Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [176]
“It will indeed be the last we will see of Padnel Ovin,” Roki agreed, “but I’m quite tired of waiting.”
A chill went through Workan at the iciness in her voice. What did she—had she gone mad? Hired an assassin to strike right in the middle of Ovin’s speech, or done something else equally as outrageous? He sat up, eyes fastened on the Klatooinian still holding forth. Even as he watched, Padnel stopped midsentence. He grunted, then stumbled a step.
“… Sand Panthers avoided … t-taking civilian life … may I have some water, please?”
And then Workan understood. Oh, she was good. Very good. Somehow she’d hidden her Force abilities from him completely. And obviously also from Vol, until it was too late. Perhaps this was how she had been able to influence her fellow Jessar to love her so well during and after their world’s crisis. And now, of course, she stood staring at the soon-to-be-ex-Chief of State, a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, the very picture of compassionate sympathy.
Kaatik handed Ovin some water, looking at him with concern. “Sir,” he said, “I think you have stated your case very well. Perhaps you should—”
“No!” snapped Padnel, glaring at him. “I’m not done yet! I’m allowed to speak as long as I wish, and speak I—”
His hand went up to his chest and clutched it. He started to gasp. Then, in full view of several hundred beings and millions more watching the coverage live, Padnel Ovin, interim Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance, collapsed.
Chaos erupted. Everyone watched raptly as medical droids appeared and began their work. Kaatik returned to the mike, his blue skin paler than it had been a few moments before. “Everyone, please, we must have order! This Senate is still in session! Padnel Ovin is unconscious but his situation has stabilized. He is being taken immediately to the Galactic Senate Medcenter.”
“I motion to postpone the vote until Chief of State Ovin has recovered.” The motion came, not unexpectedly, from Senator Wuul.
No! Workan thought. If Padnel died before Roki was confirmed, legally the office would go to Wynn Dorvan. And that would be a disaster.
Workan leapt to his feet. “I motion that the vote be pushed through!” he cried. “Of course, like all beings here, I hope for a full recovery for Senator Ovin. But the fact remains that if he survives, he will still be the same being he is—and his leadership has been challenged. I say it is even more important now than ever to decide if he or Roki Kem will lead the Galactic Alliance!”
Nearly all decorum and seemliness had flown out the window. The chair seemed to recognize it, for he didn’t rebuke either Wuul or Workan for speaking out of turn.
“I agree with the honorable Senator from B’nish,” Kaatik said, looking shaken. “Cast your votes now.”
Workan sat down. It could all still fall apart. Most of his “supporters” were not Sith. They were simply gullible newcomers, looking for someone to point them in the right direction. If they got rattled by Padnel’s collapse and decided to err on the side of Dorvan rather than risking a chance on Kem—what would she do? Give everyone a heart attack?
He realized she might.
Quickly he punched in his YES vote and sat back, using the Force to calm himself. Others hurried to vote, eager to have this over and done with, eager to have some direction, any direction.
The chair seemed to be recovering as he perused the votes. Finally, he looked up. His face gave nothing away, but Workan could sense his disappointment and worry in the Force.
The question was—who had disappointed him by winning?
“By a vote of four-fifths majority, with twenty-four abstentions,” Kaatik said, “the Senate is honored to announce that the Senator from Qaras, Rokari Kem, has been—”
The rest of his announcement was lost in a wild cheer. Surprised by how relieved he felt, Workan rose to his feet, applauding along with the rest of them. He felt Roki brush him in the Force—praise and pleasure,