Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 07_ Fury - Aaron Allston [103]
For he was about to commit yet another act of treason, and he needed to do it properly.
His task finished, he stepped to the primary control panel, checked his chrono, and activated the device. He moved to stand against the chamber’s one blank wall, an auxiliary transmission spot that had not been used in years.
Thirty seconds later, a glow appeared in the air before him and resolved into a holographic shape—General Turr Phennir, scarred and imposing…and just a bit over a meter tall. “Good afternoon, Minister Teppler.”
“Night, where I am, but I reciprocate.” Teppler frowned. “How tall—never mind, there’s something wrong at my end. Hold on.” He moved back to the control panel, noted that the received-image scale preference was set to 60 percent for this transmission origin, and overrode it temporarily, setting it to 100 percent.
Phennir flickered, then instantly assumed Teppler’s own height.
Teppler returned to the wall and now could look the general eye-to-eye at the same altitude. “That’s better.”
“Another symptom of your leader’s mental deficits.”
Teppler waved that subject away. “I didn’t ask for this communication to discuss the Prime Minister’s eccentricities. I asked for it so we could talk about your unofficial embargo of Corellia. You’re holding back supplies and matériel we desperately need.”
“And I agreed to this exchange because Koyan’s incompetence must be our main topic of discussion. Because that incompetence is the reason for the embargo.”
Teppler grimaced. “We’re an ally, and you’ve left us dangerously vulnerable.”
“Allow me to explain why. Because you’re a politician, I will use similes and other conversational aides.”
“Not to mention insults.”
Phennir paused. “You’re right. My anger at the Prime Minister has spilled over to you. I apologize. Still, imagine you’re a mighty warrior. You would be less mighty if you lost one of your arms.”
“True.”
“It would behoove you not to lose one of your arms. Yet you’re walking in the jungle and are bitten on the wrist by a venomous animal. The venom will spread from your arm and fatally poison the rest of you in less than a minute. What do you do?”
“Well, if you’ve prepared properly for this expedition, you break out the antitoxin and inject it.”
“Correct. But in this instance, you have no antitoxin. You have only a large vibroblade.”
“Then you tie off a tourniquet, cut your own arm off…and hope you can inject the painkillers before you black out.”
“Also correct. Because to be a mighty warrior, you need one thing more than you need to have both arms.”
“Your life.”
“Yes.”
Teppler thought it through. “You’re saying that the Confederation is the warrior, and Corellia is the arm.”
“Yes. And Sadras Koyan is the venom. His use of Centerpoint Station struck almost as deadly a blow to us as it did to the enemy, in terms of morale, of ensuring cooperation between our armed forces. And it’s clear that if we win this war—and I mean if, not when—his first act will be to point the station at one of his allies and begin to dictate the terms of peace and postwar prosperity.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Remove him from power.”
“It’s not as easy as that. We have a coalition government whose representatives jockey for power endlessly.”
“I’m not telling you who to put in power. I’m telling you to remove Koyan, which is as easy as that. It can be done with a small group of specialists who spirit him away in the night and return him when the war is done. It can be done with a hold-out blaster pressed to his kidney and fired. It can be done with planted evidence that does nothing more than prove that he’s the idiot he is.” Phennir leaned close. “I’m not playing kingmaker here. I don’t want to decide