Part 6 (1/2)
”On the contrary, Quillan: they'd have no choice in the matter,” Moff Vered put in dryly.
”Their sole claim to authority is that the systems of the New Republic willingly accept their authority. How could they then turn around and forbid systems to renounce that authority?”
”Exactly,” Pellaeon said, nodding. ”Especially with all the small conflicts that have flared up recently. Forbidding systems to leave the New Republic would be handing us a major propaganda weapon. The Almania incident is certainly still fresh enough in their minds.”
”Still, if things are so unstable there, why do we need to do anything at all?” Bemos suggested. ”If we bide our time, there's a fair chance the New Republic will disintegrate on its own.”
”I'd say the chances are better than just fair,” Andrey said. ”That was the whole philosophic basis for the Emperor's New Order in the first place. Alone of all those in the Imperial Senate, he understood that so many diverse species and cultures could never live together without a strong hand governing them.”
”I agree,” Pellaeon said. ”But at this point the argument is irrelevant. The New Republic's self-annihilation could take decades; and long before they destroyed themselves' they would have made sure to grind the remnants of the Empire to dust.” He lifted his eyebrows. ”All of us, needless to say, would be dead. Killed in battle, or else executed under their current concept of justice.”
”After being paraded as war prizes before crowds of cheering subhumans,” Sander muttered.
”Probably stripped and staked out-”
”There's no need to be so graphic, Sander,” Hort growled, throwing the other Moff a glare.
”The point needs to be made,” Sander countered. ”The Admiral is right: this is precisely the right time to open negotiations. While they can be persuaded that cessation of hostilities is in their own best interests.”
The debate ran on for another hour. In the end, showing the same deep reluctance Pellaeon himself felt, they agreed.
The lone guard standing in front of the ornate double doors leading to Moff Disra's private office was tall, young, and strongly built-the very ant.i.thesis, Pellaeon thought irreverently as he approached him, of Disra himself. ”Admiral Pellaeon,” he identified himself. ”I wish to see Moff Disra.”
”His Excellency left no word-”
”There are surveillance holocams all along this corridor,” Pellaeon interrupted him brusquely. ”He knows I'm here. Open the doors.”
The guard's lip twitched. ”Yes, Admiral.” He took two steps to his side; and as he did so the double doors swung ponderously open.
The room was fully as ornate as the doors that sealed it, with the kind of luxury Pellaeon hadn't seen in a Moff's palace since the height of the Empire's power. Disra was seated at a gla.s.sy white desk in the center of the room, a youngish military aide with short-cropped dark hair and wearing major's insignia standing behind him. The aide had a pack of datacards in his hand; apparently, he'd either just arrived or had been preparing to leave.
”Ah-Admiral Pellaeon,” Disra called, beckoning him forward, come in. I'd have thought you'd have been busy organizing your peace envoy.”
”We have time,” Pellaeon said, glancing around the room as he walked toward the desk, mentally adding up the values of the various furnis.h.i.+ngs. ”According to our Intelligence reports, General Bel Iblis won't be arriving at the Moris.h.i.+m starfighter base for another two weeks.”
”Of course,” Disra said sarcastically. ”Surrendering to Bel Iblis is for some reason more palatable than humiliating yourself before anyone else of that rabble?”
”I have a certain respect for General Bel Iblis, yes,” Pellaeon said, stopping a meter away from the desk. It was made of culture-grown ivrooy coral, he noted; from the color, probably of pre-Clone Wars origin. Expensive. ”You seem rather bitter at the prospect of peace.”
”I have no aversion to peace,” Disra countered. ”It's the thought of groveling that turns my stomach.”
The aide cleared his throat. ”If you'll excuse me, Your Excellency,” he murmured, laying his stack of datacards on the desk and turning to go.
”No, stay, Major,” Disra said, holding up a hand to stop him. ”I'd like you to hear this.
You know my aide, Admiral, don't you? Major Grodin Tierce.”
The corner of Tierce's mouth might have twitched. Pellaeon couldn't tell for sure. ”I don't believe we've met,” he said, nodding politely to the major.
