“I can only repeat what I said earlier, Admiral,”
Car’das told her. “The mere act of launching the starfighters was an overt act of aggression. Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo responded in the only way he could to protect his forces.”
“Perhaps,” Ar’alani said. “That will be for a military tribunal to decide.”
Car’das felt his stomach tighten. “You’re bringing him up on charges?”
“That will also be for the tribunal to decide,” Thrass said. “But we’ll first need to examine the records of the battle and interview the warriors who were present.”
“At this battle as well as the earlier raid against the Vagaari,” Ar’alani added.
“I understand,” Car’das said, his heart starting to beat a little faster. Here was the opening he’d been looking for.
“Speaking of the Vagaari, my colleagues and I were hoping we could settle the question soon about the treasure we were promised, so that we could be on our way.”
Ar’alani’s eyebrows arched. “Now, suddenly, you’re in a hurry to return home?”
“We’re merchants,” Car’das reminded her. “This has been an interesting and productive side trip, but the cargo in our hold is way overdue for delivery.”
“A cargo you would very much like to supplement with stolen pirate plunder.”
“Yes, but only because our customers will demand late-delivery penalties,” Car’das explained. “There’s no way for us to pay those without the items Captain Qennto has requested.”
“You should have thought about that before deciding to stay,” Thrass said. “At any rate, the matter of the treasure willhave to wait until the tribunal has made its decision. If my brother is found to have violated Chiss military doctrine, he’ll have no standing to argue your side of the question.”
“I understand,” Car’das said heavily. “How long is this hearing likely to take?”
“That depends on how quickly I can collect the details of the two battles,” Ar’alani said. “Once I’ve done so, I’ll request that a tribunal be seated.”
Weeks, in other words. Possibly even months. “And what will Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s status be until then?”
“I’ll be supervising his operations and overseeing all of his orders,” Ar’alani said. She nodded fractionally at Thrass. “At Syndic Mitth’ras’safis’s request.”
Car’das looked at Thrass, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Once again, Thrawn’s analysis had proved right on the mark. “You’d do this to your own brother?”
The muscles in Thrass’s cheeks tightened; but it was Ar’alani who answered. “Neither Syndic Mitth’ras’safis nor I is unsympathetic toward Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she said evenly. “We wish only to protect him from his own excesses of zeal and ability.”
“From his excess of ability?” Car’das snorted. “That’s a new one.”
“He’s a gifted tactician and commander,” Ar’alani said.
“But without proper restraint he’ll eventually go too far and end his days in exile. What good will those gifts do anyone then?”
“And meanwhile, the Vagaari are free to destroy and kill?”
Ar’alani looked away. “The lives of other beings are not ours to interfere with, for good or for ill,” she said. “We cannot and will not trust in whatever feelings of sympathy we might have for the victims of tyranny”
“Then trust in Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Car’das urged.
“You both agree he’s a gifted tactician; and he’s convinced that the Vagaari are a threat you’ll eventually have to face. The longer you wait—the more alien technology and weaponry you let them steal—the stronger they’ll be.”
“Then that is what we’ll face,” Thrass said firmly. “And as a syndic of the Eighth Ruling Family I cannot listen to any more of this.” He jabbed a finger at the carnage outside the viewport. “Now. Describe this battle for us.”
It was half an hour past the shift change, and D-4’s number three messroom was crowded as Lorana came in. Taking a long step to the side out of the doorway and the people moving in and out, she scanned the crowd for Jedi Master Ma’Ning.
But he was nowhere to be found. Giving the room one final sweep, she started to turn toward the door.
“Hey!” a child’s voice called over the hum of background conversation. “Hey! Jedi Lorana!”
It was Jorad Pressor, waving his fork over his head to get her attention. His parents, in contrast, had their eyes firmly fixed on their plates as they continued to eat. Deliberately ignoring her and it wasn’t hard to guess why. Two days ago Master Ma’Ning had briefly taken over Pressor’s hyperdrive maintenance bay to show to some of the young Jedi candidates, and one of the children had managed to dump a container of inverse couplings all over the floor. Pressor had had words with Ma’Ning about that, to the point where C’baoth had intervened and docked Pressor two days’ pay.
Best if she left them alone until they got over it, Lorana decided. Waving and smiling back at Jorad, she turned to leave.
And nearly ran into Chas Uliar as he came into the mess-room. “Slumming, are we?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his own coolness.
“I’m looking for Master Ma’Ning,” she said, determined not to respond in kind to his open unfriendliness.
C’baoth had wanted Uliar thrown in D-4’s brig for his attempt to push his way into the Jedi school a few days ago, and it was only with the greatest of tact and diplomacy that Captain Pakmillu had managed to talk him out of it. “Have you seen him?”
“Oh, he never comes here,” Uliar said. “The officers and other important people eat in one of the nicer messrooms.”
Lorana’s eyes flicked back into the messroom, focusing this time on the decor. It looked fine to her.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s just like the ones you have over on D-One,” Uliar went on. “But it could have been a lot more interesting if you Jedi had a cubic centimeter of style and creativity among you.”
“What does our style or creativity have to do with this?” Lorana asked.
For a moment Uliar’s eyes searched her face as if looking for a lie. Then his lip twitched. “I guess you really don’t know,” he said grudgingly. “We wanted to decorate this room like one of the Coruscant underlevels—you know, kind of sleazy in an over the-top sort of way. The folks stationed forward have already done up their messrooms in theme styles.”
“And?”
“And your stiff-as-permacrete Master Ma’Ning wouldn’t let us,” Uliar said acidly. “Some nonsense about a low-culture look promoting rebellious attitudes.”
Lorana winced. Now that he mentioned it, she had heard about this debate. It hadn’t made much sense to her, either. “Let me talk to him,” she offered. “Maybe I can get him to change his mind. Any idea where he might be?”
“You might try the senior officers’ conference room,”
Uliar said, and she thought she could sense a small crack in his animosity. “I hear he spends a lot of time in there when it’s not being used.”
“Thank you,” Lorana said. “I’ll get back to you on the decorating.”
She found Ma’Ning alone in the conference room, seated in one of the chairs as he gazed out the small viewport at the hyperspace sky flowing past. “Master Ma’Ning?” she called tentatively as the door slid shut behind her.
“Jedi Jinzler,” he said without turning around. “What brings you to D-Four?”
“You weren’t answering your comlink,” she said.
“Master C’baoth asked me to come find you.”
“I was meditating,” he explained. “I always turn off my comlink at such times.”
“I see,” Lorana said, studying him closely as she stepped to his side. His face and manner seemed oddly tense.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Tell me, what do you think of what Master C’baoth is doing?”
The question caught her by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Did you know he’s suspended the authority of the Commander’s Court to rule on grievances?”
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “What system is he planning on using instead?”
“Us,” Ma’Ning said. “As best I can figure, he essentially wants us to take over supervision of every aspect of life aboard Outbound Flight.”
“Such as how the people decorate their messrooms?”