And where was Nevil?

On the chart, a battle group of amber icons began to move toward Fondor. Some of the Imperial commanders had heard and heeded him, at least.

Pellaeon's voice boomed over the bridge comm. "The Imperial fleet will withdraw immediately, and respect the cease-fire. Wyvern battle group, resume your position at once.'" The amber icons slowed to a halt.

"We now take our instructions solely from Admiral Niathal."

"Ma'am, "said the comm officer, hovering at her elbow, "Shas Vadde's defense secretary is on the comlink, asking what you expect her to do if the Anakin Solo opens fire again."

The Anakin Solo was silent. She could only imagine what was happening on that bridge. And no Fondorian ship could be expected to sit and take Jacen's barrage to preserve a cease-fire.

"Tell her I won't regard self-defense as a breach, "she said. "But if Jacen Solo opens fire first, then I'll have to take him out."

IMPERIAL STAR DESTROYER BLOODFIN, OFF FONDOR: COMMAND CENTER.

"This beggars belief, "Moff Rosset said. "The GA's falling apart in front of our eyes." He rapped his knuckles angrily on the transpariplast screen showing the positions of ships. "This is their highest level of command and political decision making, screeching at one another in the middle of a battlefield, about to slug it out. And we're committing Imperial citizens' lives to defend their interests? In the hope they'll keep their promises? Are we mad?"

Pellaeon considered what he'd do in Niathal's position, because he was walking a knife-edge himself. Grand Moffs and some leaders of the Council cliques had gathered in Bloodfin to pick over the warm remains at this bizarre half-time interval. Pellaeon knew that some of the Moffs would rather obey Jacen, but they'd seen sense at the last minute.

They had to come home to Bastion sooner or later. They knew what the consequences would be if they escalated from merely fantasizing about ousting him to actually at-tempting a coup. If they made a move now, they'd have to mean it.

"I admit they're not impressing me with their cohesion, "Pellaeon said. He was conscious that he had Jacen's eyes and ears in the compartment with him. "But we withdraw, and we wait. Now's the time to concentrate on getting rescue parties deployed, and to see which hulls we can sal-vage."

Tahiri Veila watched silently. She reminded him increas-ingly of the villips that the Yuuzhan Vong had used as com-munications channels, living creatures like disembodied eyes that saw and heard everything, bonded to their users from birth like hatchling nuna. Out of all the repellent or-ganic technology of the Yuuzhan Vong, that was one of those he found most disturbing, even compared with their living weapons. It was the sensation of being spied upon; it was really no different from a comlink, but because it was alive it somehow made his flesh crawl. The things mimicked their user's voice and could even shape themselves to look like the speaker's head, and he half expected Tahiri to spout Jacen's voice and her features to transform into his. The little Yuuzhan Vong ritual scars on her forehead did nothing to take away the feeling.

He stared at her until she moved away to the far side of the compartment.

"Solo can't retain power after this, "Grand Moff Siralt whispered.

"He's totally discredited now. Is Niathal going to honor the Borleias-Bilbringi agreement, though?"

"We won't know for now, "Pellaeon said. Moffs always flew straight for the fresh carca.s.s, however much mayhem was going on around them; Pellaeon's priority for the next few hours was simply to preserve the fleet, and worry about spoils later. "Chances are that she will, because she's a pragmatist, and she needs our muscle. First things first, though."

Moff Quille-ah, Jacen's new lever inside the Moff Council-didn't take the hint. "They're in disarray, and Fondor is still restorable, even if it's crippled in places. I'd trade a couple of B-list planets for this."

Quille couldn't even stay loyal to someone who was en-couraging him to be disloyal to his own head of state. Pel-laeon savored the irony, and hoped that villip Tahiri overheard that little snippet.

"They're not in disarray, "he said. "The headless body of the administration twitching out there is one thing, but they still have fully operational warships all around us, with rules of engagement, and if anyone here tries to pull a stunt like moving in on Fondor-without even a plan, you fool-then it won't end well."

