by Timothy Zahn
All in all, rather symbolic of the way this galactic war had finally caught up with Karrde himself.
He took another sip from his cup, marveling once again at this whole absurd situation. Here he was: an intelligent, calculating, appropriately selfish smuggler who’d made a successful career out of keeping his distance from galactic politics. A smuggler, moreover, who’d sworn explicitly to keep his people out of this particular war. And yet, somehow, here he was, squarely in the middle of it.
And not only in the middle of it, but trying his best to drag other smugglers in after him.
He shook his head in vague annoyance. This exact same thing, he knew, had happened to Han Solo sometime around the big Yavin battle. He could remember being highly amused by Solo’s gradual entanglement in the Rebel Alliance’s nets of duty and responsibility. Looking at it from the inside of the net, the whole thing wasn’t nearly so entertaining.
From across the battered courtyard came the faint sound of crunching gravel. Karrde turned to look at the line of stone pillars in that direction, his hand dropping to his blaster. No one else was supposed to be here at the moment. “Sturm?” he called softly. “Drang?”
The familiar cackling/purr came in response, and Karrde let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Over here,” he called to the animal. “Come on—over here.”
The order was unnecessary. The vornskr was already loping around the pillars toward him, its muzzle low to the ground, the stub of its truncated whip tail wagging madly behind him. Probably Drang, Karrde decided: he was the more sociable of the two, and Sturm had a tendency to dawdle over his meals.
The vornskr skidded to a halt beside him, giving another of his strange cackle/purrs—a rather mournful one this time—as he pressed his muzzle up into Karrde’s outstretched palm. It was Drang, all right. “Yes, it’s very quiet,” Karrde told him, running his hand back up across the animal’s face and around to scratch at the sensitive skin behind his ears. “But the others will be back soon. They’ve just gone out to check on the other ships.”
Drang gave another mournful cackle/purr and dropped into a half-crouch beside Karrde’s chair, staring alertly out over the empty plain below. But whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it, and after a moment he growled deep in his throat and lowered his muzzle to rest on the stone. His ears twitched once, as if straining to hear a sound that wasn’t there, and then they, too, folded back down.
“It’s quiet down there, too,” Karrde agreed soberly, stroking the vornskr’s fur. “What do you suppose happened here?”
Drang didn’t answer. Karrde gazed down at the vornskr’s lean, muscled back, wondering yet again about these strange predators he’d so casually—perhaps even arrogantly—decided to make pets of. Wondering if he’d have thought twice about doing so if he’d realized that he was dealing with possibly the only animals in the galaxy who hunted via the Force.
It was a preposterous conclusion, on the face of it. Force sensitivity itself wasn’t unheard of, certainly—the Gotal had a fairly useless form of it, and there were persistent rumors about the Duinuogwuin as well, to name just two. But all those who had such sensitivity were sentient creatures, with the high levels of intelligence and self-awareness that that implied. For nonsentient animals to use the Force this way was something new.
But it was a conclusion that the events of the past few months had forced him to. There had been his pets’ unexpected reaction to Luke Skywalker at Karrde’s Myrkr base. There’d been the similar and, again, previously unseen reaction to Mara aboard the Wild Karrde, just before the hunch she’d had that had saved them from that Imperial Interdictor Cruiser. There’d been the far more vicious reaction of the wild vornskrs toward both Mara and Skywalker during their three-day trek through the Myrkr forests.
Skywalker was a Jedi. Mara had shown some decidedly Jedi-like talents. And perhaps even more telling, the existence of the bizarre Force-empty bubbles created by Myrkr’s ysalamiri could finally be explained if they were simply a form of defense or camouflage against predators.
Abruptly Drang’s head snapped up, his ears stiffening as he twisted halfway around. Karrde strained his ears … and a few seconds later he heard the faint sounds of the returning shuttle. “It’s all right,” he assured the vornskr. “It’s just Chin and the others, back from the ship.”