”Ah. My mistake,” Disra said. ”Well. We were discussing capitulation, I believe?”
Pellaeon glanced back at Tierce. But after that maybe-twitch the major's face had gone impa.s.sive, giving no clue to his thoughts. ”I'm still open to suggestions, Your Excellency.”
”You already know my suggestions, Admiral,” Disra bit out. ”To send in teams to help foment the rising tide of interplanetary and intersector conflict within the New Republic.
To use this cloaking s.h.i.+eld of yours to plant forces where they'll be able to take full advantage of such clashes. To expand our military forces wherever and however we can, using whatever means are available.”
Pellaeon felt his lip twist. They'd been over this same ground time and again. ”We are the Imperial Fleet,” he told Disra stiffly. ”We do not hire mercenaries and pirate gangs from the fringe to fight our battles for us.”
”I suggest you reread your history, Admiral,” Disra shot back. ”The Empire has always made use of such sc.u.m. Moffs have hired them, so have Grand Moffs-even the Lord Darth Vader himself, when it suited his purposes. And so have the senior officers of your precious and righteously upstanding Fleet. Don't come all over sanctimonious with me.” He flicked his fingers impatiently. ”I'm quite busy, Admiral, and you have groveling to prepare for. Was there something you wanted?”
”One or two things, yes,” Pellaeon said, making a supreme effort to hold on to his temper.
”I wanted to talk to you about those SoroSuub Preybirds you've been supplying to the Fleet.”
”Yes,” Disra said, leaning back in his chair. ”Excellent little starfighters, aren't they?
Not quite the same psychological presence as TIE fighters, perhaps, but perfectly adequate in their own way.”
”Adequate enough that I wondered why we hadn't seen more of them over the years,” Pellaeon said. ”So I did some checking. It turns out that SoroSuub never really got the Preybird project going, but wound up shutting down the line after only a few production models.
Which leads to an interesting question: where are you getting them from?”
”I don't see why the source should matter to anyone, Admiral,” Disra said. ”As long as they show the traditional SoroSuub quality-”
”I want to know who the Empire is doing business with,” Pellaeon cut him off. ”Who I am doing business with.”
Under the silver eyebrows, Disra's eyes seemed to flash. ”A group of private investors bought up the Preybird production line and restarted it,” he growled. ”I have a business agreement with them.”
”Their names and systems?”
”It's a group of private investors,” Disra repeated, enunciating the words carefully as if talking to a young child. ”I don't care,” Pellaeon said, matching the other's tone. ”I want their names, their home systems, and their corporate connections. And the means you're using to finance this deal.”
Disra drew himself up. ”Are you suggesting there's anything improper about any of this?”
”No, of course not.” Pointedly, Pellaeon let his gaze sweep across the room. ”Certainly a man of your obvious means has access to a great number of financial resources.” He looked back at the Moff. ”I merely wish to make sure the entire Empire is benefiting from the deal.”
He'd rather expected Disra to take offense at that. But the Moff merely smiled. ”Rest a.s.sured, Admiral,” he said softly. ”The entire Empire will indeed benefit.”
Pellaeon stared at him, feeling a slight frown creasing his forehead. There was something in that expression he didn't care for at all. Something ambitious, and vaguely sinister.
”I want the names of your investment group.”
”I'll have the list transmitted to the Chimaera,” Disra promised. ”Now if you'll excuse me, Major Tierce and I have work to do.”
”Of course,” Pellaeon said, trying to put a touch of condescension into his voice. The Supreme Commander of Imperial forces should not leave the impression that he could be summarily dismissed that way. Not even by a Moff. Not unless he himself chose to go. ”Good day, Your Excellency.”
He turned and headed back toward the double doors. Yes, he would have Intelligence look into the names of Disra's private investment group, all right-he'd put Commander Dreyf and his team on it immediately. And while he was at it, he'd have them look into the Moff's personal finances as well. There might be some very interesting connections there to be dug up.