[Legacy Of The Force] - 08(41)

“If, “said Niathal. “If we get his blessing. He hates your guts.”

“So do you, Admiral.” Jacen smiled. “But we still work well together. It’s an efficient strategy, two beings with no love lost between them, maneuvering…”

This was the problem with Jacen. If he had been demon-strably, consistently, visibly incompetent or insane, it would have been easy to dismiss him, and much easier to consider removing him the hard way. On sleepless nights, Niathal even found herself wondering how she could assassinate a Force user with prodigious powers and awareness of approaching danger. She always chose bombarding them from orbit with a planet-killer-hypothetically, at least. Usually she thought about mutiny, and whether she might be on the receiving end of it if she didn’t make up her mind. She had never had those thoughts in her life before. But then Jacen would confuse her and negate all those justified fantasies by being strategic, sensible, and successful.

She needed him to do something barking mad to steer her one way or the other, and the murder of Lieutenant

Tebut was pretty close to the final get-rid-of-Jacen token she needed to collect to salve her conscience.

As if I could take him down alone.

“I agree that we should take Fondor out of the game sooner rather than later.”

“Is that a yes to formally approaching the Imperial Remnant?”

“It’ll make us look as if we can’t handle the job on our own, but-yes, we’re at overstretch. I can’t complain, having nagged you about that so often.”

“Excellent, “Jacen said. He seemed as pleased as a child being told he could hold a party and invite friends. “I’ll send Tahiri Veila to see Pellaeon.”

“Haven’t we got a more seasoned officer free to do the job?”

“She can be very persuasive. Much tougher than she looks, too.”

“Very well, but next time you want her to play with cannons-make sure she’s a member of the Defense Force. Give her a commission. Enlist her, if you don’t think she’s officer material. But make sure she understands wars are not for civilians.”

Jacen’s guard seemed as down as it ever would be. They’d argued, after a fashion, admitted they disliked each other, and yet reached an agreement; all mistrust seemed to have been aired. Niathal slid in her knife.

“What kind of Jedi are you, Jacen?” she asked. “Because my meetings with the Jedi Council were never quite so target-oriented and ruthless.”

“I don’t do things their way, it’s true.”

“Are you a Sith?”

Jacen’s loss of composure was always betrayed by his eyes. He could control the rest of his face and his body language-Niathal knew human psychology almost as well as Mon Cals’ now-but there was always something in his eyes when he was caught out. She couldn’t even pin it down beyond a slight flicker. But whatever it was, she saw it now.

“What do you know about Sith?” he asked, all quiet rea-son.

“Oh, not much. I know Palpatine was a Sith, and he was a brilliant tactician-no quarter given, all exits sealed, the kind of total war that I could never see Master Skywalker waging in an eternity. Which is why I ask, because your ability to see the whole picture reminds me of that.”

The first sentence was true; the second was a lie, of course.

“Yes, “Jacen said quietly. “I’m a Sith.”

“We should teach Sith tactics at the academy, then, “said Niathal, knowing that she would probably rather have the Yuuzhan Vong back instead.

Jacen gave her that patronizing smile that said he didn’t think she understood what was happening and pitied her for being so inadequate. That was fine. She was pleased with her progress, and hoped he detected that and misin-terpreted it as basking in his temporary approval.

“I’ll brief Tahiri, “he said, and left.

Niathal suspected that Tahiri was already on her way, but it didn’t matter. She sat looking at the holochart and wondering how an Imperial Moff might see it, what temptations it might suggest. Had Pellaeon not still been running Bastion, the Remnant might have already been in the war, or at least circling the battlefield looking to take advantage of the chaos. But he was in his nineties and wouldn’t live forever, so perhaps managing their ambitions now would prevent them boiling out of the Braxant sector in a few years’ time like kids let out of school, bent on mischief.

I hate it when you might be right, Jacen…

“Admiral, “said the droid, “Captain Shevu asks if you can spare him five minutes.”

“Yes, show him in.” Niathal shut down the holochart and had the feeling she might need to erase a little of the droid’s memory. “If anyone calls, tell them I’m in a procurement planning meeting.”