“No, “Jaina said. Jacen liked his illusions, though; it didn’t surprise her. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again, Fett.”
If he walked much farther, he’d end up treading vacuum. He was trying to make some space to think in, she could tell that.
And he left Jacen for me.
Jaina pondered that for the rest of the day.
AFT ENGINEERING FLAT, FORMER IMPERIAL STAR DESTROYER BLOODFIN
Daala walked along the row of bodies, looking as if she were carrying out a parade inspection on troops who just happened to be lying flat on their backs.
She paused a couple of times to put her weight on one polished boot, the other leg extended gracefully for balance, and leaned over slightly to frown at a name on a badge. Quille’s coup days were over. One Moff earned a closer inspection and an exploratory prod with her boot.
“That’s one of the misogynist parasites I wanted to kill personally for Liegeus, “she said. “Fett, I’m disappointed.”
“Shab, we always forget to check ID when folks open fire on us…” Carid lifted his helmet and wiped his forehead with the palm of his glove. “We’ll fix our quality-control process, ma’am. I can stand him up again, and then you can put a round in him if you like.”
Daala said nothing and didn’t take her eyes off the Moffs, but stepped back and patted Carid’s helmet with unerring accuracy as he held it in one hand.
Fett understood her, even if the comment was veneered in a joke. “Ten percent discount for killing the right barve too fast at the wrong time.”
“You’re a gentleman, Fett. Come on, we’ll leave the sanitation crew to their task. Let’s keep this ship immaculate for poor Gil.”
So Bloodfin was her ship now, another toy taken from the squabbling boys who wouldn’t let her play the last time. She walked along the passageway with the confidence of ownership, but she didn’t go into the day cabin where Pellaeon had been murdered. Instead, she carried on through the ship and down a couple of decks to the wardroom, where small clusters of gray-uniformed officers were sitting around small tables, talking in low voices. They looked like men-they were all human males, which no doubt made Daala bristle-who’d suddenly realized what it meant to be exiled a long way from home. They jumped to attention when they spotted Daala. She pressed all their admiral-on-deck buttons without even trying.
“As you were, gentlemen.” She gave them a little nod and a hand gesture that said not to bother with protocol right then, and settled herself in one of the more luxuri-ously upholstered seats in a private corner. There were blaster burns everywhere. “So that’s the new Sith approach, is it, Fett? Shooting a man Gil’s age, after all the years of service he’s given the galaxy. Do you think the Jedi can get rid of them this time?”
Fett thought of Jaina Solo, stuck with the dilemma that removing Sith the permanent way meant becoming like them, at least for a short while. Expedience messed up those high-flown morals. “If they do, they’ll only come back again. Swing of the pendulum.”
“As long as you’ve got Jedi, you’ll get Sith, “said Daala. “One begets the other.” Fett tried to recall his history lessons, the sort that Mandalorians knew even if nobody else did. “Yeah. Gets tire-some.”
“Come on, Fett, you did all right out of Vader.”
“Sith paid Mandalorians for millennia. We had a war with them, too, and guess who didn’t win. It’s a cycle of sectarian brawls. Everyone else gets hit by the flying bottles. I’ve done my bit to remove the problem, but they just keep coming back.”
“Folks say the same about Mandos.”
Daala examined her nails, deep in thought. A steward darted out from behind the counter with drinks on a tray, a real human steward and a real ionite tray, because the Imperials were particular about that kind of thing. Daala nursed the glass for a while but didn’t drink. Fett didn’t touch his at all.
“I think there can be a third way, “she said. “No Jedi Council. Keep them in their box, away from politics, and certainly never arm them.”
“Ordinary barves running their own affairs? You crazy woman, Daala. It’ll never catch on.”
She fondled the glass again, and didn’t put it down this time. “You have a better idea?”
“No. But arrogant stupidity doesn’t always come bundled with midichlorians. It’s everywhere.”
“So who succeeds Jacen Solo when someone finally drops him down a reactor shaft, come the glorious day? Because it won’t be that poisonous little Vong-bait Tahiri-over my dead body. And hers, of course.”