[Legacy Of The Force] - 08(22)

Bastion had to rehearse the state funeral regularly because such magnificent displays of pomp and precision didn’t happen overnight. A leader might die at any time, and Bastion liked to be prepared. Pellaeon sipped his caf, aware of the hum of conversation at his back, and watched the carriage and the guard platoon vanish into Ravelin’s early-morning quiet.

“Doesn’t that depress you, sir?” asked Reige.

“Only if I’m taking part.” Pellaeon held out the translucent cup for a refill. “I’ll worry when I see hundreds of guards in their parade best.” He watched the reflection of the room behind him in the transparisteel sheet of the window, and noted each Moff’s arrival and whom he huddled with to chat before the meeting started. “Two minutes, Vitor, and then we begin.”

It was a regular weekly assembly of the Moff Council of the Empire, nothing extraordinary or unscheduled, but in the last twenty-four hours Pellaeon had been made aware of activity on the informal diplomatic front. He could still rely on Moff Sarreti to keep him up to speed on backroom politics even though the man was retired.

All those Moffs, and so very little Empire to play in. It was bound to make them restless.

Pellaeon glanced around the table during the meeting, playing the game of working out which of the Moffs wanted to assassinate him, and which saw some advantage in keeping him alive. Luckily, the only ones who were competent to take him on were also the most militarily able, and so were his allies. Nature had her checks and balances. They broke for caf.

All you need is patience, gentlemen. I’m ninety-two. Just sit it out.

“Admiral, may I refill your cup?” Lecersen was one of the old-school Moffs, a man who believed in duty. He even kept himself combat-fit and clipped his hair extra-short to a suede-like bloom across his skull. “I think this meeting is going to last a little longer than usual.”

Pellaeon sipped thoughtfully. “Did I ever tell you I was psychic?”

“I believe not.”

“Oh, I am. I believe a great opportunity is going to come our way, one that will change our destiny.”

Lecersen stifled a smile. “It’s very general, sir.”

“I’ll go out on a limb. I predict that at least one of our colleagues here has heard of a wondrous potential connected to the ongoing nastiness between the Galactic Alliance and the Confederation.”

Lecersen allowed the full grin to take over his face, and cast a cautious eye over the cluster of men who treated Grand Moff Quille as a center of gravity. “I must remember to ask you to advise me when placing odupiendo racing bets.”

Pellaeon didn’t know Jacen Solo as well as he would have liked, but one thing he did know was that the man was both manipulative and impatient, a combination that meant he tended to start playing his games early. It was only a matter of time before the rebuff of his offer to talk about joining the Galactic Alliance camp was countered with a discreet word to the Moffs about what luscious opportunities their senile leader had passed up without telling them. In fact, if Jacen didn’t do it, Pellaeon would lose his faith in the enduring power of self-interest, which had kept the galaxy turning about its core since the planets had cooled enough to support bacteria. Where Niathal stood in this he wasn’t yet sure; but he knew her well enough to judge that her failing was her inability to stop Jacen, not her active sanction of Jacen’s excesses as joint Chief of State.

“Admiral, something significant has come to our attention, “Quille said. “I wonder if we might discuss it in the wider context of the war.”

“The Empire has managed to stay out of the conflict so far, “said Pellaeon. Thank goodness for that, Jacen Solo. Faith is restored, and the galactic disk still turns. “What do you mean by context?”

“Threats and opportunities, Admiral. The war is sucking in more worlds, and the Jedi Council has upped sticks and moved out of Coruscant, which is a worrying development. It suggests more fragmentation in existing alliances, and that might make our neighboring sectors unstable. But it might also give us an opportunity to expand our sphere of influence.”

Pellaeon took a spoonful of jhen honey and held it above his cup, letting a long ribbon of the viscous amber run off the spoon into the caf, then twirled it with a practiced wrist while he waited for Quille to go on. It wasn’t the first time he’d used the silent routine on a meeting of the Moffs. They never seemed able to resist it, though, and by the time his spoon emerged shining and clean from the caf, they were getting uncomfortable and looking to Quille to fill the long gap.

“Do go on, “said Lecersen.