[Legacy Of The Force] - 08(110)
They had to come home to Bastion sooner or later. They knew what the consequences would be if they escalated from merely fantasizing about ousting him to actually attempting a coup. If they made a move now, they’d have to mean it.
“I admit they’re not impressing me with their cohesion, “Pellaeon said. He was conscious that he had Jacen’s eyes and ears in the compartment with him. “But we withdraw, and we wait. Now’s the time to concentrate on getting rescue parties deployed, and to see which hulls we can salvage.”
Tahiri Veila watched silently. She reminded him increasingly of the villips that the Yuuzhan Vong had used as communications channels, living creatures like disembodied eyes that saw and heard everything, bonded to their users from birth like hatchling nuna. Out of all the repellent or-ganic technology of the Yuuzhan Vong, that was one of those he found most disturbing, even compared with their living weapons. It was the sensation of being spied upon; it was really no different from a comlink, but because it was alive it somehow made his flesh crawl. The things mimicked their user’s voice and could even shape themselves to look like the speaker’s head, and he half expected Tahiri to spout Jacen’s voice and her features to transform into his. The little Yuuzhan Vong ritual scars on her forehead did nothing to take away the feeling. He stared at her until she moved away to the far side of the compartment.
“Solo can’t retain power after this, “Grand Moff Siralt whispered. “He’s totally discredited now. Is Niathal going to honor the Borleias-Bilbringi agreement, though?”
“We won’t know for now, “Pellaeon said. Moffs always flew straight for the fresh carcass, however much mayhem was going on around them; Pellaeon’s priority for the next few hours was simply to preserve the fleet, and worry about spoils later. “Chances are that she will, because she’s a pragmatist, and she needs our muscle. First things first, though.”
Moff Quille-ah, Jacen’s new lever inside the Moff Council-didn’t take the hint. “They’re in disarray, and Fondor is still restorable, even if it’s crippled in places. I’d trade a couple of B-list planets for this.”
Quille couldn’t even stay loyal to someone who was encouraging him to be disloyal to his own head of state. Pellaeon savored the irony, and hoped that villip Tahiri overheard that little snippet.
“They’re not in disarray, “he said. “The headless body of the administration twitching out there is one thing, but they still have fully operational warships all around us, with rules of engagement, and if anyone here tries to pull a stunt like moving in on Fondor-without even a plan, you fool-then it won’t end well.”
Without a plan. Pellaeon was pretty sure that some conversations had gone on in back rooms about contingencies like that while the old man’s back was turned. “I’m very clear what we do now, and you will do it. Fondor has surrendered. The fighting is over. We do not take aggressive action now. The GA has achieved its objective, and all it has to do now is to sort out who’s actually running it, while we have a caf and lick our wounds. Do you understand me?”
He didn’t underestimate Quille, or how many other cliques in the council the man could enlist. There was a small army of Moffs out there-in ships of the fleet, or back home, or right under his nose here-and only one Admiral Pellaeon. He held the Empire together with the complex net of personal loyalties, the Moffs’ collective awareness that he was usually right, and a rarely administered but effective dose of retribution for those who didn’t play the sensible game. Without that, all he had to enforce his word was his Imperial service blaster, not even a massively lethal one. Power was a nebulous thing when you examined it; just like Luke Skywalker’s phantom fleet, in fact.
“I said, Moff Quille, do you understand me?”
Perhaps not just a blaster, though. Pellaeon did have his backup, but Admiral Daala wasn’t needed yet, certainly not for the primary engagement. There was a lot to be said for keeping his powder dry. He had a concealed personal comlink permamently open to her anyway, so she could hear what he was doing minute by minute, and she was monitoring the battle. Ten standard minutes away; at least she’d gained useful intelligence from being an observer.
The command center staff went about their business, occasionally glancing Quille’s way, because most of them had seen Pellaeon smack a wayward Moff into line before and there was no novelty in the spectacle. Pellaeon never raised his voice unless the ambient noise level required it. In this quiet part of the ship, slow emphasis alone made his point. Tahiri watched as if she was straining to hear.