Star Wars_ X-Wing 02_ Wedge's Gamble - Michael A. Stackpole [13]
“Good.” Tycho pointed at the droid. “What do we do about him?”
“I don’t think he’s much of a security risk, provided he doesn’t trade in futures for commodities that are present on whatever targets we’re heading out to hit. Whistler’s already modified his purchase parameter programming to cover that situation.” Corran smiled. “I don’t think General Salm will think Emtrey any less of a threat than he considers you, if we report on his scrounging personality. As long as we don’t activate it, except in very specific cases, we should be safe.”
“So you think we can reactivate him?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” Corran stood and walked over to the droid. “Brace yourself.”
He hit the button on the back of the droid’s neck.
Emtrey’s head snapped back and locked in its proper position. The droid looked around for a moment or two during which his elbows crept out away from his body. “I don’t know what got into me. Please, forgive my rudeness.” The droid’s head tilted to the right and his eyes brightened. “Did I miss anything?”
Corran slapped him on the shoulder. “Nothing you’d find useful, Emtrey. We were just swapping gossip and repeating rumors that had no substance to them at all.”
4
At first the giddiness bubbling up inside him surprised Wedge, then gratified him as he slipped into his chair behind Admiral Ackbar. They’re actually here, the Provisional Council. I never thought I’d see the day. He felt the same excitement inside him that he’d known as a child when some alien or famous Corellian had come to his parents’ refueling station. Had he been asked he would have assumed that being in the same room with the leaders of the New Republic would not seem that special, but it was and made him think that the war hadn’t burned all of his innocence out of him yet.
Mon Mothma, still looking strong and serene despite the traces of grey creeping into her hair, stood at her place at the circular table. “I call this meeting of the Provisional Council to order. Councilor B’thog of Elom sends regrets at being unable to attend, but we have a quorum, so we will be able to proceed. Councilor Organa, if you would be so kind as to update us on your attempts to open a dialog with Warlord Zsinj.”
The woman at Mon Mothma’s right hand stood. Though she wore a pale green gown gathered loosely at the waist with a silver belt, Wedge couldn’t help but see Princess Leia ready for battle, the way he had seen her so many times before. It struck him as odd that a martial image could so easily replace the elegant vision before him, but he was reading the fight in her eyes and the fire in her spirit. Those qualities had made her one of the Rebellion’s most respected leaders, and clearly sustained her in her governmental activities.
“I have attempted through numerous channels to make contact with Warlord Zsinj, but have been rebuffed every time. It appears he believes his possession of the Super Star Destroyer Iron Fist has made him into a force to be reckoned with in the galaxy. What little of his Imperial career we know about indicates he is a man who embraces the idea that the ends do justify the means. He is a survivor, and shows cunning at playing his enemies off against each other. The leadership vacuum in the Imperial Navy post-Endor allowed him to rise further than was previously reasonable, then declare himself a Warlord and begin his drive to take control of the Empire.”
Borsk Fey’lya’s cream-colored fur rippled as he stood. “Councilor Organa, it would seem that this Zsinj, if he is as cunning as you suggest, would be open to negotiations. How have you approached him?”
A trace of weariness tightened the flesh at Leia’s eyes. “We have tried contacts at various levels within his organization. Messages sent via the Imperial HoloNet have gone unanswered, though your people have assured me they have been collected by Zsinj. More light escapes