Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [26]
Governor Nereus ran a hand over his dark hair. He tried to mimic a classic Old Republican politician, using minimum threat of force to keep the population in line. Consequently, he’d built a new order suzerainty far from Imperial Core shipping lanes, with minimal open violence … after those bloody purges, three years back.
Nereus smiled blandly. “The action I have ordered merely ensures that Rebels will not strike at Bakura.”
“Did Rebels disable the Dominant, or did the Ssi-ruuk?”
“I do not yet have full reports, Senator Belden. It appears that—for now—your factory is safe. I shall send over three defense squads from the garrison.”
Belden wouldn’t like that. Prime Minister Captison stood again. The deep green shoulders of his tunic seemed to float at the top of his perfectly straight back. Gaeriel had been stunned to find his hair white when she came back from the university. Captison’s dignity shamed Nereus’s posturing. He flicked two fingers against his trouser seam: placate. Apparently Belden saw it too. He sat down slowly, deferring to the P.M.
“Thank you, Senator Belden,” said Prime Minister Captison. “Evidently, for the moment the Rebels are between us and the Ssi-ruuk. Perhaps that’s the best place for them.” He looked around the table. Forty senators, human except for two pale Kurtzen from the Kishh district, stared back. Like the senate, Prime Minister Captison had lost authority every time he crossed Imperial wishes. “Let us support Governor Nereus,” he said without enthusiasm, “and confirm his withdrawal order.”
He called the vote. Gaeri extended an open palm with the majority. Only Belden and two others closed their fists.
Gaenel sighed to herself. Belden wasn’t a follower of the Cosmic Balance. He could not bring himself to believe that when he graciously allowed fate to diminish him, others were exalted. The wheel always turned, too, and those who humbled themselves for the present would one day reap rich rewards.
“Thank you for your support,” purred Nereus. His beetly escorts followed him out.
Gaeriel stared after him. Before the Empire arrived, Bakura had been governed by a prime minister and a senate—and no set of three individuals in the government could ever agree on a program. Schools had run half-year when Gaeri started attending, then shifted to “tumble month” schedule, two on and one off; then someone scrapped the entire curriculum. If the government couldn’t agree on a school calendar, even a child knew it wouldn’t agree on anything else. As a senator’s daughter and the prime minister’s niece, she’d overheard unending machinations and bickering about other subjects—social justice, repulsorlift exports, and taxation.
Most important, no two senators had ever agreed on a defensive strategy. Consequently Bakura fell quickly to the Empire.
She straightened her shoulders. Perhaps that easy conquest explained why Governor Nereus had left so much of the original government in place. Her experience on Imperial Center had taught her to keep her mouth shut about Bakura’s senate. Other systems’ residents reacted indignantly to its existence.
Imperial peace compensated Bakura for the autonomy it had lost, or so Gaeri’s admittedly limited experience told her. It had ended the chaos and civil infighting, and brought Bakuran trade goods out onto stellar lanes.
Yet many older senators disagreed, and when they spoke quietly, Gaeri listened.
Speaking of dissidents, she’d better head for the Beldens’ apartment. She slipped her shoes back on—again—and headed for the roof port.
Dev generally spent battle time in his master Firwirrung’s quarters, working feverishly on his translation project to keep from feeling enemy fighters’ fear when tractor beams caught them. Today, though, Master Firwirrung had asked him to carry food trays and a packet of drink bulbs