Without a plan. Pellaeon was pretty sure that some conversations had gone on in back rooms about contingencies like that while the old man's back was turned. "I'm very clear what we do now, and you will do it. Fondor has surrendered. The fighting is over. We do not take aggressive action now. The GA has achieved its objective, and all it has to do now is to sort out who's actually running it, while we have a caf and lick our wounds. Do you understand me?"

He didn't underestimate Quille, or how many other cliques in the council the man could enlist. There was a small army of Moffs out there-in ships of the fleet, or back home, or right under his nose here-and only one Admiral Pellaeon. He held the Empire together with the complex net of personal loyalties, the Moffs' collective awareness that he was usually right, and a rarely adminis-tered but effective dose of retribution for those who didn't play the sensible game. Without that, all he had to enforce his word was his Imperial service blaster, not even a mas-sively lethal one. Power was a nebulous thing when you ex-amined it; just like Luke Skywalker's phantom fleet, in fact.

"I said, Moff Quille, do you understand me?"

Perhaps not just a blaster, though. Pellaeon did have his backup, but Admiral Daala wasn't needed yet, certainly not for the primary engagement. There was a lot to be said for keeping his powder dry. He had a concealed personal comlink permamently open to her anyway, so she could hear what he was doing minute by minute, and she was monitoring the battle. Ten standard minutes away; at least she'd gained useful intelligence from being an observer.

The command center staff went about their business, oc-casionally glancing Quille's way, because most of them had seen Pellaeon smack a wayward Moff into line before and there was no novelty in the spectacle.

Pellaeon never raised his voice unless the ambient noise level required it. In this quiet part of the ship, slow emphasis alone made his point.

Tahiri watched as if she was straining to hear.

"Yes, Admiral." Quille backed down. They always did. "I was just thinking outside the box."

"I'm all for creative solutions, "Pellaeon said, "but thinking like that can put you inside a box all too easily. Now let's see what happens next."

This was an odd interlude for Pellaeon. On one side he could see the urgent business; on the other, the GA was frozen for the moment, which was as urgent a problem in its way, but there was less he could do about that.

The vessel state board was a worrying tally of too many red lights in the tidy ranks of green that showed ships as operational or with minor damage. The red-lit list showed several of the Empire's largest Star Destroyers badly dam-aged, three with only emergency environment control and drifting, and some of the fighter squadrons had taken 30 percent losses. The med runners were working at maxi-mum capacity. If fighting flared up again now, they'd be caught in the middle with the salvage tugs. n.o.body in his navy was going to get killed after surviving an attack, he swore it.

Yes, let's take a breath and come to our senses. "Sir, the Anakin Solo is moving." The midshipman at the long-range scan plotted a projected course from the GA Destroyer's movements; the scale of the scan made it look as if the Anakin Solo were making full speed, but the huge ship was simply edging ahead. The young officer tapped his earpiece.

"Getting quite tense in Ocean, sir. He's powering turbolasers again."

Tahiri was slinking around now, still silent, but checking out the status of the GA Fleet and-maybe Pellaeon was imagining it-getting worried. Here she was, stuck with the obstinate Imperials while her master tried to dig himself out of the pit.

"What's he waiting for?" Pellaeon asked her. "He never struck me as afraid of Niathal. Can't he snap her head off with a thought or something? Can't yow?"

"Colonel Solo has... exceptional powers, "she said. She was blinking rapidly. Was she acting dismayed? "I don't."

"Is he recharging himself? Must take it out of you, bring-ing down a planetary shield singlehanded, without the aid of a decent Death Star..."

Her slight flinch made Pellaeon bet on that being closer to the truth than he'd imagined. He'd watched thousands of personnel under stress. He was sure he knew the real thing from an act.

"I would think his crew are finding it hard to respond to the order, "she said. "They're personally loyal, but it's also true that on the battlefield, a full admiral outranks a colonel."

