by Timothy Zahn
Karrde smiled at him. “I rather hope to be there that day myself,” he said. “Good flights, gentlemen; I’ll see you at Bilbringi.”
The brilliant green turbolaser blast flashed downward from the fuzzy-looking Star Destroyer in the distance beyond. It splashed slightly against the unseen energy shield, then reappeared a short distance away, continuing onward—
“Stop,” Admiral Drayson said.
The record froze, the hazy splash of turbolaser fire looking angular and rather artificial as it sat there in stop-frame mode on the main display. “I apologize for the quality here,” Drayson said, stepping over to tap it with his light-pointer. “Macrobinocular records can be enhanced only so much before the algorithms start breaking down. But even so, I think you can all see what’s happening. The Star Destroyer’s blast is not, in fact, penetrating Ukio’s planetary shield. What appears to be that same blast is actually a second shot, fired from a cloaked vessel inside the shield.”
Leia peered at the hazy picture. It didn’t seem nearly that obvious to her. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Quite sure,” Drayson said, touching his light-pointer to the empty space between the splash and the continuing green fire. “We have spectral and energy-line data on the beams themselves; but this gap by itself is really all the proof we need. That’s the bulk of the second ship—most likely a Carrack-class light cruiser, from the size.”
He lowered the light-pointer and looked around the table. “In other words, the Empire’s new superweapon is nothing more than an extremely clever fraud.”
Leia thought about that meeting in Admiral Ackbar’s rooms, back when he was under suspicion of treason. “Ackbar once warned Han and me that a Grand Admiral would find ways to use a cloaking shield against us.”
“I don’t think you’d find anyone arguing that point,” Drayson nodded. “At any rate, this should put an end to this particular gambit. We’ll put out an alert to all planetary forces that if the Empire tries it again, all they need to do is direct a saturation fire at the spot where the turbolaser blasts appear to penetrate the shield.”
“Fraud or not, it was still one highly impressive show,” Bel Iblis commented. “The position and timing were exquisitely handled. What do you think, Leia—that insane Jedi Luke locked horns with on Jomark?”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt,” Leia said, a shiver running through her. “We’ve already seen this kind of coordination between forces in Thrawn’s earlier campaigns. And we know from Mara that C’baoth and Thrawn are working together.”
Mentioning Mara’s name was a mistake. There was a general, uncomfortable shifting in seats around the table as the emotional sense in the room chilled noticeably. They’d all heard Leia’s reasoning for her unilateral decision to release Mara, and none of them had liked it.
Bel Iblis broke the awkward silence first. “Where did this macrobinocular record come from, Admiral?”
“From that smuggler, Talon Karrde,” Drayson said. He threw a significant look at Leia. “Another outsider who came here offering valuable information that didn’t pan out.”
Leia bristled. “That’s not fair,” she insisted. “The fact we lost the Katana fleet wasn’t Karrde’s fault.” She looked at Councilor Fey’lya, sitting silently at the table, doing his private Bothan penance. If Fey’lya hadn’t been making that insane bid for power …
She looked back at Drayson. “It was nobody’s fault,” she added quietly, releasing at last the final lingering dregs of resentment at Fey’lya and allowing them to drain away. The recognition of his failure was already paralyzing the Bothan. She couldn’t allow long-dead anger to do the same to her.
Bel Iblis cleared his throat. “I think what Leia’s trying to say is that without Karrde’s help we might have lost more than just the Katana fleet. Whatever you think of smugglers in general or Karrde in particular, we owe him.”
“Interesting that you should say that, General,” Drayson said dryly. “Karrde seems to feel the same way. In exchange for this record and certain other minor items of intelligence, he’s drawn rather liberally from a special New Republic credit line.” He looked at Leia again. “A line apparently set up by Councilor Organa Solo’s brother.”
Commander Sesfan, Ackbar’s representative to the Council, rolled his huge Mon Calamari eyes toward Leia. “Jedi Skywalker authorized payments to a smuggler?” he said, his gravelly voice sounding astonished.
