Thrawn_Alliances_Star Wars

by Timothy Zahn

  “Oh, no they don’t,” Tephan growled. “They are not taking my ship.”

  “No, they’re not,” Kimmund said, coming to a quick decision. Until the Grysks up front realized their force back here had been taken out, the Imperials had the element of surprise. Played right, that was worth half a squad of fully armored stormtroopers any day. “We hit them hard—right now, full-bore, all-out.”

  “While they’re waiting for their friends to come back and report our deaths,” Tephan said. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Rukh asked.

  Kimmund frowned at him. “So now you’re taking orders from me?”

  “I always took your orders.” Rukh waved a stick around to encompass the Darkhawk. “First Legion ship. First Legion orders. Otherwise I would have come out for the freighter attack whether you said no or not.”

  “That would have been nice to know sooner,” Tephan muttered.

  “Well, we know it now,” Kimmund said. “You have your personal cloaking device with you?”

  “No,” Rukh said. “But I won’t need it.”

  “Probably not,” Kimmund said. “Okay. We’ll go in hot, keeping our fire high. You go in low wherever you get an opening and make as much of a mess as you can.”

  Rukh gave an evil grin, spinning one of his fighting sticks deftly across his fingers. “I can make a great deal of mess,” he promised.

  “We’ll make it together,” Kimmund said. “And remember we want to come out of this with the ship still flyable. Lord Vader might want us to use it again someday.”

  * * *

  —

  From the time the seventeen Grysks escaped from their makeshift cell to the time they boarded the Darkhawk was approximately four minutes. From then until Commander Kimmund and his forces recaptured the ship was approximately eight minutes. Returning the surviving prisoners—four of them—took another ten minutes. All told, the entire incident covered less than half an hour.

  And there was every indication, Faro thought bleakly, that the death and destruction had only just begun.

  Grand Admiral Thrawn normally dominated every room he was in. Not this time. He normally carried an air of calmness that extended out to all those around him. Not this time. He always seemed to be in complete control of everything.

  Not this time. Standing here in the cramped space of the Darkhawk’s cockpit, facing Lord Vader from barely thirty centimeters away, he seemed small and helpless, a man who was facing death itself.

  And yet, there he stood.

  “Commander Kimmund cannot be blamed for his actions,” Thrawn said, gazing calmly up at the faceless black helmet. “On the contrary, his actions and those of his stormtroopers were exemplary.”

  “Which does not change the fact that they ruined the entire plan,” Vader ground out.

  “I warned you that keeping the secret of the prisoners’ marginal imprisonment and the homing beacons could have unwanted consequences,” Thrawn said.

  “It was necessary for the Chimaera’s crew to behave as normal,” Vader countered. Astonishing as it was to Faro that Thrawn was chiding the Dark Lord, it was even more astonishing that Vader was actually standing still for it. “The prisoners needed to believe their escape was genuine.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Thrawn said. “I merely suggest that a middle ground might have been taken. Commander Kimmund, at least, should have been brought into our confidence, as well as any troopers or stormtroopers who stood between the prisoners’ cells and their frigate.”

  Vader didn’t respond. But then, really, there wasn’t much he could say.

  Faro had been at the private meeting where Vader had proposed this plan. Thrawn had agreed, and in fact had added a few small suggestions. Neither of them could have known that Kimmund and his stormtroopers would unknowingly get in the way.

  They certainly couldn’t have known that Hangar Master Xoxtin would choose to send three off-duty crewmembers across that precise section right when the Grysks made their break.

  Xoxtin was furious. For once, Faro didn’t blame her.

  Four dead…and with nothing to show for it.

  The Chimaera’s techs had made a thorough search of the Darkhawk’s computer. It showed only the route from the Grysks’ hunting ground back to Batuu, where they’d apparently been based, without referencing any other systems. Thrawn’s analysis of everything artistic aboard their ship had yielded some interesting points, but gained them nothing about the Grysks’ local base.

  “Still, even a partial success can bring long-reaching results,” Thrawn said into the awkward silence. “As it is, we have now learned a great deal about our new enemies.”

  “Such as the fact they have no teeth?” Vader said with an edge of bitterness.

  “That, as well,” Thrawn agreed. “Removing a warrior’s teeth and replacing them with upper and lower moldings that contain break-apart weapons, communicators, and lock-breakers is quite ingenious. The ultrasonic signals they sent to their colleagues through the metal bulkheads is also a technology that could be of future use to the Empire.”

  “None of which has brought us closer to our goal.”

  “Actually, my lord, I believe it has.” Thrawn turned to Faro. “Commodore, you have the record of the communications between the two groups of prisoners. How much information do you estimate could have been passed during that time?”

  Faro started. She’d been hoping against hope that Thrawn had brought her into the cockpit solely to serve as a witness to the conversation. As she’d watched Vader’s menace continue to darken she’d further hoped her presence would be mostly forgotten.

