“I’m asking you to watch my back, “he said. “At Fon-dor, and probably for some time after that. Perhaps some sweeping up if Solo can’t hold what he tries to grab. If he keeps winning, I want a counterweight ready to throw in before he turns on us like he turned on his allies and fam-ily. If he gets too cocky and loses, we’ll have to step in and restore order, because the Confederation isn’t capable of forming a galactic administration, and the remaining unaligned worlds are a complete shambles.”
“We do at least know how to run things.”
“How much weight can you add, Daala?”
She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. The eye-patch bothered him. It wasn’t because it disfigured her-it lent her a rather raffish chic, in fact, and gave her one visible eye the impact of an emerald laser-but because he couldn’t imagine what kind of injury required it. Eyes could be replaced. And she wore the patch as if she had been used to it for a long time.
“I can, “she said at last, “have a full fleet at Fondor with one standard hour’s lead time.”
“How much? How many?”
“Let’s just say I don’t waste resources I find, and a lot of worlds the GA doesn’t notice owe me favors after the Vong War. The fleet won’t be modern, but it will be deadly. Does that answer your question?”
Pellaeon thought of all the prototypes and technology that the old Empire had funded and that had vanished and never seen the light of day. Daala must still have had capital ships in readiness; she’d escaped with Scylla, at the very least. But a battle was a lot less about big ships these days, and more about flexibility and agility-small vessels could be much more of an asset.
“Jacen Solo has half the GA Fourth Fleet, “he said.
Daala nodded. “Fondor can rival that firepower. Not beat it, but it can give a good account of itself.”
“But the GA hasn’t committed enough ground troops to take and hold Fondor, just the orbitals. Solo’s heavy on ordnance, though.”
“So he’s either going specifically to destroy their fleet, or he’s not too choosy about the state he leaves the planet in.” Daala hadn’t touched her syrspirit. “Because if he doesn’t destroy their fleet and subdue the planet, he won’t be able to hold the orbitals. He’ll be occupying them and fending off attacks-busy job. Unless he plans to destroy them as well.”
“If you’re asking me if I know his ultimate intention, no, I don’t.”
“And you’re committing Imperial forces on that basis?”
“I’ve gone into battle with far less.”
“And we’ve both seen governments start wars with no idea how they plan to end them, or even what to do once the initial targets have been taken. Gil, I hope that all you’re planning to do is stand there holding Solo’s coat while he has his scrap, waiting to see who wins.”
Pellaeon believed in the value of his word. Integrity was a matter of honor, but it was also a pragmatic thing: if you did what you said you would, then your threats carried as much weight as your promises, and your pledges to allies secured tangible benefits. A liar lost friends fast in war. Pellaeon walked the fine line between not admitting that he had doubts about Jacen and contingency plans if things went wrong for him, and misleading an ally.
If Bastion were attacked, would he risk his fleet for us? Pellaeon was sure the answer was no. Jacen Solo flew by the seat of his Force-sensitive pants, which meant conventional planning with him was impossible. Pellaeon’s only option was to be ready to pick up the pieces. The prize of Bilbringi and Borleias was looking increasingly irrelevant, a free gift that had a price tag all the same.
“Gil, are you still with me?” Daala asked, tapping his knee.
“Sorry, my dear.”
“Do you want me to make you feel better about getting into this spot?” She stood up as if to leave. “This is about your sense of responsibility. Your home is safe, but there’s a riot in the street. You feel you have to step outside and stop it. It might even damage your home if you don’t.”
“I’m not sure if that’s welcome clarity, or indulgent comfort for an old man, Daala.”
“And then you’ve got your greedy children clamoring to loot the stores that the riot has trashed. The Moffs are a handful. You should try my method of enforcing consensus.”
“Ah, my queen of analogies…” Daala had brought feuding Imperial warlords into line by gassing them. She never wasted time. “I’ll try reason first, I think.”
“I have no love for Moffs, Gil, and I plan to kill some of them.” Daala opened the hatch and stepped out into the passage. “Show me the ship.”