Star Wars_ The Jedi Academy_ Champions of the Force - Kevin J. Anderson [117]
Mara sighed, but it was more of a resigned, tolerant noise than actual annoyance. “You just don’t give up, do you, Calrissian?”
He shook his head, still grinning. “Nope. Giving up is not my style. Not ever.”
Mara slumped back in her passenger chair and stared out the Lady Luck’s front viewport. “I was afraid of that.”
Overhead in the white skies of Kessel, shooting stars continued to rain down.
Two medical droids supported a recovering Mon Mothma. She stood dripping as she emerged from the bacta tank. She wavered a little and held on to the smooth shoulder plates of the droids. Finally she stood on her own again, took a deep breath, and lifted her head to smile.
Leia stood watching, impressed at the rapid improvement. “I never thought I’d see you stand again, Mon Mothma.”
“Neither did I,” the former Chief of State admitted with a rueful shrug. “But my body is healing itself with a vengeance. The bacta tanks are working overtime, effective again now that Cilghal removed the nano-destroyers. I’m anxious to move about, to see all the things that happened while I was sick. I have a lot to catch up on. But the medical droids say I have to stay here and rest.”
Leia laughed. “You have plenty of time, don’t worry. Do you—” She hesitated, not wanting to push Mon Mothma, but anxious to know. “Do you have any idea when you’ll be ready to take back your duties as Chief of State?”
Assisted again by the droids, Mon Mothma toiled over to one of the padded seats near the bacta tank. She slowly sank into the cushions. Still-damp garments clung to her wasted body. She did not answer for a long time. When Mon Mothma looked up, her expression made Leia’s heart skip a beat.
“Leia, I am no longer Chief of State. You are,” she said. “I served well for many years, but this wasting illness has made me weak—not only physically, but also in the eyes of the New Republic. The New Republic must not waver in these trying times. Our leadership must be strong and dynamic. We need someone like you, Leia, daughter of the legendary Senator Bail Organa.
“My decision is firm. I won’t attempt to regain my title. It’s time for me to rest and recover with a great deal of thought on how best to serve the New Republic. Until such time as that changes, our future is in your hands.”
Leia swallowed and forced a comically stoic expression on her face. “I was afraid you were going to say that,” she said. “But if I can handle a few Imperial renegades, I suppose I can keep the Council members in line. After all, they’re on our side.”
“You may find that the Imperials surrender a bit more readily than Council members, Leia.”
Leia groaned. “You’re probably right.”
The winds sang on the planet Vortex. Leia stared up at the newly rebuilt Cathedral of Winds, which rose like a gesture of defiance against the terrible storms. Beside her Han kept blinking as the breezes stung his eyes, but he seemed awed by the tall structure.
The new Cathedral was different from what had been destroyed by Ackbar’s crash, more streamlined. The winged Vors had shown no interest in recreating their previous design, following a plan that seemed to flow from their collective alien minds.
Crystal cylinders glittered in the sunlight, large and small tubes like a towering pipe organ. Notches and windows had been cut into the curved surfaces. The leathery-winged Vors flew about, opening and closing the orifices to shape patterns of music as the winds whistled through. Everything else hunched low to the ground, but the Cathedral of Winds soared, like the spirit of the New Republic.
The impending storm rippled the thick carpet of purple, vermilion, and tan grasses that covered the plains. Low hummocks, underground Vor dwellings for the vicious storm season, lay in concentric rings around the pinnacles of the new cathedral.
Leia and Han stood surrounded by a New Republic formal escort on a patch