by Timothy Zahn
“We will return together,” Vader said. His voice is again dark. “We will also question the bartender further. It may be he knows more than he has yet said. After the cylinders have been loaded aboard the freighter.”
“Very well,” Thrawn said. “But be quick. Time is not on our side.”
For two seconds Vader stands motionless. “I will return at my own pace,” he said. His voice perhaps holds anger, perhaps grudging agreement. “And that pace will be sufficient.”
* * *
—
“Transmission is secure, Admiral,” Faro said, double-checking the readings one last time before turning her full attention to the image floating over the aft bridge holopod. At the Chimaera’s distance from Batuu a standard transmission cone was wide enough to invite local eavesdropping, and even with encryption running it wasn’t a risk anyone wanted to take. “Orders?”
“Information,” Thrawn corrected. “What of Commander Kimmund and his assault on the freighter?”
“The First Legion has captured it,” Faro confirmed. “The cargo hold was destroyed, though, and there’s not much left in there to examine. Kimmund has the vessel under power and is bringing it in.”
“I assume you sent assistance?”
Faro felt her lip twitch. “I sent four TIE Defenders, sir,” she said. “They were unable to significantly affect the outcome.”
“I doubt that, Commodore,” Thrawn said calmly. “Even if they merely drove off reinforcements to the freighter they nevertheless contributed to its capture. Did Commander Kimmund take any prisoners?”
“Yes, sir, he reports they have three,” Faro said, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders. Grand Admiral Thrawn always saw the big picture, choosing to concentrate on the successes and learn from the failures. Vader, if his reputation wasn’t exaggerated, would probably have left a trail of bodies behind him after such a lackluster report.
It was entirely possible that he still might.
“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “Lord Vader and I will be returning with two cylinders of unknown origin and function. Have one of the mechanical assembly rooms cleared and a full squad of engineers assigned to learning their secrets.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said, tapping a quick note on her datapad. “Do you wish any cultural downloads sent to you? I have a high-speed transmitter ready.”
It was only a small smile; but to Faro it spoke volumes. She had correctly anticipated her admiral’s thoughts and orders, and he was pleased. “Thank you, Commodore,” he said. “Please transmit everything in the files marked DARSHI and BORDERLANDS.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said, making another note. “Anything else, Admiral?”
“Did Commander Kimmund get a look at the cargo before it was destroyed?”
“A brief look, yes,” Faro said. “He described it as a group of large cylinders.”
“Really,” Thrawn said. “Bring him into the conversation.”
“Yes, sir.” Faro keyed her board, lining up another tight beam on the freighter. “Commodore Faro for Commander Kimmund.”
Kimmund’s image appeared beside Thrawn’s. “Kimmund,” the stormtrooper commander said sourly.
“Admiral Thrawn, Commander,” Thrawn said as an image of a cylinder appeared between them. “Is this what you saw in the freighter’s cargo hold?”
Kimmund leaned forward a bit. “Not really, sir,” he said. “Ours were much larger.”
“But were they of the same style?”
“We only got a quick glimpse,” Kimmund said. “But I don’t think so.”
“Did Rukh perhaps get a longer or better look?”
Kimmund’s expression hardened. “Did you order him aboard the Darkhawk without my permission or knowledge, Admiral?”
“I gave no such order, Commander,” Thrawn said. “Nor did I order him to remain aboard the Chimaera. I presume he believed he could be of assistance to you.”
“I’m sure he did, sir,” Kimmund said stiffly. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you’d permit me to choose the parameters and personnel for our missions.”
“So noted,” Thrawn said. Which wasn’t, Faro noted, acceptance of Kimmund’s request.
“And to answer your question, no, he didn’t,” Kimmund continued. “I had him kept in the Darkhawk during the operation.”
Thrawn was silent a moment, and Faro wondered if he would point out that the legion’s attack might have ended differently if Rukh had been included. But the admiral passed up the opportunity. “Very well,” he said. “Continue to the Chimaera and put the freighter in the Number Six slot. It may be that the ship, and even the hold, will yield more secrets than its former owners expect.” He paused. “One other thing, Commander. Keep your prisoners away from viewports or visual displays until you are within half a kilometer of the Chimaera. Then allow them to see their destination and observe and record their reactions.”
“Yes, sir,” Kimmund said, frowning. “So we can gauge whether or not they’ve ever seen a Star Destroyer?”
“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “It may be most informative. As you were, Commander. And you, Commodore, may send the datafiles at your convenience.”
“On their way, sir,” Faro confirmed.
“Which datafiles, may I ask?” Kimmund put in.
“Those of the Darshi and others of this region,” Thrawn told him. “It is possible that we have already met our enemy. It is equally possible that that enemy is yet hidden from us.” He paused, his face hardening. “It is vital that we learn which is the truth.”
* * *
—
Nodlia was waiting when Vader and Thrawn returned.
The Darshi bodies weren’t.
“Were my orders perhaps unclear?” Thrawn asked. His voice was calm, but Vader could hear the quiet threat beneath it.
