by Timothy Zahn
“Not here,” Torve said. “Wherever they came from, they didn’t start at the spaceport.”
“Ditto here,” Lachton put in. “Garrison’s still quiet as a grave.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way for a few more minutes,” Karrde said. “Pass the word to the others; we’re pulling back to the ship.”
“On our way. See you there.”
Karrde flicked off the comlink and turned around. Gillespee was just helping Aves and Fein pull themselves out over the lip of the Drinking Cup, the web harnesses that had held them suspended just beneath the rocky edge trailing behind them. “Nicely done, gentlemen,” he complimented them. “Thank you.”
“Our pleasure,” Aves grunted, popping his harness and accepting his blaster rifle back from Gillespee. Even with the water level at its lowest, he noticed, the turbulence had still managed to soak both men up to their knees. “Time to make ourselves scarce?”
“Just as soon as we can,” Karrde agreed, turning back to the other smugglers. “Well, gentlefolk, we’ll see you in space.”
There was no ambush waiting for them by the Wild Karrde. No ambush, no fighter pursuit, no Imperial Star Destroyer lurking in orbit for them. From all appearances, the incident back at the Whistler’s Whirlpool might just as well have been an elaborate mass hallucination.
Except for the destruction to the tapcafe, and the gutted Chariots, and the very real burns. And, of course, the dead Gotal.
“So what’s the plan?” Dravis asked. “You want us to help hunt down this clone pipeline you mentioned, right?”
“Yes,” Karrde told him. “We know it goes through Poderis, so Orus sector is the place to start.”
“It once went through Poderis,” Clyngunn pointed out. “Thrawn could have moved it by now.”
“Though presumably not without leaving some traces we can backtrack,” Karrde said. “So. Have we an agreement?”
“My group’s with you,” Ferrier put in promptly. “Matter of fact, Karrde, if you want I’ll see what I can do about getting your people some real fighting ships.”
“I may take you up on that,” Karrde promised. “Par’tah?”
[We wiyll assiyst iyn the search,] Par’tah said, her voice about as angry as Karrde had ever heard it. The death of the Gotal was hitting her almost as hard as it had hit Mazzic. [The Empiyre must be taught a lesson.]
“Thank you,” Karrde said. “Mazzic?”
“I agree with Par’tah,” he said coldly. “But I think the lesson needs to be a bit more eye-catching. You go ahead and do your clone hunt—Ellor and I have something else in mind.”
Karrde looked at Aves, who shrugged. “If he wants to go slap their hands, who are we to stop him?” the other murmured.
Karrde shrugged back and nodded. “All right,” he said to Mazzic. “Good luck. Try not to bite off more than you can chew.”
“We won’t,” Mazzic said. “We’re heading out—see you later.”
At the far starboard edge of the viewport, two of the ships in their loose formation flickered with pseudomotion and vanished into hyperspace. “That just leaves you, Brasck,” Karrde prompted. “What do you say?”
There was a long, subtly voiced sigh from the comm speaker; one of many untranslatable Brubb verbal gestures. “I cannot and will not stand against Grand Admiral Thrawn,” he said at last. “To give information to the New Republic would be to invite his hatred and wrath upon me.” Another voiced sigh. “But I will also not interfere with your activities or bring them to his attention.”
“Fair enough,” Karrde nodded. It was, in fact, far more than he had expected from Brasck. The Brubbs’ fear of the Empire ran deep. “Well, then. Let’s organize our groups and plan to reconvene over Chazwa in, say, five days. Good luck, all.”
The others acknowledged and signed off, and one by one made their jumps to lightspeed. “So much for staying neutral,” Aves sighed as he checked the nav computer. “Mara’s going to have a fit when she finds out. When is she coming back, by the way?”
“As soon as I can find a way to get her here,” Karrde said, feeling a twinge of guilt. It had been several days since he’d gotten the message that she and Ghent were ready to rejoin him, a message that had probably been several more days in reaching him in the first place. She was probably ready to bite hull metal by now. “After that last raise in the Imperial price on us, there are probably twenty bounty hunters waiting off Coruscant for us to show up.”