  Instead, Thrawn had just dropped a conversational grenade in her lap.

  How in the world was she supposed to answer such a question? “They were in communication, back and forth, a total of two minutes and eight seconds,” she said. “We can’t tell right now which signal originated from which group of prisoners. Also, without knowing the encryption method they were using—or even their language, for that matter—it’s impossible to know how much they could have said.”

  “Understood,” Thrawn said. “So let us assume clear language, with whatever coding they used for the speech but without any encryption to burden or lengthen the message. Under those parameters, what information could you transfer in that time?”

  Faro felt her throat tighten. Normally, she didn’t mind Thrawn’s mind games. They helped her stretch her thinking, and anything that made her a better officer was worth seeking out.

  But to do it here and now? Especially with Vader on the verge of wrecking the whole place?

  The whole place.

  She looked around the cockpit with new eyes. Having this conversation aboard the Darkhawk had been Thrawn’s idea, not Vader’s. And Thrawn never did anything without a reason.

  She turned back to Thrawn. The admiral had a small smile on his face, the indication that he was once again comfortably ahead of her. “I could tell the Grysk warriors about this ship,” she said. “A brief description, plus where it was located in the hangar bay.”

  “And instructions on how to fly it?” Thrawn prompted.

  “No, sir,” Faro said firmly. “Not in two minutes. Not a chance.”

  “Thank you, Commodore,” Thrawn said, inclining his head to her and then turning back to Vader. “Your personal shuttle was closer to their prison. Their own frigate was farther, but with the advantage that they knew how to fly it. Yet they chose the Darkhawk.”

  He gestured to the control board. “More than that, we see that they had already activated the engines and begun the preflight sequence when they were stopped.”

  He paused, apparently waiting for Vader to speak. But the Dark Lord stood silently, gazing at the board.

  “The Darkhawk is equipped with modern weapons and equipment,” Thr
awn said. “The prisoners from the Grysk freighter had seen it in combat and knew it would be a prize worth capturing. But at the same time, it is at heart a relic of the Clone War. And there is only one place in this region where they could have studied this type of freighter and learned how to operate it.”

  Vader rumbled something under his breath. “Mokivj.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Thrawn said. “More specifically, the Separatist factory on Mokivj that we once assaulted.”

  Vader straightened to his full height. “That you once assaulted,” he corrected. “No one else aboard the Chimaera was ever there.”

  “Of course,” Thrawn said, inclining his head. “I misspoke.”

  For a long moment, they gazed at each other in silence. Faro found herself holding her breath, feeling a fresh edge of tension crackling through the room. There was something going on here, something deep beneath the surface.

  Only she had no idea what it was.

  “You are the commander,” Vader said at last. “If you believe this factory is the key, that is where we shall begin.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Thrawn again turned to Faro. “Commodore, prepare a course for Mokivj. We leave in two hours.”

  “Yes, sir,” Faro said.

  “That will give you time, my lord,” Thrawn added, looking at Vader, “to speak with the remaining prisoners. If you so choose.”

  “Indeed, Admiral,” Vader rumbled in a voice that sent a fresh chill up Faro’s back. “You have uncovered some of their secrets. I will uncover the rest.”

  Padmé wasted another twenty minutes searching through every inch of the factory’s west wing, all three floors, in search of something useful the previous occupants might have left behind. But the entire place had been cleaned, down to the bone.

  The low barriers that marked out the space in LebJau’s old work area, however, were held in place by metal uprights: sturdy metal rods, hollow, with square cross sections five centimeters across. On one of the uprights the fasteners were loose enough that she was able to carefully work them the rest of the way out with her fingernails. Once she had one bar free, she was able to use its end to unscrew others.

  Even with that to help her many of the fasteners were still too tight to work free. But in the end she was able to gather twenty-three of the rods.

  It cost all twenty-three of them, broken or bent, to lever the trapdoor lid far enough for her to squeeze back through it.

  She didn’t know exactly where the corresponding trapdoor into the south wing was located, but if the access points had been laid out symmetrically she should be able to find it. After that, the next task would be getting it open. Hopefully, LebJau’s comment about how heavy the lids were without power meant that the south wing’s lids did have power, and that the controls were someplace where Padmé could get to them. If not, she was going to have to get creative.

  From the confident manner in which LebJau had walked through the service level she gathered the droids didn’t come down here very often, if at all. But it wasn’t an assumption she was willing to bet her life on. She used her glow rod sparingly as she worked her way across the permacrete floor, keeping it on its lowest setting and only flicking it on for a half second or so every dozen steps, just to make sure she wasn’t heading straight toward a pillar or a pile of debris. Better to err on the side of caution.

  It was just as well she did. She was halfway back to the spot where she and LebJau had entered when she spotted a faint glow in the distance.

