Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [143]
“Simplicity and boldness in one lethal combination,” Lecersen said. “Who was this brilliant assassin?”
“Moff Tol Getelles.”
He couldn’t suppress a snort. “Really? I’d never have guessed it.”
“You didn’t guess right about Vansyn, either,” she reminded him.
“Well played,” he said, seemingly amused by the jab. “But if Fel is dead, why haven’t I heard about it?”
“If you were his people, would you want this all over the Holonews before you’d figured out how to present it?”
“No,” he admitted. “But they will figure out how to present it quickly enough. Jag does not—forgive me, did not—surround himself with fools.”
“Which is why we will move, and move quickly, as soon as the others arrive.”
As if on cue, there were several more flashes in the darkness of space. “Ah, and here are Vansyn’s and Trevin’s contributions,” said Daala.
It was a respectable turnout. Both Vansyn and Trevin had far fewer resources than Lecersen, and their ships were of an age with the Maw Irregulars, though a few were newer, but the fleet was clearly starting to grow to something that would give any system pause. Daala counted quickly, and nodded as she realized the two Moffs had contributed almost twenty more vessels.
She felt her heart pick up, not with fear, but with a familiar anticipation. She was more at home here than she had ever been in her offices on Corsucant.
Daala hailed and spoke with both Vansyn and Trevin, a thick-set human of middle years with caf-colored skin and hair prematurely white. After exchanging pleasantries, she settled back to wait for Getelles.
The minutes ticked by, and she began to frown, drumming her fingers on the arm of her command chair.
“The man of the hour is late,” commented Lecersen. She didn’t bother to reply.
Seven minutes later, she was relieved that, despite the delay, the “man of the hour” arrived, with even more than he had promised: Four Star Destroyers, a carrier, eight starfighter wings, and nearly a dozen combined frigates and corvettes.
“Moff Getelles,” she greeted him. “You’re late.”
“With, as you see, a few more additional ships. Some last-minute maintenance was required, but I assure you, they are all battle ready.”
“They are very welcome indeed. Captain Remal, open a channel to all vessels.”
“Open, Admiral.”
Daala let herself pause and savor this: the moment before they took their first step together toward their destinies. One, she would eventually betray; another, she might, or might not. More, many more, would be joining them. It was a splendid instant in time.
“This is Admiral Daala. In a few moments, we’ll be departing to rendezvous with the next group of loyalists who, like yourselves, have chosen to follow me and what I represent. I have always been an Imperialist at heart. The order, the efficiency … the ceremony and history. Now that we are about to step boldly forward, I will tell you something that will hearten you even more. We are moving forward to claim something that no longer has a challenger. Chief of State Jagged Fel is dead.”
“Oh, I rather think not,” came an all-too-familiar-voice. “Jaina wouldn’t stand for it. That girl really wants her wedding.”
Daala’s chest constricted, and for a heartbeat her head swam. She recovered almost at once and gestured for the transmission to be silenced. “Trace that transmission. Now,” she snapped, then, “Open the channel.”
“Open,” said Remal.
“Really, Jag? I think she’d look much better in black,” Daala said, her eyes on the agitated communications officer frantically, and apparently unsuccessfully, trying to determine where the hell Jagged Fel was.
“I’m not going to tell her she can’t be a blushing bride, and I don’t think you are, either. Admiral Natasi Daala, I am here to order you to stand down, surrender your fleet, and return to Coruscant for trial. There doesn’t have to be any loss of life here.”
Daala arched a red brow at the Sullustan communications officer,