"Solo's got so many t.i.tles." It was probably hard to re-spond to an order from Niathal when your CO could throttle you without leaving his seat, too. "Must be confusing."

The midshipman turned sharply, one fingertip against his earpiece, at the exact moment one of the sensor scan opera-tor snapped, "The Anakin's fired." Then reports flooded in.

"Fondorian cruiser Prosperity's taken a direct hit on the bridge, sir."

"Looks like several enemy vessels responding."

"Fondorian fighters..."

"Ocean for you, sir."

Pellaeon took the comm, audio only. He hoped Daala was paying attention. "Cha, what's going on?"

"Sorry, Gil, but Solo's not responding to reason, and I can't rely on his commanders to follow me. I'm going in now to put some buffer between him and Fondor, and stop him the hard way. I need your help." A pause. "Wretched shame that he's taking so many good crew down with him in that ship."

"Understood." This was the inevitable cleansing Pel-laeon thought might be a longer time coming. It was as good a time as any. He turned to the Moffs and gestured to the comm officer with a finger to open the fleetwide channel. "All ships, identify GA vessels not responding to Admiral Niathal, and engage any that attack Fondorian targets immediately. We will honor this surrender as long as Fondor does."

There was a ripple of uncomfortable breaths among some of the Moffs.

"Are we clear in our purpose, gentlemen?" "Yes, Admiral, "said Quille.

Pellaeon turned for the hatch. A private conversation with Daala seemed a good idea. Then he'd call Reige to his cabin, and discuss what to do with Quille when the fleet arrived home. "I'll be in my day cabin for a few minutes. It's my age..."

He swept past Tahiri and strode down the pa.s.sageway. The order for action stations was echoing through the ship, and everyone was closing up for duties, making him feel al-most a footnote to events. He slipped into his cabin and se-cured the lock, catching sight of himself in the mirror on the locker hatch and straightening his collar.

Daala can hear all this anyway. I just want to hear her take on this. She's more at the Jacen end of the ruthless spectrum. Pellaeon wondered if he simply wanted to hear a friendly voice, and took his comlink from his tunic. At least it'll be over sooner rather than later.

Then the hatch opened. He'd locked it.

Tahiri Veila stepped in, head slightly lowered as if she was sorry to interrupt him.

"Sorry, sir, but I had to speak to you."

Pellaeon felt his nape p.r.i.c.kle. He'd have to factor in anti-force-user security in the future, just in case-if such a thing could be made.

"There's always knocking..."

"Sir, there are lives on the line. If you let the GA tear itself apart, everyone loses."

"I'm not letting it do anything, Lieutenant, "he said. "I'm giving practical support to an ally."

"If Colonel Solo is deposed, the GA will revert to its in-decisive self and there'll be chaos."

"I'm afraid I can't agree with you, my dear, but then I don't have to. Loyalty is a fine thing, don't think that I don't respect that-but Jacen Solo's the chaos, not the cure." Pellaeon stood, expecting her to try some feminine charm. The comlink to Daala was still open: she'd be find-ing this amateur routine very amusing. "Is there anything else?"

"The Moffs will break off if you tell them to." Tahiri took a step back. "I witnessed the influence you wield. Moff Quille was ready to defy you, but you just put him back in his place. I can feel things in beings that even you can't see."

"I've no reason to refuse Admiral Niathal's request. Subject closed."

Tahiri pressed her lips together and sighed, mild annoy-ance, possibly joking, but the GA-issue officer's blaster she drew from her belt was quite serious.

"Please, Admiral, just do it." She flicked the safety catch off and aimed it at his chest. Her voice had a harder edge and lower tone now.

"Call off your fleet and give Jacen Solo a chance. He needs to win at Fondor."

"Win..."

"Destroy its capacity to threaten the GA again. It's a practical matter, but it also shows the rest of the galaxy how high the stakes are for them."