Drang held the pose a moment longer. Then, as if deciding to take Karrde’s word for it, he turned and laid his head back down again. Looking out over a plain that, if Karrde’s suspicion was right, was more silent even for him than it was for Karrde. “Don’t worry,” he soothed the animal, scratching again behind his ears. “Well be out of here soon. And I promise that the next place we go will have plenty of other life around for you to listen to.”
The vornskr’s ears twitched, but that might have been just the scratching. Taking one last look at the fading colors of sunset, Karrde stood up, resettling his gun belt across his hips. There was no particular reason to go in yet, of course. The invitations had been written, encrypted, and transmitted, and for now there was nothing to do except wait for the replies. But suddenly it felt lonely out here. Much lonelier that it had a few minutes ago. “Come on, Drang,” he said, reaching down for one last pat. “Time to go in.”
The shuttle settled to the floor of the Chimaera’s hangar bay, release valves hissing over the heads of the stormtroopers moving purposefully into escort position around the lowering ramp. Pellaeon stayed where he was beside Thrawn, grimacing at the smell of the skid gases and wishing he knew what in the Empire the Grand Admiral was up to this time.
Whatever it was, he had a bad feeling that he wasn’t going to like it. Thrawn could talk all he liked about how predictable these smugglers were; and maybe to him they were. But Pellaeon had had his own share of dealings with this sort of fringe scum, and he’d never yet seen a deal that hadn’t gone sour one way or the other.
And none of those deals had started from the sheer audacity of an attack on an Imperial shipyard.
The ramp finished its descent and locked in place. The stormtrooper commander peered up into the shuttle and nodded … and, flanked by two black-clad fleet troopers, the prisoner descended to the deck.
“Ah—Captain Mazzic,” Thrawn said smoothly as the stormtroopers fell into escort positions around him. “Welcome to the Chimaera. I apologize for this rather theatrical summons and any problems it may have created in your business scheduling. But there are certain matters that cannot be discussed other than face-to-face.”
“You’re very funny,” Mazzic snarled. A marked contrast, Pellaeon thought, to the suave, sophisticated ladies’ man that had been profiled in Intelligence’s files. But then, the knowledge that one was facing an Imperial interrogation was enough to strip the civilized polish from any man. “How did you find me?”
“Come now, Captain,” Thrawn admonished him calmly. “Did you seriously think you could hide from me if I wanted you found?”
“Karrde managed it,” Mazzic shot back. Trying hard to put up a good front; but the manacled hands were working nervously at each other. “You still haven’t got him, have you?”
“Karrde’s time will come,” Thrawn told him, his voice still calm but noticeably cooler. “But we’re not talking about Karrde. We’re talking about you.”
“Yes, and I’m sure you’re looking forward to it,” Mazzic growled, waving his manacled hands. “Let’s get it over with.”
Thrawn’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You misunderstand, Captain. You’re not here for punishment. You’re here because I wanted to clear the air between us.”
Mazzic paused in midbluster. “What are you talking about?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’m talking about the recent incident at the Bilbringi shipyards,” Thrawn said. “No, don’t deny it—I know it was you and Ellor who destroyed that unfinished Star Destroyer. And normally the Empire would exact an extremely high price for such an act. However, under these particular circumstances, I’m prepared to let it
go.”
Mazzic stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple, Captain.” Thrawn gestured, and one of Mazzic’s escort began removing his restraints. “Your attack on Bilbringi was in revenge for a similar attack against a smugglers’ meeting you attended on Trogan. All well and good; except that neither I nor any senior Imperial officer authorized that attack. In fact, the garrison commander had explicit orders to leave your meeting alone.”
Mazzic snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”
Thrawn’s eyes glittered. “Would you rather believe I was so incompetent that I allowed an inadequate field force to be sent on a mission?” he bit out.
Mazzic eyed him, still hostile but starting to look a little thoughtful, as well, “I always thought we got away too easily,” he muttered.
