Thrawn_Alliances_Star Wars

by Timothy Zahn

  Or maybe that was what the Chimaera had now become. Certainly Vader had wasted no time settling in and making changes.

  Over the hum of quiet conversation, Faro heard the sound of the aft bridge doors. She turned to see a white-armored stormtrooper step into view. He took an unhurried look around, then continued on toward Faro.

  She scowled a little harder. And speaking of unwelcome changes in the Chimaera’s routine…

  She had the scowl safely tucked away by the time the other came to a crisp halt in front of her. “Commodore Faro,” he greeted her with the stiff formality she’d come to expect from stormtrooper officers. “I’m—”

  “Yes; Commander Kimmund,” she interrupted with equal formality.

  He didn’t twitch, and of course any flicker of surprise would be hidden by his helmet faceplate. But Faro had no doubt the surprise was there. The white-on-white unit and rank designations were nearly impossible to see without stormtrooper optical enhancements, but Faro had long since mastered the technique. “What can I do for you?” she continued.

  “I need to talk to you about the positioning and priority placement of our transport,” Kimmund said. There wasn’t any surprise in his voice, either. Quick on the recovery. “Your chief hangar master is having trouble obeying orders.”

  Mentally, Faro shook her head. Yes, that sounded like Senior Lieutenant Xoxtin. The woman had her precise, idiosyncratic way of doing things, and it often took a figurative loadlifter to budge her.

  Unfortunately, her family was one of the Coruscant elite, and was furthermore close friends with the Emperor’s senior adviser on Mid Rim affairs. Xoxtin got away with doing things her own way simply because few naval officers had the nerve to bring the necessary pressure to bear.

  Luckily for Kimmund, Faro was one of those few.

  “I’ll speak to her personally,” she promised Kimmund. “Where exactly do you want your transport positioned?”

  “Lord Vader’s Lambda should of course be in Number One,” Kimmund said. “The Darkhawk should be in Number Two.”

  Which would leave Admiral Thrawn’s own personal Lambda no higher than the Number Three slot. A clear violation of proper navy protocol, and Kimmund surely knew that.

  Still, Thrawn had instructed his officers to cooperate with their guests—that was his word—as much as possible. And it wasn’t like a ship in Number Three couldn’t get into space as quickly as a ship in Number One. It was just farther from the prep room and therefore a bit more of a walk. Thrawn would probably be okay with that.

  Actually, having the Darkhawk in there would go nicely with the other nondescript freighter currently sitting in Number Four, the civilian ship Thrawn had liberated from pirates a couple of years ago and used whenever he felt the need for anonymity. The First Legion’s transport was of much the same flavor: an old, Clone Wars–era Separatist freighter that looked decrepit on the outside but had been refitted with all the best weaponry, shielding, and sensor-evasion systems that Imperial technology could provide. For all of Lord Vader’s menace and flash, to say nothing of his instantly recognizable appearance, he clearly also understood the uses of subtlety.

  Either that or he liked having a captured Separatist ship around to remind everyone which side had won.

  “Very well,” she said to Kimmund. “I’ll make it happen.”

  “Thank you, Commodore,” Kimmund said. Coming briefly to full attention, he turned and strode back down the command walkway.

  Faro watched him go, feeling the swirl of calculations that was a frustrating part of an Imperial officer’s life. Xoxtin’s family was powerful; but Kimmund was the head of the First Legion, the elite unit that Lord Vader had drawn from the equally renowned 501st to serve as his personal stormtrooper force. Theoretically, the Emperor’s right-hand man trumped all the rest of the tangled political web.

  But only if, when things went to meltdown, Vader deigned to intervene on Faro’s behalf. Unfortunately, he was notorious for staying out of political squabbles, and there was no guarantee he would even remember Faro’s minor assistance here. Xoxtin, on the other hand, would almost certainly hold a grudge.

  There was never a good time for such a balancing act. But this particular time was especially bad. Faro had been promoted to commodore just six weeks ago, with the assurance that Task Force 231 would be hers as soon as its current commander was moved up the ladder to one of the larger fleets.

