Nylan tried to smother a yawn and took a long swallow of caf, glancing at Indy. “Looks like Tag was wrong about Janet making it up here.”
Indy shook her head, still watching the feeds from Aten-Re. “First time for everything. Go to bed, Nylan. Rather have you sharp for tonight than keeping me company now.”
The Jedi considered this and glanced at the chrono. 0657. He could hit the sack for a few hours…she was right. Better he be sharp when he was actually on the watch later than falling asleep in a chair behind her.
“All right,” he said, and got up. “G’night, Admiral.”
“How do the feeds from Aten-Re look?”
That was it. No preamble. No good morning, no admiral on deck. Indy was suddenly there, in the dim of base ops’ night watch. Nylan was too tired to even feign surprise. He was getting too old, Jedi or not, for these thirty-six hour days.
They’d kept him waiting, and for that she was going to have to apologize. Or was she? By all rights, he was a dead man. If he was who he said he was. She’d have to have Tag check on that, but when she’d left her meeting with Janet, Tag had still been in with Les and that was one conversation she had no intention of disturbing. Indy rubbed her face. Had she apologized for keeping Al waiting? Of course not. He’d reappeared in her cousin’s house. There hadn’t been any waiting.
Good rule of thumb, if you want my immediate attention…reappear in my house. She blew out a breath through her teeth and looked at Nylan. “This isn’t some sort of trick, is it?”
“Sir? Should we inform the admiral?”
Nylan Bridger didn’t bother to look up from his boards, monitoring communications, taking a slow sip of his cup of caf. “Who’s officer of the watch, Mr. Carelli?”
“General? Colonel Bridger needs you in ops.”
Tag straightened, stacking a pile of papers against her knee and depositing them on the corner of the desk as she turned, glancing toward the technician standing in the doorway. “Right away?”
She scrubbed her hands over her face, mumbling a quiet curse to herself, then raked her fingers up and through her hair, exhaling slowly as she marched herself into base operations. Nylan looked up at her mildly from where he was sitting, dressed in the same robes he’d worn the night before, then offered her his mug of caf.
“Whose idea was it to not tell me that an advance force took out the Fifth?”
“It was a nice ceremony, wasn’t it?”
Nylan glanced up from his console in the dim of base operations, still dressed in his Jedi robes, a half-eaten piece of wedding cake at his elbow. He’d clearly dismissed the officer of the watch when he’d arrived-not long before, it seemed, because the mug of caf sitting with the cake was still steaming.
The Jedi Master grunted in response to his cousin and longtime friend. “It was. Maybe a bit unorthodox, but…”