Aves shifted uncomfortably. “Is that what you think happened down there? Some bounty hunter got wind of the meeting and tipped off the Imperials?”
Karrde gazed out at the stars. “I really don’t know what all that was about,” he admitted. “Bounty hunters generally avoid tipping off the authorities unless they already have a financial agreement. On the other hand, when the Imperials go to the effort of carrying out a raid, one expects them to do a more competent job of it.”
“Unless they were just tailing Gillespee and didn’t know the rest of us were there,” Aves suggested hesitantly. “Could be that three squads of troops and a couple of Chariots is all he rates.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Karrde conceded. “Hard to believe their intelligence was that spotty, though. Well, I’ll have our people on Trogan make some quiet inquiries. See if they can backtrack that unit and find out where the tip-off came from. In the meantime, we have a hunt to organize. Let’s get to it.”
Niles Ferrier was smiling behind that unkempt beard of his, Pellaeon noticed as the stormtroopers escorted him across the bridge; a smug, highly self-satisfied type of smile that showed he had no idea whatsoever why he’d been brought to the Chimaera. “He’s here, Admiral,” Pellaeon murmured.
“I know,” Thrawn said calmly, his back to the approaching spaceship thief. Calmly, but with a deadly look in his glowing red eyes. Grimacing, Pellaeon braced himself. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
The group reached Thrawn’s command chair and halted. “Niles Ferrier, Admiral,” the stormtrooper commander stated. “As per orders.”
For a long moment the Grand Admiral didn’t move, and as Pellaeon watched, the smirk on Ferrier’s face slipped a bit. “You were on Trogan two days ago,” Thrawn said at last, still not turning around. “You met with two men currently wanted by the Empire: Talon Karrde and Samuel Tomas Gillespee. You also persuaded a small and unprepared task force under one Lieutenant Reynol Kosk to launch a rash attack on this meeting, an attack which failed. Is all this true?”
“Sure is,” Ferrier nodded. “See, that’s why I sent you that message. So you’d know—”
“Then I should like to hear your reasons,” Thrawn cut him off, swiveling his chair around at last to gaze up at the thief, “why I should not order your immediate execution.”
Ferrier’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he said. “But—I’ve gotten in with Karrde. He trusts me now—see? That was the whole idea. I can dig out the rest of his gang and deliver the whole bunch to you …” He trailed off, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“You were directly responsible for the deaths of four stormtroopers and thirty-two Imperial army troops,” Thrawn continued. “Also for the destruction of two Chariot command speeders and their crews. I am not the Lord Darth Vader, Ferrier—I do not spend my men recklessly. Nor do I take their deaths lightly.”
The color was starting to leave Ferrier’s face. “Sir—Admiral—I know that you’ve put a bounty on Karrde’s whole group of almost—”
“But all that pales in comparison to the utter disaster you’ve created,” Thrawn cut him off again. “Intelligence informed me of this meeting of smuggler chiefs almost four days ago. I knew the location, the timing, and the probable guest list … and I had already given the Trogan garrison precise instructions—precise instructions, Ferrier—to leave it strictly alone.”
Pellaeon hadn’t thought Ferrier’s face could get any paler. He was wrong. “You—? But—sir—but … I don’t get it.”
“I’m su
re you don’t,” Thrawn said, his voice deadly quiet. He gestured; and from his position beside Thrawn’s chair the Noghri bodyguard Rukh took a step forward. “But it’s really quite simple. I know these smugglers, Ferrier. I’ve studied their operations, and I’ve made it a point to deal personally with each of them at least once over the past year. None of them wants to become entangled in this war, and without your staged attack I’m quite certain they would have left Trogan convinced that they could sit things out in traditional smuggler neutrality.”
He gestured again to Rukh, and suddenly the Noghri’s slender assassin’s knife was in his hand. “The result of your interference,” he continued quietly, “has been to unite them against the Empire—precisely the turn of events I’d gone to great lengths to avoid.” His glowing eyes bored into Ferrier’s face. “And I do not appreciate having my efforts wasted.”
