[Legacy Of The Force] - 07(89)

“No, we’re not. This is a new one. I’m not asking you to set aside your focus, to distract yourself from training for your next mission. I’m not asking you to roll the chrono back fifteen years to when we were teenagers.” Despite the discomfort, he pulled himself back so that he could sit up against the pillows at the head of his bed. “I’m asking you to tell me if I have a place in your life. Someone you’d turn to if you’d ever just acknowledge that you needed some help. Someone you’d miss more than occasionally if he went away. Am I your friend?”

Knowing the answer he wanted to hear, the answer that would help him get better, Jaina opened her mouth to offer it. Then she shut up again. He deserved better than that. He deserved the truth. She just wasn’t sure what the truth was.

It took her long moments to sift out her feelings from the bewildering insulating layer of decisions and codes of conduct she’d fabricated for herself. To find it, she had to look past what she had to do and be; she had to find the place where she kept what she wanted to do and be.

But she found her answer. “Yes. I am.”

“Good.” He held out his hand.

She put hers on it.

He relaxed. “So, what’s next for yow?”

“A mission. Simple stuff. Rescue a princess-a Solo family tradition. Blow up a big space station.”

“Also a Solo family tradition.”

“You can get in on it, if you can get yourself back in shape in time.”

“I will. And if you ever need someone to dress up in a black costume and beat you up…”

Jaina smiled. “Just shut up.”



CORELLIA, CORONET, COMMAND BUNKER

This late at night, with no enemy forces in orbit, the command bunker was nearly deserted, and usually the hum of atmosphere conditioners was the only thing to be heard on most floors, in most chambers.

But in the primary communications chamber-not the elegant studio where most transmissions were initiated or received, not the secure Prime Minister’s chamber where Sadras Koyan did so much of his talking-the banks of holocomm equipment were alive, adding their own hum to the ambient noise.

Minister of Information Denjax Teppler looked up for the thousandth time, making sure that the door into the chamber was still secure, that there were no warning diodes lit on the devices he had patched in to subvert the holocam over the door. Then he returned his attention to his task at hand. One of the holocomm control banks was open before him, and it was the work of just a few more moments to finish wiring in the bypass card he’d brought-the device that would keep the communication he was about to receive from being copied to the offices of Corellian Security.

For he was about to commit yet another act of treason, and he needed to do it properly.

His task finished, he stepped to the primary control panel, checked his chrono, and activated the device. He moved to stand against the chamber’s one blank wall, an auxiliary transmission spot that had not been used in years.

Thirty seconds later, a glow appeared in the air before him and resolved into a holographic shape-General Turr Phennir, scarred and imposing. … and just a bit over a meter tall. “Good afternoon, Minister Teppler.”

“Night, where I am, but I reciprocate.” Teppler frowned. “How tall-never mind, there’s something wrong at my end. Hold on.” He moved back to the control panel, noted that the received-image scale preference was set to 60 percent for this transmission origin, and overrode it temporarily, setting it to 100 percent.

Phennir flickered, then instantly assumed Teppler’s own height.

Teppler returned to the wall and now could look the general eye-to-eye at the same altitude. “That’s better.”

“Another symptom of your leader’s mental deficits.”

Teppler waved that subject away. “I didn’t ask for this communication to discuss the Prime Minister’s eccentricities. I asked for it so we could talk about your unofficial embargo of Corellia. You’re holding back supplies and materiel we desperately need.”

“And I agreed to this exchange because Koyan’s incompetence must be our main topic of discussion. Because that incompetence is the reason for the embargo.”

Teppler grimaced. “We’re an ally, and you’ve left us dangerously vulnerable.”

“Allow me to explain why. Because you’re a politician, I will use similes and other conversational aides.”

“Not to mention insults.”

Phennir paused. “You’re right. My anger at the Prime Minister has spilled over to you. I apologize. Still, imagine you’re a mighty warrior. You would be less mighty if you lost one of your arms.”