Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [42]
With a slash of his right claw, Nil Spaar ripped open Barth’s bare torso from hip to shoulder, shattering ribs, pulling soft organs from their cavities. Barth’s scream, a horrible, inhuman sound of immeasurable agony, was cut short when his lungs were rent by the claw and collapsed with a grisly wheeze.
For too long a moment, the sight held Han transfixed, every detail burning into his memory. Then his stomach heaved, and he turned away, choking on a bitter taste.
“Perhaps you understand us a little better now,” Nil Spaar said, stepping back and absently sucking the blood from his claw.
With an effort, Han found his voice. “You bastard.”
“Your opinion of me is of no consequence, and never has been,” the viceroy said, and looked to one of his aides. “When you are finished here, have him moved to my ship.”
“Yes, darama,” said the aide. Then he and the others knelt deferentially, almost reverently, as Viceroy Nil Spaar left the chamber.
Han raised his head and forced himself to look at Barth. The white pants were sodden crimson drapes hanging from the flight engineer’s legs. The pool of blood and other bodily fluids below him had grown to the point where it was threatening to engulf Han’s feet. Something in the spill of organs on Barth’s lap was still twitching or pulsing.
I’m sorry, Barth, he thought, working to conceal his anguish as carefully as his fury, determined not to parade either before his audience. I was wrong about us seeing Coruscant again. I didn’t know. I didn’t know until now what a monster he is.
By chance, it fell to Behn-Kihl-Nahm to chair the session at which the vote on Leia was finally taken. He concealed his reluctance behind a well-practiced mask of businesslike duty.
“President Leia Organa Solo, you are called before the Ruling Council of the Senate of the New Republic to answer to a petition of no confidence offered by Chairman Doman Beruss,” Behn-Kihl-Nahm said.
Leia stood in the well before the V-shaped table with her fingers laced before her. “I come before you to hear the challenge and respond, as specified in the Common Charter.”
The chairman nodded. “The foundation for the petition is given as follows: that your ability to discharge your duties as President of this body is and will continue to be compromised by an irreducible conflict with your interests as wife of General Han Solo, who is presently a prisoner of the Duskhan League, with which we stand on the brink of conflict. Do you have any questions about this charge?”
“No,” she said calmly.
“Do you wish to dispute the facts as laid out in section two of the petition?”
“I do not,” she said, standing even straighter.
“Do you wish to make a statement in rebuttal of the argument offered in section three?”
“Only that the petitioner has said far more about his fears than he has about my conduct,” Leia said with a quick but pointed glance sideways at Beruss. “For whatever reason, Chairman Beruss has prejudged me—and in doing so, he’s become the principal disruption to the work of the President’s office. I trust that this Council will recognize that fact and put an end to the disruption by rejecting this petition.”
“Very well,” said Behn-Kihl-Nahm. “Before I call for the vote, the petitioner has asked me to once again offer you an alternative. He is willing to withdraw the petition if you will agree to take a leave of absence until the crisis in Farlax Sector has been resolved and General Solo’s return has been secured.”
“Not interested,” said Leia.
Beruss stirred. “The terms could be worked out so as to leave you with full authority in other areas.”
“No, they couldn’t,” Leia said bluntly. “You can’t sit there and start rewriting the Charter to separate President from Commander in Chief from Chief of State. And I wouldn’t go along with it if you could.”
Quietly defiant, she turned back to where Behn-Kihl-Nahm