Niathal’s presence blew in like a storm building on the horizon a few moments before she appeared. Caedus and Tahiri paused and turned together.
“Bad form, yes. I agree. No dead civilians.” Niathal walked over to the chart, hands clasped behind her back; in her pristine whites and gold braid, she was the quintes-sence of admiralty as she cocked her head to study the holoschematic chart of the system. Caedus knew that Mon Gals’ eyes were positioned so that the tilt was necessary to focus closely, but to a human the gesture always smacked of doubt, as if she thought he was the dim boy in the class who never got the right answer. “So, the impenetrable ring of detonite, eh, Jacen?” She turned to Tahiri. “How smart you look in a proper uniform, my dear. Welcome to the fleet.”
Caedus cut in. Niathal was in one of her irritating smug moods, no doubt thrilled at the prospect of his absence. “I’m deploying to Fondor tonight, remember. I’m sure you’ll miss me.”
“That begs a joke, but I’m no comedian.”
“Five minelayers should be in position a few hours ahead of the rest of the task force.” Jacen glanced at the wall chrono. “There’ll be a shell around the entire planet when I get there.”
Niathal extended a long bony fin of a finger into the nest of tangled, glowing lines dotted with multicolored lights. “Don’t forget that you lay the inner ring first, though, will you?”
“Oh, you’re too modest when you say you’re not a comedian, Admiral…”
Niathal felt as if she was savoring the carefully worded fight. “And these won’t be activated until we’ve warned Fondor and given a one-standard-hour general shipping alert, will they?”
“Not issuing a warning about planetary mine nets would be a war crime, Admiral, because of civilian traffic…”
“That’s why I ask. You’re so forgetful lately. And we’ll take the decision to activate jointly, won’t we?”
“I’m a team player. I look forward to it.”
He didn’t need his Force senses to tell him that she wouldn’t miss him. “I’ve put the Third Fleet rapid-reaction force on alert, so if you need help, do call.”
“I’ll give the blockade a week before we move to the assault phase.”
“We didn’t discuss that.”
“Oh, I thought of it later…”
“Why create a mine shell if you don’t intend to sit it out? It’s not as if we have hulls and troops to spare.”
“Because I still think we should take the yards sooner rather than later, and we can pick them off once the planet is locked down. Then, when the yards are secured, I intend to capture the capital and main regional centers.”
“Yes, you did say that, but let me remind you that there are still five billion Fondorians, at least half of them on the planet’s surface, and most in those cities.”
“I’m hoping it won’t get to that stage. I may sacrifice one yard to show I mean business, but Fondor won’t want its industrial infrastructure destroyed. Will it? Small, rich world, one that will see sense.”
“Corellia has an even smaller population, and look how well that went.” Niathal checked the splendid gold fob chrono on her jacket. “My, is that the time? I must be going.” She headed for the doors.
“Wow, “Tahiti said, when Niathal was long out of earshot. “Are you two always that barbed with each other?”
“It’s how we keep on our toes.” Caedus would have been much more worried if Niathal oozed sweetness and light to him; as long as he felt that she despised him-and he felt it-and she paraded her disdain openly, he knew he could still trust her not to attack him. She was much more transparent than he’d first expected. “She’s actually very, very good at her job. I just wish she’d accept that she’s not very good at mine.”
“You can feel her hatred. I certainly can.”
“It’s not hatred, Tahiri, “Caedus said. “It’s disdain, contempt and a certain superior pleasure at being better and nicer than me-as she sees it. That’s loathing, perhaps. Not hatred. Hatred is close to fear, and always has an element of dread in it. Like love has a component of pity, and it’s just as hard to see the line between the two.”
Tahiri might have taken it at face value, or she might have been unpicking hidden meaning in it. He hoped she was doing the latter. “I’ll turn to at eighteen hundred, “she said, as if she’d learned all the new jargon to impress him and possibly secure another fruitless, tantalizing glimpse of Anakin. “Sir.”