Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 04_ Backlash - Aaron Allston [17]
Tarth shook his head. “The same as all around, but nothing to suggest they were grounded when it happened.”
Sha said nothing, but the look she gave Han was a question.
“Electrical attack of some sort,” Han told her. “But electricity is most damaging when its target is in contact with the ground. If the two speeder bikes were shot out of the sky with an electrical attack while they were moving … well, that’s a lot of power.”
Sha nodded. “Lightning Storm. A spell cast by the Witches. Some Witches. All Nightsisters.”
Leia took a step forward before she’d realized she had. “Nightsisters? I thought—I was hoping they were all gone.”
Sha shook her head. “Never gone. They hide, they heal, they return. If their numbers are few, they come for your children.” For just a moment, her usually expressionless mask fell and she looked bleak. Then that look was gone, wiped away by a blankness any sabacc player would envy, and Sha turned away.
Han gripped Leia’s shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “The Nightsisters are their Sith.” His voice was a grim whisper.
CHIEF OF STATE’S OFFICE, SENATE BUILDING,
CORUSCANT
ADMIRAL NATASI DAALA, ONE TIME IMPERIAL NAVY OFFICER AND NOW head of the executive branch of the Galactic Alliance government, sat back in her chair and pondered whether she wanted to call in Wynn Dorvan. Daala felt a flash of exasperation; there were times when she just wanted things to be orderly and clear-cut. And Dorvan always seemed to have something for her to think about that made things the opposite. Still, he was such an efficient assistant that she had to make allowances. It was, after all, the civilian way of doing things.
And she wanted to remain on good terms with him. With a little guidance, he would make a superior chief of staff someday … once he accepted the notion of having greater authority and responsibility.
Trusting the secretarial software built into her comm system to scrub weariness out of her tone, she said, “Wynn? A moment of your time please.”
“Certainly, ma’am. I’ll be right in.”
She took one last look around her office, at its calming purity of Imperial white furnishings to match her uniform. She brushed strands of her long red hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ears in a likely-to-fail bid for neatness.
The door slid open to reveal Dorvan. While he often was the harbinger of things complicated and messy, he himself was not. He was, as ever, alert and precise, his brown hair currently immaculate, reminding Daala of her own momentarily untidy state. From the left breast pocket of his tailored suit jacket poked a curve of brown fur striped with orange—the neck of his pet chitlik, named Pocket.
She gestured toward a chair and he eased into it, crossing his legs and looking up expectantly at her.
Daala went straight to the point. “Wynn, even after two years, this process of civilian rule is sometimes bewildering. So, where in military life I’d normally issue a command and later on ask a colleague what he thought of it in hindsight, sometimes here I need to gauge opinions before things are decided. A lot of different opinions. From different people.”
“That’s actually pretty common among civilian leaders with any sense.” Dorvan settled back in his chair, permitting himself to relax slightly. His own expression was curious, just a little wary. “Ask away.”
“This whole struggle with the Jedi. Do you think I’m—do you think my tactics are sound?”
He considered his answer for a moment. Dorvan always considered everything. “Admiral, when the holocams are recording, I’m behind you one hundred percent.”
“I know you are. They’re not recording now.”
He sighed. “I trust the Jedi to put the needs of the people first. To arrive at the right answer, even if it’s by trial and error. I think you’re pushing too hard. You can have them either as allies or subordinates, but not both. You seem to have decided that their proper role is subordinates.”
She nodded. “I have. Though not my subordinates. The government’s. So I have to bring them into line.