  But that promise, and her task force, had yet to materialize. And with Commander Eli Vanto’s unexplained disappearance from the Seventh Fleet still fueling the rumor mill, Faro was no longer sure where her future lay. Annoying Xoxtin and her family at this juncture could prove fatal.

  Still, she’d promised Kimmund. More important, letting a subordinate get away with ignoring orders, even a subordinate as well connected as Xoxtin, set a bad precedent.

  She was staring out the viewport, mentally walking through her confrontational options, when the mottled sky of hyperspace abruptly changed to starlines and collapsed into stars.

  The Chimaera had arrived.

  Only it hadn’t arrived at its planned destination. It had, instead, arrived in the literal middle of nowhere.

  * * *

  —

  The stars shone through the viewport, their positions matching those on the nav display and confirming Commodore Faro’s calculations.

  Lord Vader stands just out of sight, motionless, only his labored breathing marking his position. His breathing displays some variance. His body stance likewise holds a muted range of thought and emotion. But there is little there to read. Little to understand. Little to anticipate.

  Faro stepped into view. “The hyperdrive has been checked twice, Admiral,” she said. Her facial muscles are tight. Her voice holds a higher degree of anxiety than usual. “The techs thought it might be the alluvial dampers, but they’ve been cleared. I’ve ordered a second check, but so far everything’s showing full green.” Her eyes remain correctly on her admiral as she speaks, but her muscles hold a tension that indicates she battles an urge to turn her attention and her speech to Lord Vader. She does not wish his presence on the command walkway, but her expression holds recognition that she has no choice in the matter.

  “Then the fault must lie with the Chimaera’s crew,” Vader said. He steps forward. His voice perhaps holds impatience.

  “With all due respect, Lord Vader, I don’t believe that to be the case,” Faro said. Her eyes turn to Vader. The stiffness of her stance increases. Her voice holds caution and a degree of fear, but also determination. “This hyperlane is sparsely traveled, and its parameters and edges are poorly defined. I believe it more likely we’ve run into the shadow of some previously unknown mass.”

  “Indeed,” Vader said. His vocal pitch lowers slightly. His hands rise to his waist, his thumbs hooking into his belt. “And where is this mysterious mass?”

  Faro’s throat muscles tighten briefly. “We haven’t yet located it, Lord Vader,” she said. Her eyes turn back to her admiral. “I have our best sensor operators working on the problem, sir.”

  “Perhaps your best are not up to the standards of Imperial service,” Vader said.

  “The Chimaera’s officers and crew are more than adequate to their tasks, Lord Vader,” Thrawn said. “Commodore, if there is indeed a wayward mass affecting us, perhaps some forward movement will take us clear of its shadow and effect.”

  “Yes, sir,” Faro said. The tension in her face and voice eases noticeably. “Helm: Take us ahead at two-thirds power. Scanners: Continue to search for objects.”

  “And for other ships,” Thrawn said.

  Faro’s expression holds puzzlement. “Other ships, sir?”

  “Do you expect us to come under attack?” Vader asked.

  “It is possible, though unlikely,” Thrawn said. “My concern is that, however it was we were p
ulled from hyperspace, other ships may be similarly affected. We need to be wary of collisions or other encounters.”

  “Commodore Faro just explained how poorly traveled this hyperlane is,” Vader said. His words are slightly clipped. “Do you truly expect a traffic level of two ships a week to present a danger?”

  “That is indeed the listing on the navigational charts,” Thrawn said. “But the transit profile may have changed since those notations were made. Certainly the ship traffic was even more sparse the last time I was here.”

  “You were here before, sir?” Faro asked. Her expression and voice hold surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Is there a reason you should, Commodore?” Vader asked.

  “My apologies, Admiral,” Faro said. She speaks quickly. Her voice holds fresh anxiety.

  “No apologies required, Commodore,” Thrawn said. “It was many years ago during the Clone War.”

  “I see,” Faro said. The anxiety is fading, her voice and expression now holding interest. “I was unaware you were in the Republic at that time.”