“He did,” Drayson confirmed. “Completely without authorization, of course. We’ll close it off immediately.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mon Mothma’s quiet voice came from the head of the table. “Whether Karrde is officially on our side or not, he’s clearly willing to help us. That makes him worthy of our support.”
“But he is a smuggler,” Sesfan objected.
“So was Han,” Leia reminded him. “So was Lando Calrissian, once. Both of them became generals.”
“After they joined us,” Sesfan countered. “Karrde has made no such commitment.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mon Mothma said. Her voice was still quiet, but there was steel beneath it. “We need all the allies we can get. Official or otherwise.”
“Unless he’s setting us up,” Drayson pointed out darkly. “Gaining our trust with things like this macro-binocular record so that he can feed us disinformation later. And in the meantime profiting rather handsomely from it.”
“We’ll simply have to make certain we spot any such duplicity,” Mon Mothma told him. “But I don’t believe that will happen. Luke Skywalker is a Jedi … and he, clearly, has some trust in this man Karrde. Regardless, for now, our focus should be on those parts of our destiny which are in our hands. Admiral Drayson, have you the latest report on the Bilbringi operation?”
“Yes,” Drayson nodded, pulling out a data card. He inserted it into the display slot, and as he did so, Leia heard the faint beep of a comlink from beside her. Winter pulled the device from her belt and acknowledged softly into it. Leia couldn’t make out the reply, but she felt the sudden flicker in Winter’s sense. “Trouble?” she murmured.
“If I may have everyone’s attention?” Drayson said, just a little too loudly.
Leia returned back to him, feeling her face warm, as Winter pushed her chair back and slipped over to the door. Drayson threw a glare at her back, apparently decided it wasn’t worth invoking the usual sealed-room rule. The door slid open at Winter’s touch and an unseen person pressed a data card into her hand. The door slid shut again—“Well?” Drayson demanded. “I trust this is something that couldn’t wait?”
“I’m certain it could have,” Winter said coolly, giving Drayson her full antibluster gaze as she returned to her seat and sat down. “For you, Your Highness,” she said, handing Leia the data card. “The coordinates of the planet Wayland.”
A ripple of surprise went around the room as Leia took the card. “That was fast,” Drayson said, his voice tinged with suspicion. “I was under the impression this place was going to be a lot harder to find.”
Leia shrugged, trying to suppress her own twinge of uneasiness. That had been her impression, too. “Apparently it wasn’t.”
“Show it to us,” Mon Mothma said.
Leia slid the data card into the slot and keyed for a visual. A sector map appeared on the main display, with familiar names floating beside several of the stars. In the center, surrounded by a group of unlabeled stars, one of the systems flashed red. At the bottom of the map was a short list of planetary data and a few lines of text. “So that’s the Emperor’s rat’s nest,” Bel Iblis murmured, leaning forward as he studied it. “I always wondered where he hid all those interesting little tidbits that seemed to mysteriously vanish from official storehouses and depots.”
“If that’s really the place,” Drayson murmured.
“I presume you can confirm the information came from Captain Solo,” Mon Mothma said, looking at Winter.
Winter hesitated. “It didn’t come from him,
exactly,” she said.
Leia frowned at her. “What do you mean, not exactly? Was it from Luke?”
A muscle in Winter’s cheek twitched. “All I can say is that the source is reliable.”
There was a short moment of silence as everyone digested that. “Reliable,” Mon Mothma said.
“Yes,” Winter nodded.
Mon Mothma threw a look at Leia. “This Council is not accustomed to having information withheld from it,” she said. “I want to know where these coordinates came from.”
“I’m sorry,” Winter said quietly. “It’s not my secret to tell.”
“Whose secret is it?”
“I can’t tell you that, either.”
Mon Mothma’s face darkened. “It doesn’t matter,” Bel Iblis put in before she could speak. “Not for right now. Whether this planet is the actual cloning center or not, there’s nothing we can do about it until the Bilbringi operation is over.”
