In theory, Inner Council meetings were supposed to be a quieter, more casual sort of encounter than the more formal Provisional Council3 things. In actual practice, Han had long ago found out, an Inner Council grilling could be just as rough as being raked over the fires by the larger group.
“Let me get this straight, then, Captain Solo,” Borsk Fey’lya said with his usual oily politeness. “You, alone, and without consultation with anyone in official authority, made the decision to cancel the Bimmisaari mission.”
“I’ve already said that,” Han told him. He felt like suggesting to the Bothan that he pay better attention. “I’ve also stated my reasons for doing so.”
“Which, in my opinion, were good and proper ones,” Admiral Ackbar’s gravelly voice interjected in Han’s support. “Captain Solo’s duty at that point was abundantly clear: to protect the ambassador in his charge and to return safely to alert us.”
“Alert us to what?” Fey’lya countered. “Forgive me, Admiral, but I don’t understand what exactly this threat is we’re supposedly facing. Whoever these gray-skinned beings were, they clearly weren’t considered important enough by the Old Senate to even be included in the records. I doubt a race that insignificant is likely to be capable of mounting a major offensive against us.”
“We don’t know that that’s the reason they aren’t in the records,” Leia put in. “It could simply be an oversight or gap damage.”
“Or else a deliberate erasure,” Luke said.
Fey’lya’s fur rippled, indicating polite disbelief. “And why would the Imperial Senate want to erase the records of an entire race’s existence?”
“I didn’t say it was necessarily the Senate’s idea,” Luke said. “Maybe the aliens themselves destroyed their records.”
Fey’lya sniffed. “Far-fetched. Even if it was possible, why would anyone want to do it?”4
“Perhaps Councilor Organa Solo can answer that,” Mon Mothma interjected calmly, looking at Leia. “You were more involved in the information side of the Imperial Senate than I was, Leia. Would such a manipulation have been possible?”
“I really don’t know,” Leia said, shaking her head. “I never got all that deeply into the actual mechanics of how the Senate’s records were handled. Common wisdom, though, would suggest that it’s impossible to create a security system that can’t be broken by someone determined enough to do it.”
“That still doesn’t answer the question of why these aliens of yours would be that determined,” Fey’lya sniffed.
“Maybe they saw the Old Republic’s coming demise,” Leia told him, her voice starting to sound a little irritated. “They might have erased all references to themselves and their world in hopes the rising Empire might not notice them.”
Fey’lya was fast, all right; Han had to give him that. “In that case,” the Bothan smoothly switched gears, “perhaps a fear of rediscovery was all that motivated this attack, as well.” He looked at Ackbar. “Regardless, I see no reason to make a full-fledged military operation out of this. To reduce our glorious forces to the level of a mere diplomatic entourage is an insult to their courage and their fighting spirit.”
“You can dispense with the speeches, Councilor,” Ackbar rumbled. “None of our ‘glorious forces’ are here to be impressed by them.”
“I say only what I feel, Admiral,” Fey’lya said, with that air of wounded pride he did so well.
Ackbar’s eyes swiveled toward Fey’lya—“I wonder,” Leia spoke up quickly, “if we could get back to the original subject here. I presume it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that, whatever their motivation, the aliens were ready and waiting for us when we reached Bimmisaari.”
“We’re going to need tighter security for these missions, obviously,” Ackbar said. “At both ends—your attackers did suborn a local Bimm politician, after all.”
“All of which will cost that much more time and effort,” Fey’lya murmured, a section of his fur rippling.
“It can’t be helped,” Mon Mothma said firmly. “If we don’t protect our negotiators, the New Republic will stagnate and wither. Accordingly”—she looked at Ackbar—“you will detail a force to accompany Councilor Organa Solo on her trip back to Bimmisaari tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Han threw a sharp look at Leia, got an equally surprised look in return. “Excuse me,” he said, raising a finger. “Tomorrow?”
Mon Mothma looked at him, an expression of mild surprise on her face. “Yes, tomorrow. The Bimms are still waiting, Captain.”
“I know, but—”
“What Han is trying to say,” Leia jumped in, “is that I had intended at this meeting to ask for a brief leave of absence from my diplomatic duties.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Mon Mothma said with a slight frown. “There’s far too much work to be done.”
“We’re not talking about a vacation here,” Han told her, trying to remember his diplomatic manners. “Leia needs more time to concentrate on her Jedi training.”
Mon Mothma pursed her lips, throwing glances at Ackbar and Fey’lya. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I, of all people, recognize the need to add new Jedi to our ranks. But for now there are simply too many urgent demands on our time.” She looked at Fey’lya again—almost, Han thought sourly, as if seeking his permission. “In another year—possibly sooner,” she added, glancing at Leia’s stomach, “we’ll have enough experienced diplomats for you to devote the bulk of your time to your studies. But right now I’m afraid we need you here.”
For a long, awkward moment the room was silent. Ackbar spoke first. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and have that escort force prepared.”
“Of course.” Mon Mothma nodded. “Unless there’s something more, we stand adjourned.”
And that was that. Jaw clenched tightly, Han began collecting his data cards together. “You all right?” Leia asked quietly from beside him.
“You know, it was a lot easier back when we were just taking on the Empire,” he growled. He threw a glare across the table at Fey’lya. “At least then we knew who our enemies were.”5
Leia squeezed his arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go see if they’ve gotten Threepio cleaned up yet.”
C H A P T E R 9
The tactical officer stepped up to the Chimaera’s bridge command station, bringing his heels smartly together. “All units signal ready, Admiral,” he reported.
“Excellent,” Thrawn said, his voice glacially calm. “Prepare for lightspeed.”
Pellaeon threw a glance at the Grand Admiral, then returned his attention to the bank of tactical and status readouts facing him. To the readouts, and to the blackness outside that seemed to have swallowed up the rest of Pellaeon’s five-ship task force. Three-thousandths of a light-year away, the Bpfassh system’s sun was a mere pinprick, indistinguishable from the other stars blazing all around them. Conventional military wisdom frowned on this business of picking a spot just outside the target system as a jumping-off point—it was considered dangerously easy for one or more ships to get lost on the way to such a rendezvous, and it was difficult to make an accurate hyperspace jump over so short a distance. He and Thrawn, in fact, had had a long and barely civilized argument over the idea the first time the Grand Admiral had included it in one of his attack plans. Now, after nearly a year of practice, the procedure had become almost routine.
Perhaps, Pellaeon thought, the Chimaera’s crew wasn’t as inexperienced as their ignorance of proper military protocol sometimes made them seem.1
“Captain? Is my flagship ready?”