Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [109]
As the grids broke away from live coverage to analysis, Drayson called up a recording of Nil Spaar’s address. “Utterly flawless,” he said after watching the replay, affirming his original judgment. There was more than a touch of admiration in his voice.
“But there’s one missing piece, Viceroy,” he added, stroking his face with one large hand, a thoughtful expression in his intent black eyes. “What did it gain you? What’s the payoff for weakening Leia’s hand and stirring up the Senate? There’s something not seen here—”
Turning back to his desk, Drayson spun his computer toward him. “Verify.”
“Verified—Drayson, Hiram.”
“Call Etahn A’baht. Scramble and blind-route.”
“Calling Etahn A’baht. Working. Waiting, Verifying—”
“Admiral Ackbar.”
The big Calamari turned away from the viewpane to find the princess standing near the door. “Yes, Leia.”
“Why was one of our ships anywhere near Koornacht? Did you know anything about this?”
“I do not have any answers,” Ackbar said uncomfortably.
“Try to find some for me,” she said, and turned away.
“Where are you going?”
Leia looked back over her shoulder. “Home, to think about resigning.”
“Leia—”
“Don’t try to argue with me,” she said. “Not now. Maybe tomorrow.”
The Battle Operations Center of the fleet carrier Intrepid was deserted except for two generals carrying unhappy burdens. General Etahn A’baht carried the burden of knowing what he had done, while General Han Solo carried the burden of knowing what must come.
For more than two hours A’baht had been signaling Coruscant, attempting to speak directly with Princess Leia. All his attempts, using every direct and indirect route available to him, had failed.
He had reached Fleet Operations, the administrative message center, an apologetic first administrator, an uncharacteristically taciturn Admiral Ackbar, the president’s communications and protocol droid, and message boxes for half a dozen offices and their highly placed occupants. But Leia herself seemed to have disappeared from the command and communications structure of Imperial City, and no one A’baht spoke to seemed overly eager to look for her.
Finally Ackbar had agreed to carry a message for A’baht to the president’s residence, asking Leia to contact him on board the Intrepid. That was when the waiting began—an excruciatingly tedious exercise in clock-watching and uncomfortable silence. The sprawling BOC, which easily absorbed dozens of officers and ratings when staffed, seemed as claustrophobic as a cell in Intrepid’s brig.
When the hypercomm finally lit up and squawked a Red Line alert, both men started. When the holodisplay brightened to show Leia from the shoulders up, Han was startled and dismayed by how pallid her face was, how dark and lifeless her eyes.
“General A’baht,” she said with a nod. Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat after she spoke.
“Princess Leia,” said A’baht. “Thank you for responding to my request.”
“I understand from Admiral Ackbar that you have some information for me.”
“Yes, Princess.” He straightened his back and sat tall in his chair. “I am the person responsible for the astrographic probes being sent into Farlax. Before the Fifth sailed, I requested an updated survey of that sector, including Koornacht Cluster. I did this with the full knowledge that this was in violation of your orders. I offer no excuse, and accept full responsibility for my actions.”
There was hardly a flicker of reaction on Leia’s face. “Thank you, General. You are relieved of command, effective immediately. The next person to sit here will decide the rest.” Her eyes sought Han. “General Solo.”
“Yes, Leia,” Han said, stepping forward.
“I’m placing you in command in General A’baht’s stead. Your orders are to bring the Fifth Fleet back to Coruscant as soon as possible.”
“Uh—Leia—”
Her pain shone momentarily through the mask of numbness. “Just come home, Han—please.” The holodisplay went dark.
A’baht turned