Leia looked at him. “We’re not sending any backup?”
“Impossible,” Sesfan growled, shaking his huge Mon Calamari head. “All available ships and personnel are already committed to the Bilbringi attack. Too many regions and systems have been left undefended as it is.”
“Especially when we don’t even know if this is the right place,” Drayson added. “It could just as easily be an Imperial trap.”
“It’s not a trap,” Leia insisted. “Mara’s not working for the Empire anymore.”
“We only have your word for that—”
“It still doesn’t matter,” Bel Iblis cut him off, his senatorial voice cutting through the growing argument. “Look at the bottom of the map, Leia—it says all indications are that their landing was undetected. Would you really want to risk that element of surprise by sending another ship in after them?”
Leia felt her stomach tighten. Unfortunately, he had a point.
“Then perhaps the Bilbringi attack should be postponed,” Fey’lya said.
Leia turned to look at him, dimly aware that the whole table was doing likewise. It was practically the first time the Bothan had spoken at a Council meeting since his bid for power had ignominiously collapsed out at the Katana fleet. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Councilor Fey’lya,” Mon Mothma said. “Aside from all the preparations that would have to be discarded, it’s absolutely imperative that we clear out these cloaked asteroids hanging over our heads.”
“Why?” Fey’lya demanded, a rippling wave running through the fur of his neck and down his shoulders. “The shield protects us. We have adequate supplies for many months. We have full communication with the rest of the New Republic. Is it merely the fear of looking weak and helpless?”
“Appearances and perceptions are important to the New Republic,” Mon Mothma reminded him. “And properly so. The Empire rules by force and threat; we rule instead by inspiration and leadership. We cannot be perceived to be cowering here in fear of our lives.”
“This is beyond image and perception,” Fey’lya insisted, the fur flattening across the back of his head. “The Bothan people knew the Emperor—knew his desires and his ambitions, perhaps better than all who were not his allies and servants. There are things in that storehouse which must never again see light. Weapons and devices which Thrawn will some day find and use against us unless we prevent him from doing so.”
“And we will do so,” Mon Mothma assured him. “And soon. But not until we’ve damaged the Bilbringi shipyards and obtained a CGT array.”
“And what of Captain Solo and Councilor Organa Solo’s brother?”
The lines around Mon Mothma’s mouth tightened. For all the rigid military logic, Leia could see that she didn’t like abandoning them there, either. “All we can do for them right now is to continue with our plans,” she said quietly. “To draw the Grand Admiral’s attention toward our supposed attack on Tangrene.” She looked at Drayson. “Which we were about to discuss. Admiral?”
Drayson stepped up to the display again. “We’ll start with the current status of preparations for the Tangrene feint,” he said, keying his light-pointer to call up the proper display.
Leia threw a sideways glance at Fey’lya, and at the obvious signs of agitation still visible in the Bothan’s face and fur movements. What was in the mountain, she wondered, that he was so afraid Thrawn would get hold of?
Perhaps it was just as well she didn’t know.
Pellaeon stepped into the dimly lit entry room just outside Thrawn’s private command room, his eyes darting around. Rukh was here somewhere, waiting to play his little Noghri games. He took a step toward the door to the main chamber, took another—
There was a touch of air on the back of his neck. Pellaeon spun around, hands snapping up in half-remembered academy self-defense training.
There was no one there. He looked around again, searching for where the Noghri might have taken cover—
“Captain Pellaeon,” the familiar catlike voice mewed from behind him.
He spun back again. Again, no one was there; but even as his eyes searched the walls and nonexistent cover, Rukh stepped around from behind him. “You are expected,” the Noghri said, gesturing with his slender assassin’s knife toward the main door.
Pellaeon glared at him. Someday, he promised himself darkly, he would persuade Thrawn that a Grand Admiral of the Empire didn’t need an arrogant alien bodyguard to protect him. And when that happened, he was going to take a very personal pleasure in having Rukh killed. “Thank you,” he growled, and went in.
