Star Wars_ X-Wing 03_ The Krytos Trap - Michael A. Stackpole [74]
Gavin met Karka’s molten stare. “Call me a coward if you wish, I don’t care. You are not my enemy. My enemy is the Empire and its remnants. Maybe you can’t see that. Your grandfather could. Strikes me that you honor his memory more by continuing his crusade than in trying to hide mistakes he may have made.” He extended his right hand toward the Bothan.
Karka stared at it as if it were a snake, then snarled and spun on his heel. His subordinates fell into step with him, prompting a sigh of relief from Herrit as they departed.
The bartender plopped a fresh lomin-ale on the bar for Gavin. “To your health, sir.”
Herrit clinked his lum mug against the glass. “You handled that well. Sorry I got in your way.”
“No blood, no report.” Gavin worked his jaw around and heard it pop. “I’ll be feeling that tomorrow.”
Asyr appeared at his side. “What happened?”
Gavin shrugged. “Nothing, really.”
Herrit smiled. “Just a couple of boys getting some exercise.”
Asyr looked up at Gavin. “Exercise?”
He smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I gave that maturity you were talking about a workout. Felt pretty good, too.”
“If you want to leave, we can.”
Gavin shook his head. “No, stay and see your friends. Have fun. I don’t think there’s going to be any more excitement tonight.”
The fact that Borsk Fey’lya was nowhere to be seen heartened Admiral Ackbar greatly as he entered Mon Mothma’s living quarters. The presence of General Cracken confirmed that the reason he had been summoned was business, but that everything would be conducted informally. Whatever action needed to be referred to the Provisional Council would be in its own good time.
Had he thought Mon Mothma possessed a Bothan’s sense of subtlety, he would have assumed the way her apartments had been redecorated were designed to encourage a sense of well-being in him. Diaphanous blue and green drapes rippled gently in front of the windows—the movement being caused by the air conditioning, though it did suggest the windows behind the drapes were open. The carpeting had a rich aquamarine hue to it, and the tile pattern used to decorate the lower half of the wall had a nautical motif. The upper part of the wall matched the carpet in color, but the recessed oscillating lights in the ceiling gently picked up and sparkled from the rainbow pinpoints worked into the paint.
Even the furnishings were more to his liking than most. Painted in greens, browns, and blues, they had an organic and flowing shape to them. They lacked the pure symmetry that most humans seemed to prefer. The table in the center of the room, for example, could have been water that had been poured out on the ground, frozen, and then placed atop legs. The lack of sharp edges and jagged corners somehow drained tension from the room, and Ackbar felt himself relaxing.
Mon Mothma smiled in warm welcome. “I thank you for coming so quickly after I sent for you. I know the trial is your primary concern and is occupying much of your time.”
“The trial is indeed a concern of mine, but I consider it a cove, when my real concern is the ocean of security for the New Republic.” Ackbar opened his hands. “I must compliment you on the decor—I find it most pleasing. You grew up in one of Chandrila’s port cities, did you not?”
“Yes, my mother was the governor there. I learned to love the Silver Sea. I find that making my home over in the image of where I lived in better times is good for my sanity.”
“You have done a wonderful job.” Ackbar looked around the room again. “It is a pity to bring the discussion of difficult times into such a beautiful place.”
“There are always compromises that become necessary.” Mon Mothma waved Ackbar to a floating chair fashioned after a fan of blue seaweed. She seated herself in a similar chair, and General Cracken joined them by dragging over a green coral chair.