
“Ah.” Niathal gave him a that-makes-sense nod. “You’re lucky.”
“Yes.”
“We need all our leaders to be lucky.”
“I agree.”
“We just lost a lot of unlucky commanders and ships we cannot replace. The Corellians traded us a flying junkyard for modern ships of the line. Confederation military strength may exceed ours now. With Centerpoint Station active, it certainly does.”
Caedus smiled. “Admiral, we’ve just won this war.”
That soft-spoken assertion stopped Niathal in the midst of her pacing. “Say that again?”
“The Corellians just handed us the trillion-credit game prize. The solution to our problems. We’ve won.”
“How?”
“We go to the Corellian system and take Centerpoint Station from them. And then we point it at anyone we choose.”
Niathal’s skin darkened-a color change Caedus suspected was similar to a blush or a flush of anger. “Ah. I had not realized that it was so simple. Shall I pack a lunch?”
Caedus waved her sarcasm away. “After Ben and I disabled Centerpoint, it wasn’t worth the loss we’d sustain if we devoted all our forces to take it, and at the time we wouldn’t have been willing to use it immediately.
“But now … if we mount a major naval offensive at the moment they think our navy is at its weakest … we can take it. And now we have the will to use it. You and I, we are that will.”
The admiral stood there for long moments, once again studying him, her own face inscrutable. “Do you have a plan?”
“I will by tomorrow.”
Niathal nodded. She turned and left.
Chapter 21
ABOARD THE ANAKIN SOLO, MAIN HANGAR BAY
Syal Antilles threaded her way through the Anakin Solo’s main hangar bay. Ordinarily this would have been no special task, but currently the space was overcrowded with starfighters-not just the vessel’s usual complement, but most of the vehicles that had survived the Centerpoint Station attack. Now starfighters were packed in far more tightly than the floor markings indicated was normal, and mechanics had been working twenty-hour days to repair and maintain them.
A diminutive woman with short brown hair and bangs that went awry whenever the faintest breeze crossed her face, Syal searched among the alphanumeric designations painted on walls, ceilings, and floor sections. VI7 was her destination, and only after she squeezed between two armored troop carrier shuttles did she spot it-an ordinary Lambda-class shuttle, its atmospheric wings locked into the up position, marked with Alliance symbols on bow, sides, and stern.