Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [139]
“A toast,” said Jag, lifting his glass. “To the Empire.”
Getelles’s soft, kindly eyes crinkled in a smile. “I will most enthusiastically drink to that. To the Empire!”
Bisque, thick and rich smelling, was placed before them. Getelles placed his napkin in his lap and spooned up his soup. “I’ve been talking to some of my Moffs one-on-one,” said Jag, “and it’s been a long time since you and I chatted.”
“Frankly, sir, it’s been a long time since anyone bothered to chat with me. I regret to say the only thing that made me newsworthy was choosing to support you in this situation,” Getelles said, almost apologetically.
“Possibly,” Jag allowed with a thin smile, tasting the soup, as well. “But I’m sure there are more on our side than are willing to speak about it, don’t you think?”
Getelles grunted and reached to butter his bread. “Fine job the Jedi did, if you ask me. Women shouldn’t be running things anyway. Nobody wants to stick his neck out and say so, though. I stand by what I said.”
“Mmm,” Jag said noncommittally. “I’ve heard some interesting rumors about where she might have gone and what she might be up to. Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”
“Me?” Getelles chuckled ruefully. “Head of State Fel—”
“Call me Jag.”
“Er … very well, Jag. As I said earlier, nobody’s bothered to talk to me for quite some time. I’m practically gathering cobwebs. You flatter me if you think I’d be in any sort of position to know any such thing. While I do still proudly lay claim to the title of Moff, my holdings are rather humble, and I haven’t been much involved in politics recently.” The man was clearly uneasy, as his gulp of wine indicated. It was no wonder he hadn’t risen very high.
“You do have a rather large shadow trailing you,” Jag agreed mildly, taking another sip.
It was a kinder word than scandal, which would have been more appropriate. Getelles had once moved to take control of the Meridian sector, utilizing the drochs to unleash a carefully directed plague. The grab for power on Getelles’s part had been soundly quashed, first by Daala, then by the New Republic. Since then, Getelles had been very quiet.
Getelles winced. “Ancient history, I assure you,” he said. “I’m more than content where I am, and happy to support you in your position. I’m too old for gallivanting around plotting and conspiring. Waste of time, which I don’t have much more of.”
“Speaking of growing old,” Jag said. He reached in his pocket and put a small vial down on the table between them. “This came into my hands just a few days ago.”
The eyes widened and the red mouth quivered beneath the gray mustache. “And what’s that?”
Jag sighed. “I tell you what. You stop pretending you don’t know things and I stop pretending I don’t know you know things. I think we’ll achieve a great deal more, don’t you? Or do you really want me to replay the recording I have of your conversation with Natasi Daala approximately a week ago?”
Getelles knew when he was caught. He gave Jag a cold, malicious look that belied his jovial persona, then downed the rest of the blue beverage in a single gulp. “At least refill my glass like a civilized man while you interrogate me,” he snapped.
Jag smiled. “Let’s both behave like civilized men.” He refilled the glass and leaned back in the chair. “Now, let’s start again. What do you know about Daala?”
Getelles took another gulp of wine and followed it with a bite of bread and soup. He was obviously intent on going to what he assumed was an inevitable prison cell drunk and well fed.
“What I said about my holdings was true,” he said. “I’m a minor Moff as most plotters and schemers recognize such things. After the debacle of my attempt to wrest control of Meridian, I became persona non grata. My gut feeling is that the only