Star Wars_ The Jedi Academy Trilogy 02_ Dark Apprentice - Kevin J. Anderson [30]
Obese Senator Hrekin Thorm waved a pudgy hand at Ackbar. “Why don’t we make him lead the reparations team? That seems appropriate to me.”
“I wouldn’t think the Vors want him anywhere near their planet,” Senator Bel-Iblis said.
“The Vors haven’t asked us to help them rebuild at all,” Leia Organa Solo said, “but that doesn’t mean we should ignore it.”
“We’re lucky the Vors are not as emotional as other races. This is already a terrible tragedy, but it does not seem likely it will turn into a galactic incident,” Mon Mothma said.
Gripping the edge of the table, she stood and finally acknowledged Ackbar’s presence. Her skin looked pale, her face gaunt, her eyes and cheeks sunken. She had skipped many important meetings lately. Ackbar wondered if the Vortex tragedy had worsened her health.
“Admiral,” Mon Mothma said, “these proceedings are closed. We will summon you after we have taken a vote.” Her voice seemed stern and cracking, devoid of the compassion that had launched her career in galactic politics.
Minister of State Leia Organa Solo looked at him with her dark eyes. A flood of sympathy crossed her face, but Ackbar turned away with a stab of anger and embarrassment. He knew Leia would argue his case most strongly, and he expected support from General Rieekan and General Dodonna; but he did not know how Senators Garm Bel-Iblis, Hrekin Thorm, or even Mon Mothma herself would vote.
That doesn’t matter, Ackbar thought. He would remove their need to decide, remove the possibility of further humiliation. “Perhaps I can make these deliberations easier on all of us,” Ackbar said.
“What do you mean, Admiral?” Mon Mothma said, frowning at him. Her face was seamed with deep lines.
Leia half rose as she suddenly understood. “Don’t—”
Ackbar made a decisive gesture with his left fin-hand, and Leia reluctantly sat down again.
He touched the left breast on his pristine-white uniform, fumbling with the catch as he removed his admiral’s-rank insignia. “I have caused enormous pain and suffering to the people of Vortex. I have brought immense embarrassment to the New Republic, and I have called down terrible shame upon myself. I hereby resign as commander of the New Republic Fleet, effective immediately. I regret the circumstances of my departure, but I am proud of the years I have served the Alliance. I only wish I could have done more.”
He placed his insignia on the creamy alabaster shelf in front of the empty Council seat that had once been his own.
In shocked silence the other Council members stared at him like a mute tribunal. Before they could voice their mandatory—and probably insincere—objections, Ackbar turned and strode out of the room, walking as tall as he dared, yet feeling crushed and insignificant.
He went back toward his quarters to pack his most prized possessions before heading to the hangar bay, where he would take the ship Terpfen had promised him. He had one place to visit first, and then he would return to his homeworld of Calamari.
If General Obi-Wan Kenobi could vanish into obscurity on a desert planet like Tatooine, Ackbar could do the same and live out the rest of his life among the lush seatree forests under the seas.
With the pretense of taking out a B-wing fighter to test its response under extreme stress, Terpfen soared away from Coruscant. The other distraught Calamarian crewmen wished him luck before he departed, assuming he intended to continue his desperate work to clear Admiral Ackbar’s name.
But just before the jump into hyperspace, Terpfen entered a new series of coordinates into the navicomputer.
The B-wing lurched with a blast of hyperdrive engines. Starlines appeared around him, and the ship snapped into the frenzied, incomprehensible swirl of hyperspace. He reflexively slid the nictating