Ferrier’s eyes flicked back and forth between Thrawn and the blade in Rukh’s hand, his face now gone from pasty white to gray. “I’m sorry, Admiral,” he said, the words coming out with obvious difficulty. “I didn’t mean—I mean, just give me another chance, huh? Just one more chance? I can deliver Karrde—I swear to you. Well, hey—I mean, never mind even Karrde. I’ll deliver all of them to you.”
He ran out of words and just stood there looking sick. Thrawn let him hang for another few heartbeats. “You are a small-minded fool, Ferrier,” he said at last. “But even fools occasionally have their uses. You will have one more chance. One last chance. I trust I make myself clear.”
“Yes, Admiral, real clear,” Ferrier said, his head jerking up and down in something closer to a twitch than a nod.
“Good.” Thrawn gestured, and Rukh’s knife vanished. “You can start by telling me exactly what they have planned.”
“Sure.” Ferrier took a shuddering breath. “Karrde, Par’tah, and Clyngunn are going to meet in—I guess three days now—at Chazwa. Oh—they know you’re running your new clones through Orus sector.”
“Do they,” Thrawn said evenly. “And they intend to stop it?”
“No—just find out where it’s coming from. Then they’re going to tell the New Republic. Brasck isn’t going along, but he said he wouldn’t stop them, either. Dravis is going to check with Billey and get back to them. And Mazzic and Ellor have something else planned—they didn’t say what.”
He ran out of words, or air, and stopped. “All right,” Thrawn said-after a moment. “This is what you’re going to do. You and your people will meet Karrde and the others at Chazwa on schedule. You’ll take Karrde a gift: an assault shuttle you stole from the Hishyim patrol station.”
“Rigged, right?” Ferrier nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that was my idea, too—give em some rigged ships that—”
“Karrde will of course examine this gift thoroughly,” Thrawn interrupted him, his patience clearly becoming strained. “The ship will therefore be in perfect condition. Its purpose is merely to establish your credibility. Assuming you still have any.”
Ferrier’s lip twisted. “Yes, sir. And then?”
“You will continue to report on Karrde’s activities,” Thrawn told him. “And from time to time I’ll be sending you further instructions. Instructions which you will carry out instantly and without question. Is that clear?”
“Sure,” Ferrier said. “Don’t worry, Admiral, you can count on me.”
“I certainly hope so.” Deliberately, Thrawn looked at Rukh. “Because I would hate to have to send Rukh to pay you a visit. I trust I make myself understood?”
Ferrier looked at Rukh, too, and swallowed hard. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Good.” He swiveled his chair to face away from Ferrier again. “Commander, escort our guest back to his ship and see that his people are checked out on the assault shuttle I’ve had prepared for them.”
“Yes, sir,” the stormtrooper commander said. He gave Ferrier a nudge, and the group turned and headed aft.
“Go with them, Rukh,” Thrawn said. “Ferrier has a small mind, and I want it to leave here filled with the knowledge of what will happen if he trips over my plans again.”
“Yes, my lord,” the Noghri said, and slipped silently away after the departing ship thief.
Thrawn turned to Pellaeon. “Your analysis, Captain?”
“Not a good situation, sir,” Pellaeon said, “but not as bad as it might have been. We have a potential line on Karrde’s group, if you can believe Ferrier. And in the meantime, he and his new allies won’t be doing anything but following the decoy trail we’ve already prepared for the Rebellion.”
“And eventually they’ll tire of that and again go their separate ways,” Thrawn agreed, his glowing eyes narrowed in thought. “Particularly as the financial burden of lost Imperial business begins to take its toll. Still, that will take time.”
“What are the options?” Pellaeon asked. “Take Ferrier up on his offer to give them booby-trapped ships?”
Thrawn smiled. “I have something more useful and satisfying in mind, Captain. Eventually, I’m sure some of the other smugglers will realize how unconvincing the Trogan attack really was. With a little judiciously planted evidence, perhaps we can persuade them that it was Karrde who was behind it.”
Pellaeon blinked. “Karrde?” he repeated.
“Why not?” Thrawn asked. “A deceitful and heavy-handed attempt, shall we say, to persuade the others that his fears about the Empire were justified. It would certainly lose Karrde any influence he might have over them, as well as possibly saving us the trouble of hunting him down ourselves.”