  “The past is the past,” Vader said. “The present and future are all that matter.” He turns, his long cloak swirling, his half-hidden lightsaber glinting in the bridge light. His hands remain hooked in his belt a moment, and then he lowers his arms to his sides. His fingers curl slightly. “I will be in my quarters. You will inform me when we are again under way.”

  “Of course, Lord Vader,” Thrawn said.

  “You will also inform your Noghri that my legion’s Darkhawk is off limits to him,” Vader added. “Commander Kimmund has twice caught him inside. The next time will be the last.”

  “Understood, my lord,” Thrawn said. “Rukh is sometimes overzealous in his attempts to know everything that occurs aboard the Chimaera. I will so inform him.”

  “There was no need for him to be aboard at all,” Vader said. His voice deepens in pitch. “If his combat and tracking skills are as good as you claim, he should have been left behind to aid Woldar and Tarkin in their hunt for Jarrus and the rebels.” His head tilts slightly. “Or do you fear for your personal safety after your confrontations on Atollon?”

  Faro’s facial muscles stiffen. Her body stance holds fresh tension.

  “On the contrary, Lord Vader,” Thrawn said. “With you and the First Legion aboard, the Chimaera’s safety is more than guaranteed. But there may be tasks that require all of us, including Rukh, before this mission is over.”

  “The mission will be over sooner than you think,” Vader said. “We will find the disturbance, I will deal with it, and we will return to Coruscant.”

  “Understood,” Thrawn said.

  “Good.” Vader turns a few degrees to face the viewport. “With all speed, Admiral. I wish to see what exactly has caught the Emperor’s attention.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Thrawn said. “As do I.”

  * * *

  —

  After the first time Kimmund threw Rukh off the Darkhawk he’d ordered Trooper Sampa to rig intrusion sensors on all the hatchways. One of the sensors had successfully been triggered the second time Rukh sneaked aboard, allowing the stormtroopers on duty to catch and evict him much faster.

  Kimmund was watching the Chimaera’s progress—or more properly, its lack of progress—on the First Legion ready room’s repeater displays when the sensor once again warbled its alert.

  Two minutes later he was in the hangar, fully armored, blaster carbine in hand, making a quiet bet with himself as to precisely where circumstance and whim would place his first shot. He reached the Darkhawk and strode around its bow.

  Only to find the diminutive Noghri standing calmly on the deck five meters outside the vehicle under the watchful guard of Sergeant Drav and Trooper Morrtic. Morrtic, Kimmund noted, was holding an extra stormtrooper helmet at her side. “Where did you find him?” Kimmund asked.

  “Right here, sir,” Drav said darkly. “Standing outside the hatch.”

  “Pretending he was just out for a stroll,” Morrtic added.

  Kimmund focused on the Noghri. Short and humanoid, with gray skin and a row of small horns running up from his forehead, he was looking back at the stormtrooper commander with his usual scowl. His arms were hanging casually at his sides, but Kimmund had seen him practice with the fighting staff strapped across his back and knew he could grab it with blinding speed.

  With three stormtroopers standing in triangle array around him, Kimmund almost hoped he would try. Especially since there was a certain look on top of Rukh’s scowl that he was pretty sure was smugness. “Well?” he demanded.

  “Well?” Rukh repeated in a grating voice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “This is my master’s ship,” Rukh said. “I can go wherever I wish.”

  “The Chimaera is Grand Admiral Thrawn’s ship,” Kimmund corrected acidly. “Lord Vader’s Lambda and the Darkhawk aren’t. You’ve been warned to stay out.”

  “Your soldiers will tell you I haven’t been aboard,” Rukh said. “Speak to them. Ask them.”

  Kimmund shifted his attention to Drav. “Well?”

  “We were here ten seconds after the alarm sounded,” the sergeant conceded. “If he was inside, it couldn’t have been more than a ring-and-run.”

  “Really,” Kimmund growled, looking back at Rukh. “Are we reduced to petty schoolchild pranks, then?”

  “We are reduced to words,” Rukh said. “These are mine: The safety of my master is my task. I will not allow unknowns to threaten it.”

