Ma’Ning grimaced. “You’ve been talking to Chas Uliar and his committee.”
“I talked to Uliar,” Lorana confirmed, frowning. “Ididn’t know he had a committee.”
“Oh, it’s just a group of people who don’t like others telling them what to do,” Ma’Ning said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Mostly reactor complex techs and support people.
Their complaints are mostly trivial, like this whole messroom thing.”
“With all due respect, Master Ma’Ning, for us to even get involved with Outbound Flight’s decor seems a little ridiculous,” Lorana offered.
“No argument from me,” Ma’Ning admitted. “But Master C’baoth was adamant—said the idea of decorating the place like a criminals’ den would encourage antisocial attitudes we can’t afford in such a close-knit community. The point is that I’m sensing a growing resentment toward us from the people in general. I’m worried that Master C’baoth may be taking these so-called reforms of his too far.”
“Still, it’s hard to argue with his basic premise,”
Lorana said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with talking about C’baoth behind his back this way. “People attuned to the Force should be more capable of dispensing justice and maintaining integrity than those who aren’t. But it’s also hard to see what that has to do with how people decorate their own messrooms.”
“Exactly,” Ma’Ning agreed. “But I can’t seem to get that distinction through to him. Do you think you could make him understand?”
Lorana grimaced. First Uliar had asked her to talk to Ma’Ning, and now Ma’Ning was asking her to talk to C’baoth.
Had someone appointed her official mediator of the Jedi Order when she wasn’t looking? “I doubt he’ll pay any more attention to me than he would to you,” she warned. “But I can try.”
“That’s all I ask,” Ma’Ning said, sounding relieved.
“And don’t mark yourself short. There’s a special bond between Master and Padawan, a bond that can run far deeper than any other relationship. You may be the only person aboard Outbound Flight he will listen to.”
“I’m not sure about that,” she said. “But I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you,” Ma’Ning said. “You said Master C’baoth was trying to reach me?”
Lorana nodded. “He wants all the Jedi Masters at a meeting tonight at eight in the D-One senior officers’ conference room.”
“More reforms, no doubt,” Ma’Ning grumbled as he stood up. “Talk to him soon, will you?”
“If I can slow him down long enough,” Lorana said. “In the meantime, what do I tell Uliar?”
Ma’Ning sighed. “Tell him I’ll think about it. Maybe Master C’baoth will eventually load himself up with so many other matters that he won’t even notice how Outbound Flight is decorated.”
Lorana looked out at the hyperspace sky. “Somehow, I don’t think so.”
Ma’Ning shook his head heavily. “No. Neither do I.”
It had been a long and tiring day, but the last group of droid starfighters had finally been unloaded and deployed across the asteroid’s uneven landscape. Now, his growling stomach reminding Doriana of the lateness of the hour, he made his way to the Darkvenge‘s Supreme Officers’ dining room to get something to eat.
Kav was already there, seated alone at one of the corner tables, his expression daring anyone to interrupt him.
Doriana took the hint and directed the serving droid to one of the tables on the opposite side of the room. The vicelord had been in a thunderous mood all day, which was almost funny in a species as cowardly as the Neimoidians. But no one else aboard had dared to laugh, and Doriana wasn’t going to try it, either.
Even cowards could be pushed too far.
He was halfway through his dinner when Kav suddenly stood up and made his way across the room. “This Mitthrawdo,”
he said without preamble as he sat down across from Doriana.
“You think him a genius, do you?”
“I consider him a highly effective military commander and tactician,” Doriana said, eyeing the other. Where was this suddenly coming from? “His abilities at art or philosophy I can’t vouch for.”
“Amusing,” Kav growled. “But he is not even a good tactician. He is, instead, a fool.” Pulling a datapad from inside his robes, he dropped it on the table in front of Doriana. “See the reprogramming he has ordered for my starfighters.”
Doriana glanced at the datapad’s display, covered with droid-language symbolics. “I don’t read tech,” he said. “How about giving it to me in plain Basic?”
Kav snorted contemptuously. “He has programmed the starfighters for close-approach attacks.”
Doriana frowned back at the datapad. “How close?”
“I believe the term is hull skimming,” Kav said, tapping the display “The chief programmer informs me the attack is set for no more than five meters above the hull.”
Doriana rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. Tactically, it made good sense to cut in that close to an enemy’s ships. It put the attacker inside the defender’s point-defense weaponry, as well as permitting the kind of targeting accuracy that made for efficient destruction of vulnerable equipment and hull-plate connection lines.
The catch, of course, was that it was enormously difficult to get inside those point defenses in the first place. “I don’t suppose anyone thought to mention to him that Dreadnaughts come with a very good point-defense system?”
“The programmers did not think it their place to speak out of turn.”
“And neither did you?”
“I?” Kav feigned innocence. “You, of all people, should know better than to question the orders of a military genius.”
Doriana took a deep breath. “Vicelord, I strongly suggest you remember our ultimate objective here. We’ve been sent to destroy Outbound Flight. Without Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s aid, we have no chance of doing that.”
“Yet a being of his genius is certainly capable of grasping technical readouts,” Kav said blandly. “Perhaps his plan is to throw our starfighters against Outbound Flight in an awesome display of disintegrating metal that will frighten Captain Pakmillu into submission.”
Doriana let his gaze harden, utterly disgusted by this pathetic excuse of a military commander. “So in the end all you care about is your pride,” he said. “You don’t even care if Darth Sidious executes us both as long as you can find some small point where you can feel superior to Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”
“Calm yourself,” Kav said, resettling himself comfortably in his chair. “There is no reason why my pride and my victory cannot coexist.”
“Explain.”
“I have not told Mitthrawdo of the flaw in his plan,”
the vicelord said with spiteful satisfaction. “But I have instructed the chief programmer to create a secondary attack pattern for the starfighters, which has been overlaid across Mitthrawdo’s primary pattern. Once he has wasted the first wave in his foolish close-approach attack, I will take command and switch to a more effective line of attack.”
Doriana thought it over. That would probably work, he decided. “It still loses us a full attack wave,” he reminded Kav.
“Not to mention the element of surprise.”
“What surprise?” Kav scoffed. “As soon as they see the Darkvenge they will know to prepare for droid starfighters.”
Doriana pressed his fingertips together. Surely even a Neimoidian vicelord couldn’t be this dense. “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that Mitth’raw’nuruodo might have off-loaded the starfighters precisely because he doesn’t intend to let Captain Pakmillu see the Darkvenge?” he suggested. “That, in fact, he doesn’t intend for the Darkvenge to participate in the battle at all?”
Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to Kav. “That is ridiculous,” he protested, his eves widening. “No military commander would refuse to bring a battleship of our might into his fleet.”
“Except maybe a commander who’s already seen how easily they can be destroyed?” Doriana couldn’t resist asking.
Kav’s whole body stiffened. “I perceive that you have come under Mitthrawdo’s spell, Commander,” he said evenly.
“But do not be swayed by his learned manner and cultured voice.
He is still a primitive savage… and no matter what the outcome, in the end he will have to die.”