“It’s something to think about, sir,” Pellaeon agreed diplomatically. The middle of a major offensive, in his opinion, was not the right time to be worrying about exacting vengeance on the dregs of the galaxy’s under-fringes. There would be plenty of time for that after the Rebellion had been pounded into dust. “May I suggest, Admiral, that the stalled campaign off Ketaris requires your attention?”
Thrawn smiled again. “Your devotion to duty is commendable, Captain.” He turned his head to gaze out the side viewport. “No word yet from Coruscant?”
“Not yet, sir,” Pellaeon said, checking the comm log update just to be sure. “But you remember what Himron said about first creating a data trail. He might have run into some delays.”
“Perhaps.” Thrawn turned back, and Pellaeon could see the slight tightness in his face. “Perhaps not. Still, even if we fail to obtain the twins for our beloved Jedi Master, Major Himron’s fingering of Mara Jade should succeed in neutralizing her as a threat to us. For the moment, that’s what’s important.”
He straightened in his chair. “Set course for the Ketaris battle plane, Captain. We’ll leave as soon as Ferrier is clear.”
CHAPTER
11
The bulky man was turning into the Grand Corridor when Han finally caught up with him, his expression that of a man in a hurry and in a rotten mood besides. But that was okay; Han wasn’t in all that great a mood, either. “Colonel Bremen,” he said, falling in step beside the man just as he passed the first of the slender purple-and-green ch’hala trees that lined both sides of the Grand Corridor. “I want to talk to you a minute.”
Bremen threw him an irritated glance. “If it’s about Mara Jade, Solo, I don’t want to hear it.”
“She’s still under house arrest,” Han said anyway. “I want to know why.”
“Gee, well, maybe it has something to do with that Imperial attack two nights ago,” Bremen said sarcastically. “You suppose?”
“Could be,” Han agreed, batting at one of the ch’hala branches that was stretching a little too far from the trunk. The subtle turmoil of color taking place beneath the tree’s transparent outer bark exploded into an angry red at the spot where the branch connected to it, the color shooting around the trunk in ripples as it slowly faded. “I guess it all depends on how much we’re listening to Imperial rumor these days.”
Bremen stopped short and spun to face him. “Look, Solo, what do you want f
rom me?” he snapped. A new flush of pale red rippled across the ch’hala tree Han had touched, and across the corridor a group of diplomats sitting around a conversation ring looked up questioningly. “Look at the facts a minute, huh? Jade knew about the secret back door and the passages—she admits that outright. She was there on the scene before any alert was sounded—she admits that, too.”
“Well, so were Lando and General Bel Iblis,” Han said, feeling that thin plating of diplomacy that Leia had worked so hard to build starting to fail. “You haven’t got them locked up.”
“The situations are hardly similar, are they?” Bremen shot back. “Calrissian and Bel Iblis have histories with the New Republic, and people here who vouch for them. Jade has neither.”
“Leia and I vouch for her,” Han told him, trying hard to ignore that whole thing about her wanting to kill Luke. “Isn’t that good enough? Or are you just mad at her for doing your job for you?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Bremen turned nearly as red as the ch’hala tree had, his face hardening to something you could use for hull metal. “So she helped shoot some alleged Imperial agents,” he said frostily. “That proves absolutely nothing. With a Grand Admiral pulling the strings out there, the entire raid could have been nothing more than an elaborate scheme to convince us she’s on our side. Well, I’m sorry, but we’re not buying today. She gets the full treatment: records search, background search, acquaintance correlation, and a couple of question/answer sessions with our interrogators.”
“Terrific,” Han snorted. “If she’s not on our side now, that’ll put her there for sure.”
Bremen drew himself up to his full height. “We’re not doing this to be popular, Solo. We’re doing this to protect New Republic lives—yours and your children’s among them, if you recall. I presume Councilor Organa Solo will be at Mon Mothma’s briefing; if she has any complaints or suggestions, she can present them there. Until then, I don’t want to hear anything about Jade from anyone. Especially you. Is that clear, Captain Solo.”