So, clearly, could Nodlia. “I’m sorry, my sirs, I’m sorry,” he said, his throat working, his hands twitching nervously on the top of the bar. “They had weapons. I had none. I protested, but I couldn’t stop them.”
“Perhaps you should have protested more vigorously,” Vader suggested. He focused on the man’s throat, stretching out to give it just the slightest hint of a squeeze.
Nodlia’s eyes bulged, his hands grabbing futilely at the untouchable grip on his throat. “Sirs, please—I beg you.”
“Calm yourself,” Thrawn said. His hand moved a few millimeters in Vader’s direction.
A suggestion. Possibly an order.
No matter. Vader had already planned for it to be a small, harmless lesson. The man knew too much to be killed outright. He released the grip, watching as the bartender seemed to collapse a little. “Who were they?” he asked. “More Darshi?”
Nodlia nodded, a jerky motion.
“Those Darshi?” Vader added, nodding toward three of the aliens who had come in during the Imperials’ absence and were now sitting around a back table, nervously watching the newcomers out of the corners of their eyes.
“No, not them,” Nodlia said. “Others.”
“Fortunately, the absence of the bodies is of little importance,” Thrawn said. “I had already seen what I needed. Lord Vader, would you bring me one of the knives from those Darshi?”
Vader snorted to himself. One of the knives? Surely the admiral was joking. Stretching out with the Force, he pulled all three of the weapons from their sheaths and brought them flying to the bar.
Thrawn was ready, reaching up one hand to catch the lead knife as it arrowed toward the wall behind the bar. Vader caught the other two.
One of the Darshi started to rise from his chair in protest, seemed to think better of it, and sat back down.
“Thank you,” Thrawn said calmly. “Do you see the blade, Lord Vader, and the pattern etched on the metal?”
“Yes,” Vader said, studying the k
nives in his hands. It wasn’t just simple etching, he saw now, but a highly intricate pattern of lines and curves set into the metal.
“There is little in the Imperial files on these beings,” Thrawn continued, “but you will immediately see that these knives are not at all like the one I showed you earlier. You will also see that these knives fit the slight curve of their sheaths, while our attacker’s knife was too short, too narrow, and with a straight blade. In addition, the grooves worn into our attacker’s belt were too deep to have been made by the sheath of a weapon that light. They were created by a knife of this size and heft.”
Vader thought back. He’d been distracted at the time, but he saw now that Thrawn was correct. “It was not the knife he normally carried.”
“Correct,” Thrawn said. “It was a substitute. The question is, why did he not have his normal knife?”
“And why did he not use the one he carried against us?” Vader said. “Even a ceremonial weapon should be used freely when death is the only alternative.”
“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “I suggest that someone had taken his normal knife, and that the replacement was there merely for show. Perhaps he feared that drawing it would reveal the deception to all around him.”
“Interesting,” Vader rumbled. “Perhaps the value of the weapons goes deeper than mere ceremony.”
“A token of honor and family, perhaps,” Thrawn agreed. “Something akin to the Kalikori of the Twi’leks. I note that the etchings on these three blades are of different lengths and complexities, which would support the idea that family heritage is a part of the design.”
“Perhaps we should inquire of them,” Vader suggested, turning toward the three Darshi.
“Perhaps we should,” Thrawn said. “Nodlia, which of them would you suggest would be most forthcoming?”
“Please,” Nodlia pleaded, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this. Not again.”
“Then tell us what we need to know,” Thrawn said. “Tell us what was in the cylinders the strangers took to the houses.”
Nodlia looked at him, then at Vader, taking in the broken coating of gray stone on both of them. “I don’t know,” he said, keeping his voice down as if he was afraid the Darshi would hear. “They didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”
“Did the newcomers look like this?” Thrawn asked. Holding his holoprojector in front of him, he pulled up an image of a wide-shouldered creature with angled brow ridges, a tapered skull, and deep-set eyes.
Nodlia twitched back. “Yes,” he breathed. “That’s them. They brought in the coffins. The cylinders. They frightened us.”
Vader frowned at the image. The creatures weren’t pretty, certainly, but he’d faced plenty of bigger and nastier-looking opponents. “You are easily frightened,” he rumbled contemptuously.
Nodlia swallowed hard. “The Darshi were afraid of them,” he murmured. “Some of the Darshi became their servants.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of Darshi. Made them drinks, watched them argue. My experience is that they never serve anyone. Not willingly.”
Vader gestured to the image. “One of the First Legion’s prisoners?”
“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “Commander Kimmund sent it to me while you were bringing the freighter.” He half turned it around to gaze thoughtfully at the alien’s face. “So this is a Grysk.”
Nodlia inhaled sharply. “That’s a Grysk?”
“What are Grysk?” Vader asked.
“Grysks are a species living somewhere in the Unknown Regions,” Thrawn said. He gazed at the image another moment, then shut off the holoprojector. “Creatures half of myth, whom few have ever seen. It is said that they are nomads, with no fixed home, traveling in spacecraft so numerous they blot out the stars. They are said to be terrifying warriors, overwhelming their opponents by sheer numbers and ferocity.”