“Then we understand each other,” Thrawn said, his voice calm again. “And the matter is settled. The shuttle has orders to take you back to your base.” He smiled faintly. “Or, rather, to the backup base your ship and crew will have fled to by now on Lelmra. Again, my apologies for the inconvenience.”
Mazzic’s eyes darted around the hangar bay, his expression halfway between suspicion that this was a trick and an almost painfully eager hope that it wasn’t. “And I’m just supposed to believe you?” he demanded.
“You’re welcome to believe anything you wish,” Thrawn said. “But remember that I had you in my hand … and that I let you go. Good day, Captain.”
He started to turn away. “So who were they?” Mazzic called after him. “If they weren’t Imperial troops, I mean?”
Thrawn turned back to face him. “They were indeed Imperial troops,” he said. “Our inquiries are still incomplete, but at the moment it appears that Lieutenant Kosk and his men were attempting to make a little extra money on the side.”
Mazzic stared. “Someone hired them to hit us? Imperial troops?”
“Even Imperial troops are not always immune to the lure of bribery,” Thrawn said, his voice dark with an excellent imitation of bitter contempt. “In this case, they paid for their treason with their lives. Be assured that the person or persons responsible will pay a similar price.”
“You know who it was?” Mazzic demanded.
“I believe I know,” Thrawn said. “As yet, I have no proof.”
“Give me a hint.”
Thrawn smiled sardonically. “Form your own hints, Captain. Good day.”
He turned and strode back toward the archway leading to the service and prep areas. Pellaeon waited long enough to watch Mazzic and his escort turn and start back up into the shuttle, then hurried to join him. “Do you think you gave him enough, Admiral?” he asked quietly.
“It won’t matter, Captain,” Thrawn assured him. “We’ve given him all that’s necessary; and if Mazzic himself isn’t clever enough to finger Karrde, one of the other smuggler chiefs will be. In any case, it’s always better to offer too little rather than too much. Some people automatically distrust free information.”
Behind them, the shuttle lifted from the deck and swung back around into space … and from the archway ahead a grinning figure emerged. “Nicely done, Admiral,” Niles Ferrier said, shifting his cigarra to the other side of his mouth. “You got him all squirmy and then tossed him back. He’ll be thinking about that for a long time.”
“Thank you, Ferrier,” Thrawn said dryly. “Your approval means so very much to me.”
For a second the ship thief’s grin seemed to slip. Then, apparently, he decided to take the comment at face value. “Okay,” he said. “So what’s our next move?”
Thrawn’s eyes flashed at the our, but he let it go. “Karrde sent out a series of transmissions last night, one of which we intercepted,” he said. “We’re still decrypting it, but it can only be a call for another meeting. Once we have the location and time, they’ll be provided to you.”
“And I’ll go and help Mazzic finger Karrde,” Ferrier nodded.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Thrawn said sharply. “You will sit in a corner and keep your mouth shut.”
Ferrier seemed to shrink back. “Okay. Sure.”
Thrawn held his gaze another moment. “What you will do,” he continued at last, “is to make certain that a certain data card is placed into Karrde’s possession. Preferably in the office aboard his ship—that will be where Mazzic will probably look first.”
He motioned, and an officer stepped forward and handed Ferrier a data card. “Ah,” Ferrier said slyly as he took it. “Yeah, I get it. The record of Karrde’s deal with this Lieutenant Kosk, huh?”
“Correct,” Thrawn said. “That, plus the supporting evidence we’ve already inserted into Kosk’s own personal records should leave no doubt that Karrde has been manipulating the other smugglers. I expect that to be more than adequate.”
“Yeah, they’re a pretty nasty bunch, all right.” Ferrier turned the data card over in his hand, chewing on his cigarra. “Okay. So all I gotta do is get aboard the Wild Karrde—”
He broke off at the look on Thrawn’s face. “No,” the Grand Admiral said quietly. “On the contrary, you’ll stay as far away from his ship and private ground facilities as possible. In fact, you will never allow yourself to be alone while you’re at his base.”
