Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [29]
“Qaras does have its share of difficulties to overcome, but at least they have her going for them,” Darklighter said.
“It’s a world divided, though,” Tycho said. “I feel a bit bad for the Minyavish. By all accounts, they were not unduly violent toward the Jessar, and yet Kem is forcing exile on them. They’ve gone from being lords and masters to not even being welcome on their own planet.”
“The government is apparently working with the Minyavish to help them relocate,” Gavin said. “And frankly … I can’t blame the Jessar for not wanting them around.” He looked over at Dorvan. “What information do we have about how this transfer of power is really working?”
In other words, mused Dorvan, what do our spies have to say about it? “It does seem that all is as it appears,” he said. “It is indeed a world divided … but both leaders seem to support the conclusion that separation is a good idea, and the transition is going as smoothly as can be expected. I imagine that Kem is probably going to request assistance with the issue, but that’s a matter for the Senate to vote on. Our duty today is to decide if we wish to accept Qaras into the GA, and I for one see no reason not to.”
There were nods around the table. As situations went, this was among the less sticky, and the atmosphere eased somewhat. Dorvan was convinced he even caught Carlist Rieekan smiling at one point.
Of course, the day was still young.
MOFF DRIKL LECERSEN’S ESTATE, CORUSCANT
THIRTEEN AND A HALF HOURS LATER, HALF A WORLD AWAY FROM GA headquarters, a meeting very similar to that which the joint Chief of State had hosted was transpiring. As at that earlier conference, the attendees were all powerful beings in the world of politics. There were victuals and beverages provided for their enjoyment, and the meeting’s itinerary was identical to that of the earlier meeting.
It was there that the similarities ended. It was well past the dinner hour, but those assembled were used to odd hours and still odder places to gather. This place was not as peculiar as others had been; it was a private residence, set on several acres of very expensive property, with a discreet landing field nearby.
Moff Drikl Lecersen smiled at his guests. He was seated at a large table carved of dark red wood, its heavy presence dominating the spacious room. The table was covered by an exquisite cloth, spun from the silk of the rare saass worms of G’haris. Each dish and piece of cutlery cost more than a civil servant such as Desha Lor could expect to make in a year, and the assembled guests appeared quite at home. Fur rugs made of the pelts of various exotic creatures covered the cold Ithorian marble floor, and knickknacks from all over the galaxy adorned various shelves and sideboards.
Lecersen was at the head of the table, of course. At his right hand was Senator Haydnat Treen of Kuat. Today, at the after-dinner gathering that would also serve as a going-away party for Lecersen, Treen wore a lovely blue-and-silver robe that matched her hair perfectly. It was formal, yet relaxed, and an indigo scarf was tied just so around her elegant throat, not only for style, but also to hide the fine network of wrinkles on the slightly sagging skin.
Seated next to her was General Merratt Jaxton, who had arrived mere moments earlier. His hair, too, was gray, but the Chief of Starfighter Command had fewer years and fewer lines than the others seated at the table. And, it seemed, more appetite. He had filled his plate with a great deal of small fried fish cakes and tiny slices of nerf steak with grilled mushrooms.
He, in turn, seemed dwarfed by the imposing General Stavin Thaal, who looked like he should be chewing on durasteel rather than the delicate pastries that appeared little more than crumbs in his large hands. The movement of his scarred throat as he swallowed