Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order_ Dark Tide 02_ Ruin - Michael A. Stackpole [83]
“I’d much prefer the binders I choose than theirs.” The man’s eyes sparkled. “After all, if I tie myself up, it’s with the knowledge I can get out of the binders. And in this coming fight, if we can’t do that, everything—Ithor, New Republic, and Imperial Space—is doomed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
For Jaina Solo, the absurdities of the reception would not end. To begin with, the reception was a formal affair that took place on the Tafanda Bay, one of the Ithorian herd ships, cities that drifted lazily above the jungle. The transparisteel-domed ships, with their own ecosystems and loaded with plant life, were kept warm and very humid. In everyday clothes she didn’t mind it, but dressed up in formal Jedi robes, she found the atmosphere heavy and oppressive.
Just having such a formal affair on a planet that was going to be the focal point for an enemy assault struck her as wrong. She would have preferred to be up on the Ralroost with the rest of Rogue Squadron. It annoyed her, too, that she had been invited because of her status as a Solo and a Jedi, not as a member of Rogue Squadron. Colonel Darklighter had been chosen to represent the squadron, and Jaina got a distinct impression that the New Republic’s protocol experts were afraid the pilots might actually speak their minds and disrupt things.
The tension of those gathered in the room seemed almost as oppressive as the humidity. They had been gathered into a large hall that was open, though overarching tree branches made glimpses of the night sky through the dome few and far between. More impressive than the trees, though, was the way the wood covering the floor and paneling the walls had been fitted together. A rich gold in color, with dark streaks of grain, the strips formed a mosaic through which the lines flowed effortlessly. Jaina could have followed the grain with her eyes forever, but knots of diplomats kept eclipsing it.
From years of watching her mother attend—and attend to—such functions, she knew diplomatic contacts operated in an unreal world. Mortal enemies would be unfailingly polite face-to-face while plotting ruthlessly behind closed doors. Even Admiral Kre’fey and Colonel Darklighter would withhold criticism of political limits placed on their operations so the impression could be created that all was well.
She sighed. At least that means people will be polite to the Jedi.
“Such a sigh. Did it relieve the weariness in your spirit?”
Jaina turned and smiled, recognizing the voice. “Yes, Ganner, a bit.” She kept the smile in place despite the little shock she felt at seeing the livid scar on his face.
The older Jedi sipped a cup of wine, then gave her a little nod. “I suppose, perhaps, I should try a sigh.”
“Why? Oh.” She glanced past Ganner in his robes of blue and black, toward a knot of Jedi paying court to Kyp Durron. “I had heard there was some trouble.”
Ganner gave her a wry grin that made him a different sort of handsome in her eyes. “My experiences on Bimmiel and especially Garqi were . . . sobering. Since many Jedi have been called here to help oppose the Yuuzhan Vong, and are eager to do so, my sharing rather frank views about how dangerous the Yuuzhan Vong are is not welcome. Realism becomes synonymous with defeatism in their eyes.”
“Probably didn’t help that you saved Corran’s life on Bimmiel.”
Ganner snorted a quick laugh. “No, it didn’t. I don’t regret it, however. The lessons I’ve learned working with him are lessons I needed to learn. I’m glad I lived long enough to do it.”
She glanced down for a moment. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“I’m not.” His blue eyes narrowed. “Before I got this scratch, it was easy to believe in my own invincibility. I was arrogant enough to think of myself as perfect. That’s a trap Kyp, Wurth, Octa, and others in his cabal are falling into. They think that because they’ve not been hurt, they can’t be hurt. That’s not an illusion I harbor