Vader looked at Nodlia. The bartender seemed to have shrunk a little further with every word. “Myths, you say.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “But many myths are rooted in fact. We must now seek to divide the one from the other.” He laid a coin on the bar. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Wait,” Nodlia said as the Chiss turned to leave. “That’s it? You’re just leaving us?”
“Did you expect we would stay?” Thrawn asked.
“What about us?” Nodlia asked. “What about the Grysks? What if they come back?”
Thrawn shook his head. “I do not believe they will.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
Thrawn’s eyes narrowed, his face hardening. It was an expression The Jedi had seen on him once, a long time ago. An expression that spoke of imminent death.
“Because you’re leaving a pretty big mess behind,” Nodlia persisted. “We’re the ones who have to stay and—”
He broke off, his eyes going wide, as Vader once again squeezed his throat to silence. “You have been given your answer,” the Dark Lord rumbled.
Nodlia’s head bobbed up and down in a hasty nod, his eyes still wide. Vader held him another moment, then released his grip. “We depart?” he asked Thrawn.
“We depart,” Thrawn said. Like his expression, his voice also spoke of death. “Come. We have work to do.”
* * *
—
The first part of the return trip was spent in silence, Vader piloting the freighter, Thrawn gazing at his datapad. From the shifting reflections of light on Thrawn’s face it was clear he was sifting through his artwork collection.
They had left Batuu’s atmosphere and Vader had laid in the vector back to the Chimaera when Thrawn finally set the datapad aside. “Well?” Vader asked.
“I believe I have gained some insights,” the Chiss said. “First, let us discuss the scenario on Batuu. I presume you have reached some conclusions?”
“I have,” Vader said, wondering darkly if Thrawn was being patronizing. Surely the Chiss had already learned all that there was to learn. The Jedi, certainly, had usually found himself lagging behind Thrawn in such things. “The Grysks hired the Darshi to set up a base and a communications triad at Black Spire. When all was ready, they brought in the cylinders and moved them from the landing field to the house.”
“And the cylinders are…?”
Vader glowered. This time, it was definitely a test. “I believe they are hibernation tanks,” he said. “Perhaps similar to carbonite freezing. The occupants were brought to Batuu, then put inside the tanks for secret transport across Black Spire to the Darshi houses. It was their sudden fear at the knowledge of what was to happen to them that the Emperor detected as a disturbance in the Force.” He paused, stretching out to the Force. “But you already knew they were Force-sensitive, did you not?”
In the brief time Vader had spent with Thrawn, he’d never sensed the Chiss’s emotions register as more than small and brief flickers against the orderly array of his mind. The flicker he sensed now was also small and brief. But it was definitely there. “I suspected, but did not know for certain,” Thrawn said. “It is not something we speak about.”
Vader’s fingers twitched, his eyes and his mind focusing on Thrawn’s collar. A servant of the Emperor did not have secrets. Not from the Sith Master’s own apprentice. Perhaps a reminder of the Chiss’s true position in the Empire was in order. Some pressure on his throat, as Vader had done with the bartender, would bring such things into their proper perspective.
He resisted the temptation. The Emperor clearly still considered Thrawn a useful tool. More important, the Chiss had knowledge that Vader needed.
So let him play games. Let him even think Vader a simpleton, if that brought them to the Emperor’s disturbance and the end of this mission.
Better still, Vader would prove that he wasn’t as far behind Thrawn as the Chiss tactician perhaps thought.
“You will speak of it in the pr
oper time,” Vader warned. “For now, let us continue. The Darshi plan was to move the cylinders and occupants from Batuu aboard one of the two large freighters. But neither freighter could land with ours in the way. So the Grysks ordered their Darshi in Black Spire to distract us while they destroyed the two houses, which provided them landing space. They then evacuated the inhabitants.”
“Having been put inside the ship’s own hibernation chambers,” Thrawn said.
“Yes.” And the same reaction, either fear or revulsion at what was about to happen, was no doubt what Vader had sensed in the cantina.
“And the freighter’s cargo?” Thrawn asked. “The cylinders the Grysk were desperate to destroy?”
“That will require further study.” Vader eyed him. “Or do you already know?”
“I have a thought,” Thrawn said. “But as you say, further study will be necessary.” He leaned forward and tapped the comm control. “Commodore Faro.”
“Faro here, Admiral,” the commodore’s voice came back promptly.
“Is the captured freighter secure aboard?”
“Yes, sir. The engineers have given it a cursory examination, and are now assembling the tools and equipment necessary for a deeper study.”
“The Defenders?”
“Also returned, sir. Captain Skerris is compiling the pilots’ reports on their encounters with the enemy.”
“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “Plot a minimum time course back to the point in the Batuu hyperlane where we left that path and turned to Mokivj.”
“Yes, sir.” If Faro was surprised by the order, it didn’t show in her voice. Probably, Vader thought, odd orders were the norm under the grand admiral’s command.
“Execute as soon as we are secured aboard,” Thrawn continued. “Inform Commander Kimmund and Captain Skerris that we will confer two hours after the Chimaera has made the jump to lightspeed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thrawn keyed off the comm. “Two hours?” Vader asked. “Their reports should be finished in one.”