Ferrier blinked in surprise. “Yeah, but …” Helplessly, he held up the data card.
Beside him, Pellaeon felt Thrawn’s sigh of strained patience. “Your Defel will be the one to plant the data card aboard the Wild Karrde.”
Ferrier’s face cleared. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. He can probably slip in and out without anyone even noticing.”
“He had better,” Thrawn warned; and suddenly his voice was icy cold. “Because I haven’t forgotten your role in the deaths of Lieutenant Kosk and his men. You owe the Empire, Ferrier. And that debt will be paid.”
Behind his beard, Ferrier’s face had gone a little pale. “I got it, Admiral.”
“Good,” Thrawn said. “You’ll remain on your ship until Decrypt obtains the location of Karrde’s meeting for you. After that, you’ll be on your own.”
“Sure,” Ferrier said, stuffing the data card into his tunic. “So. After they take care of Karrde, what do I do?”
“You’ll be free to go about your business,” Thrawn said. “When I want you again, I’ll let you know.”
Ferrier’s lip twitched. “Sure,” he repeated.
And on his face, Pellaeon saw that he was slowly starting to realize just how deep his debt to the Empire really was.
CHAPTER
16
The planet was green and blue and mottled white, pretty much like all the other planets Han had dropped in on over the years. With the minor exception that this one didn’t have a name.
Or spaceports. Or orbit facilities. Or cities, power plants, or other ships. Or much of anything else.
“That’s it, huh?” he asked Mara.
She didn’t answer. Han looked over and found her staring at the planet hanging out there in front of them. “Well, is it or isn’t it?” he prompted.
“It is,” she said, her voice strangely hollow. “We’re here.”
“Good,” Han said, still frowning at her. “Great. You going to tell us where this mountain is? Or are we just going to fly around and see where we draw fire from?”
Mara seemed to shake herself. “It’s about halfway between the equator and the north pole,” she said. “Near the eastern edge of the main continent. A single mountain, rising out of forest and grassland.”
“Okay,” Han said, feeding in the information and hoping the sensors wouldn’t loop out and fail on him. Mara had made enough snide comments about the Falcon as it was.
Behind him, the cockpit door slid open, and Lando and Chewbacca came in. “How about it?” Lando asked. “We there?”
“We’re there,” Mara said before Han could answer.
Chewbacca rumbled a question. “No, seems to be a real low-tech place,” Han shook his head. “No power
sources or transmissions anywhere.”
“Military bases?” Lando asked.
“If they’re there, I can’t find ’em,” Han said.
“Interesting,” Lando murmured, peering over Mara’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have pegged the Grand Admiral as being the trusting sort.”
“The place was designed to be a private storehouse,” Mara reminded him tartly. “Not a display ad for Imperial hardware. There weren’t any garrisons or command centers scattered around for Thrawn to have moved into.”
“So whatever he’s got will be stashed inside the mountain?” Han asked.
“Plus probably a few ground patrols just outside,” Mara said. “But they won’t have any fighter squadrons or heavy weaponry to throw at us.”
“That’ll be a nice change,” Lando said wryly.
“Unless Thrawn decided to put up a couple of garrisons on his own,” Han pointed out. “You and Chewie’d better charge up the quads, just in case.”
“Right.”
The two of them left. Han shifted into a general approach vector, then keyed for a sensor search. “Trouble?” Mara asked.
“Probably not,” Han assured her, watching the displays. But there was nothing showing anywhere around them. “A couple of times on the way in I thought I spotted something hanging around back there.”
“Calrissian thought he saw something when we changed course at Obroa-skai, too,” Mara said, peering down at the display. “Could be something with a really good sensor stealth mode.”
“Or just a glitch,” Han said. “The Fabritech’s been giving us trouble lately.”
Mara craned her neck to look out to starboard. “Could someone have followed us here from Coruscant?”