He’d expected the command room to be filled with Thrawn’s usual eclectic collection of alien art, and he was right. But with one minor difference: even to Pellaeon’s untrained eye it was clear that two very different styles of art were being represented. They were spread out along opposite sides of the room, with a large tactical holo of the Tangrene system filling the center.
“Come in, Captain,” Thrawn called from the double display ring as Pellaeon paused in the doorway. “What news from Tangrene?”
“The Rebels are still moving forces into strike positions,” Pellaeon told him, making his way between the sculptures and the tactical holo toward Thrawn’s command chair. “Sneaking their devious way into our trap.”
“How very convenient of them.” Thrawn gestured to his right. “Mon Calamari art,” he identified it. “What do you think?”
Pellaeon gave it a quick look as he came up to the double display ring. It looked about as repulsive and primitive as the Mon Calamari themselves. “Very interesting,” he said aloud.
“Isn’t, it,” Thrawn agreed. “Those two pieces in particular—they were created by Admiral Ackbar himself.”
Pellaeon eyed the indicated sculptures. “I didn’t know Ackbar had any interest in art.”
“A minor one only,” Thrawn said. “These were composed some time ago, before he joined the Rebellion. Still, they provide useful insights into his character. As do those,” he added, gesturing to his left. “Artwork once chosen personally by our Corellian adversary.”
Pellaeon looked at them with new interest. So Senator Bel Iblis had picked these out himself, had he? “Where were these from, his old Imperial Senate office?”
“Those were,” Thrawn said, indicating the nearest group. “Those were from his home; those from his private ship. Intelligence found these records, more or less accidentally, in the data from our last Obroa-skai information raid. So the Rebels continue to edge toward our trap, do they?”
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, glad to be getting back to something he could understand. “We’ve had two more reports of Rebel support ships moving into positions at the edge of the Draukyze system.”
“But not obviously.”
Pellaeon frowned. “Excuse me, Admiral?”
“What I mean is that they’re being highly secretive about their preparations,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “Quietly detaching intelligence and support ships from other assignments; moving and re-forming sector fleets to free capital ships
for service—that sort of thing. Never obviously. Always making Imperial Intelligence work hard to put the pieces together.”
He looked up at Pellaeon, his glowing red eyes glittering in the dim light. “Almost as if Tangrene was indeed their true target.”
Pellaeon stared at him. “Are you saying it isn’t?”
“That’s correct, Captain,” Thrawn said, gazing out at the artwork.
Pellaeon looked at the Tangrene holo. Intelligence had put a 94 percent probability on this. “But if they’re not going to hit Tangrene … then where?”
“The last place we would normally expect them,” Thrawn said, reaching over to touch a switch on his command board. Tangrene system vanished, to be replaced by—
Pellaeon felt his jaw drop. “Bilbringi?” He wrenched his eyes back to his commander. “Sir, that’s …”
“Insane?” Thrawn cocked a blue-black eyebrow. “Of course it is. The insanity of men and aliens who’ve learned the hard way that they can’t match me face-to-face. And so they attempt to use my own tactical skill and insight against me. They pretend to walk into my trap, gambling that I’ll notice the subtlety of their movements and interpret that as genuine intent. And while I then congratulate myself on my perception”—he gestured at the Bilbringi holo—“they prepare their actual attack.”
Pellaeon looked at Bel Iblis’s old artwork. “We might want to wait for confirmation before we shift any forces from Tangrene, Admiral,” he suggested cautiously. “We could intensify Intelligence activity in the Bilbringi region. Or perhaps Delta Source could confirm it.”
“Unfortunately, Delta Source has been silenced,” Thrawn said. “But we have no need of confirmation. This is the Rebels’ plan, and we will not risk tipping our hand with anything so obvious as a heightened Intelligence presence. They believe they’ve deceived me. Our overriding task now is to make certain they continue to believe that.”