  “We’re hardly unknowns,” Kimmund said stiffly. “We’re the First Legion, Lord Vader’s personal stormtroopers. The entire Empire knows us.”

  “The entire Empire may,” Rukh said. “I don’t. But I will learn.”

  “You do that,” Kimmund said. “Just remember that the next time we catch you in one of our transports, we will shoot to kill.”

  “You may try,” Rukh said. “I bear you no ill will. But I will do my job.” Giving Kimmund a low, obviously sarcastic bow, he turned and strode on his short legs toward the hangar bay exit.

  “Should we follow him, sir?” Drav asked.

  “No,” Kimmund said. “Unfortunately, he’s right—Thrawn has given him full run of the Chimaera. Hopefully, Lord Vader’s had a chance to clarify things regarding our ships.” He gestured to the helmet in Morrtic’s hand. “What’s that?”

  “It’s what he used to trigger the alarm,” Morrtic said, holding up the helmet for closer inspection. “He apparently stood out here and tossed it through the hatch into the sensor field.”

  Kimmund frowned, keying his helmet’s optical enhancements. Was that—? “Is that Jid’s?”

  “Yes, sir,” Morrtic confirmed sourly. “And yes, it was still in the aft electronics shop waiting for its comm upgrade.”

  “So how did Rukh get in there and get it?”

  Morrtic looked at Drav. “No idea, sir,” Drav admitted.

  “No idea?”

  “He didn’t use that electrostaff of his to short out the sensors,” Morrtic put in. “I checked them.”

  “What about that damn personal cloaking trick?” Kimmund asked. “Did Sampa ever figure out how that thing worked?”

  “Yeah, he got a look at the specs,” Drav said. “It’s a lot like a Sinrich optical dephaser, but it’s got a totally different design. Looks like it’s limited to three minutes on a charge, doesn’t work on humans—needs a Noghri’s double-layer skin conductivity or something—and doesn’t cover any added stuff once it’s been activated.”

  “That last is the key,” Morrtic said. “Sampa’s rigged up a gadget that sprays a fine mist of microwave-reflective glitter when the floor weight sensors are triggered. Once Rukh’s got that on him, we should be able to track him anywhere he goes.”

  “Great,” Kimmund said.
“So that means he never got aboard. Congratulations.”

  “Yeah,” Morrtic growled, wiggling Jid’s helmet in her hands. “We’ll go over the ship right now and find his diggery hole.”

  “Yes, you will,” Kimmund bit out. He glared at the wayward helmet. “Because the next time he crosses me, someone’s going to die. Preferably Rukh; but if it’s not him, it’ll be whoever let him through. And it won’t be me who does it. It’ll be Lord Vader.”

  He shifted his eyes across the hangar, fighting to keep from lifting his carbine and blasting the insolent Noghri in the back right there and then. “So pass the word, Sergeant. Pass it to everyone.”

  * * *

  —

  The Chimaera traveled two hours in realspace before Thrawn ordered Faro to try the hyperdrive again.

  Once again, it failed.

  “It’s almost like there’s an Interdictor cruiser somewhere nearby, sir,” she told Thrawn as the Star Destroyer continued its realspace journey through the starlit darkness. “But there’s no way it could be big enough to have this kind of power without being in scanner range.”

  “Unless it were cloaked,” a deep voice came from behind them.

  Faro twitched. Vader had asked to be notified when the Chimaera had cleared the mysterious blockage. She’d taken that to mean the Dark Lord would remain elsewhere until that message came.

  Apparently, he’d gotten bored.

  “My lord,” Thrawn greeted Vader calmly. “I believe you’ll find it is impossible to run a gravity generator and a cloaking device at the same time. The two fields work against each other.”

  “Perhaps a new technique has been discovered,” Vader countered. “Unknown Regions science may be different from ours.”

  “Technologies may certainly be different,” Thrawn said. “Science itself, less likely. There are certain laws that are universal.”

  “Perhaps,” Vader said. “Regardless, it appears we are at an impasse. What is your proposed solution?”