Ironic. Jacen Solo would have found Alderaan's demise within his ideology. Pellaeon wondered what Leia would have made of that.

"No." Pellaeon calculated whether he could draw his weapon before she could fire-if she would fire-but she was a Jedi, and a third his age.

A horrible certainty gripped his gut. For a few moments all he could feel was the sensa-tion of intense cold flooding his thigh muscles. He'd felt it before, under fire, when he knew how close he was to annihilation. But he was also used to working through that reflex. "I won't ignore a surrender, and I won't enable the bombardment of civilian centers afterward, and I will not lend the Empire to a petty despot."

"You know you're going to die, "said Tahiri.

Pellaeon was past the adrenaline ice stage and into the phase of letting his body and training take over to resolve the threat. It was a shame he was just a little too old now to do it with a display of physical force. He'd make his last punch count, though.

"I'm ninety-two years old. Of course I'm going to die, and quite soon, but it's how I die that matters to me. Please-get out of my cabin."

"Last chance." Tahiri leveled the blaster. "All you have to do is call a halt. The Moffs obey you."

"My son died to defeat the Yuuzhan Vong, and Jacen's as set on destroying everything I hold dear as they were."

Pellaeon knew death, all too closely glimpsed for too many years, and the end that he'd most feared was slow de-cline. He could feel death most days lately, tapping to get his attention like an anxious bird at the window. Now the bird was gone, and the dread with it. It was the cleaner death standing alongside him again now, the one he knew from combat, the one that he preferred, and few ever got to choose the way they left the world quite like this. He grabbed the privilege and opened his comlink.

"Pellaeon to Fleet, "he said. Tahiri paused, probably ex-pecting him to cave in to her threat, like she would. Life mattered more to her than how it was lived. "Fleet, this is Admiral Pellaeon. I order you to place your vessels at the complete disposal of Admiral Niathal, and take down Jacen Solo, for the honor of the Empire - "

The blaster bolt hit him square in the chest and flung him back against the bulkhead. The pain was so fleeting that he was sure he was already dead; he'd always expected black oblivion, not this numbness like getting a crushing kick from a faulty power circuit. Tahiri leaned over him, eyes wide, the smell of blaster and burned fabric clinging to her.

He wasn't dead yet.

Reige, I never had that talk with you-no, don't come running, wait and fight another day, you can't keep saving me forever...

"So that's Jacen's new Sith Order, "Pellaeon whispered, actually quite surprised that this was what real dying felt like. He was having trouble breathing; a tight band gripped his chest, and the pain was suddenly excruciating. "Wiping out civilians... from a safe distance, and getting... a child to... kill an old man.... just make sure.... you can dis-mount from that... bloodfin of yours..."

Tahiri looked concerned. Behind her, Moff Quille leaned through the hatch, tilted his head to stare at Pellaeon, and walked slowly away.

"I can save you, Admiral, "she said. "It's not too late. The heart's a resilient muscle."

"Go... rot somewhere else... villip, "he whispered.

There were boots in the pa.s.sageway outside; not running, more shuffling around, waiting impatiently. Tahiti's lighter step faded as she walked away.

"Is he gone?" said a voice that he didn't recognize.

"Not yet, "said Quille. "I'm not going to touch him, so we're totally clean..."

The cabal of Quille's Moffs. Pellaeon whispered, "Quille, "hoping Daala could still hear him, and add another Moff to her list.

Admiral Daala's fleet would be a lovely surprise. Pel-laeon wouldn't spoil it for the Moffs by letting them hear a distress call to her.

He managed to fumble for the comlink and place it on the floor, but it was a struggle. He reached for the nearest hard surface and drummed his fingers.

Rap... rap... rap.

Rap, rap.... brr-rrr-rapp.

Pellaeon's pain came crashing back at that moment like a tidal wave that had hung motionless for a split second. And yes, he'd been right all along. It was black, black oblivion after all.

Chapter 15.