Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 07_ Conviction - Aaron Allston [78]
Desha gave her a little understanding smile. “I think I’ll paraphrase that when informing Wynn.”
“No, I insist you quote me exactly, and that Wynn does likewise when speaking to the admiral.”
Han kept his emotions from his face. They weren’t feelings of worry; they were the residue of what he’d felt during the hours, hours, Leia had fretted over the choice of her exact words. Those words had to announce the intent of the Solos; to annoy Daala enough that she would keep them cooling for a long time in her waiting area; but not to offend her to the extent that she’d have them ejected from the building.
Desha shrugged. “As you wish. This way, please. As usual, you’ll have to endure the full security regimen …”
THOUGH OUTWARDLY COLLECTED, INWARDLY DAALA FELT LIKE AN INSECT being fried in the peripheral effect of an ion cannon.
The pressure had to relent soon. If only her enemies would stop besieging her administration, from outside and inside, for a few days, everything could be set right. If no one attacked her armed forces, her public infrastructure, she would not have to retaliate. If corporate lobbyists would just announce their wishes and quit pretending there were altruistic reasons behind them, she might perhaps gain a little respect for them, drive out the loathing that filled her every time she met with them. If all these things happened, tempers could cool. Politicians could go back to what they did best, transforming temperate oxygen into overheated carbon dioxide and eating appetizers. Journalists could return to talking about futile romances between holodrama stars.
The Jedi could—no, they wouldn’t just shrivel up and die, would they?
A face appeared on her desk monitor, her scheduling secretary, a chalk-white Chev female with hair dyed a startling orange. “Admiral Parova requests a few moments, Chief Daala. She’s not on today’s schedule.”
Daala blew out a silent sigh of thanks. Parova had the potential of developing into a friend, perhaps even a confidante. In rare noncrisis moments, they had recently even engaged in brief moments of girl talk—about which new capital ship designs looked promising, which teaching regimens appeared most efficient in military xeno-education. “Send her in.”
The door slid open. The admiral stepped in, but not far enough for the door to slide closed. Her expression was serious. “Chief, given the rise in unrest outside and other indicators, I’ve brought in a new detail for your personal security. With your permission, I’d like to relieve the current detail.”
Daala didn’t hesitate. “Other indicators” had to mean that suspicion had fallen on one of her bodyguards currently on duty. Perhaps a Jedi had gotten to him or her with one of those accursed mind tricks. She nodded. “Do so at once.”
Parova glanced at the two Fleet Intelligence security specialists situated inconspicuously at the back of the room. She gave the slightest jerk of her head. Both agents, without comment, filed from the office. Two more, a Falleen and a light-skinned human, both males, moved in and took their places.
Finally Parova stepped the rest of the way into the office, and the door slid shut behind her. She relaxed visibly. “That’s better.”
Daala gestured for her to sit. “There’s some suspicion of the other two? Operatives you yourself assigned me just the other day?”
Parova sat and shook her head. “No, those two are among the best of the best. Incorruptible. Devoted to the Galactic Alliance over all other considerations. But that’s actually part of the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ll demonstrate.” Her tone grew louder, more determined. “Chief of State Natasi Daala, in the name of—”
The office lights dimmed. A deep vibration, like a subsonic tone emanating from the lowest parts of the building, rattled the caf cup and writing implements atop Daala’s desk. She felt the vibration in her fingers, in the long bones of her arms and legs.
A second