  She froze, pressing against the pillar beside her, straining her eyes and ears. The glow was still there, moving slightly with the rhythm of someone walking. She couldn’t hear anything, but the light was far enough away that even soft voices would probably be inaudible.

  Soft voices, or the muffled clank of droid feet on permacrete.

  So: either LebJau or his friends heading back to the south wing, or a battle droid patrol that would ultimately return to the east wing. Either way, it was a direction she needed to go. Taking a deep breath, she headed off toward it, using her own light even more sparingly.

  She had nearly caught up when the light suddenly stopped and swiveled upward. Padmé slowed her pace, and a few seconds later she felt the familiar puff of air that marked a trapdoor lid opening.

  And now, finally, she was close enough to hear a pair of muffled human voices as the figures climbed the ladder. The lid closed, and darkness and silence returned.

  Padmé hurried forward, using her light openly now. Ahead, she could see the cone and the ladder with the lid above. She rounded the last pillar—

  And nearly dropped her light as a pair of arms snaked around her shoulders and yanked her back against a hard, muscled torso. The arms twisted up and to her right, trying to throw her to the ground, while a knee jabbed hard into the back of her right knee, further threatening her balance. “Whoever you are—” a voice muttered in her ear.

  And broke off as Padmé snatched her blaster from her hip holster, twisted it around and over her left shoulder, and pressed the muzzle against his throat. “You should let go now,” she murmured back.

  His whole body twitched, his arms loosening but not completely letting go. “Padmé?”

  “Yes, Huga,” she confirmed, recognizing his voice now. “I mean it. Let go.”

  This time, finally, his arms fell away. Padmé stepped forward and turned around, leveling both her blaster and her glow rod at him. “How was the fishing tonight?” she asked.

  His eyes had gone wide, his mouth hanging open. “How did you get in here?” he demanded.

  Above her, the trapdoor lid swung open. “Did you get him?” Cimy’s voice came from above.

  “Sort of,” Padmé called back.

  “Padmé?” Cimy gasped. “But you’re outside.”

  “Not anymore,” Huga growled. “LebJau did this, didn’t he? He let you in. Frost that idiot—he’s going to wreck everything.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of their secret exit. “Get out. Now.”

  “Not yet,” Padmé said. “I need your help.”

  “I don’t care,” Huga bit out. “You need to get out before the metalheads catch you.”

  Padmé felt her stomach tighten. So the droids did come down here? “Not yet,” she repeated. She had a sudden inspiration—“Uncle Anakin’s here,” she said. “But he’s in the droid section—”

  “He’s here?” Cimy cut her off. “Already? That’s great!”

  “Has he got our money?” Huga added.

  “Of course,” Padmé said. Anakin was bound to have at least a little money with him. “I just need a couple of things to get in there and get him out.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t do that,” Cimy said, his enthusiasm fading. “Get in, I mean.”

  “He’s right,” Huga said, eyeing her blaster. “Unless you’re planning on shooting your way in.”

  “I think we can come up with something a little more promising,” Padmé assured him. “Where’s LebJau? We can use his help on this.”

  “He’s up in the barracks,” Huga said, his voice going suddenly casual. “But we can do this without him.”

  In other words, a two-way split of the reward was better than a three-way split? “Fine,” she said. “I’ll need to borrow some clothes from one of the women—these aren’t exactly local,” she added, waving toward her outfit. “Then I’ll need to get hold of one of those wristbands.”

  “We don’t have any spares,” Cimy said. “And once they’re off, they don’t go back on.”

  “Really,” Padmé said. “How do you know?”

  There was a moment of awkward silence. “One of the workers died a few weeks ago,” Cimy said at last. “We thought we could bring someone else in and give them his job. But we couldn’t get the ends to match up right.”

  “You couldn’t just glue it?”

 
“We tried,” Huga said grimly. “The first metalhead who checked it could tell it was stolen. Or maybe that it was on the wrong person—I don’t know which. Beppi tried to run, and it shot him.”

  Padmé felt her throat tighten. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ve still got it,” Cimy offered. “They gave us back the body to bury, and we took the wristband. But it’s useless.”

  “You think we can take this conversation upstairs?” Huga asked, glancing nervously around. “We’re not supposed to be down here.”

  “Certainly,” Padmé said. “You can start by finding me some new clothes. After that, I want to see this useless wristband.”

  * * *

  —

  Anakin had told Thrawn they would wait two hours before breaking out of their cells. In fact, though, practically from the moment Solha and his entourage left he’d been working out how exactly he was going to do that.

  Now, with the two hours gone, he was no closer to finding a way than he’d been at the start.

  The door was solid. The dowel pins were wedged in, and just outside his view through the door. Without being able to see them he couldn’t get a solid enough grip through the Force to pry them loose. The cell walls seemed old, and for a while he’d hoped he could start at one of the ventilation slits and tear away bits and pieces until he had a hole big enough to squeeze through. But the material had been glazed around the openings, and again he couldn’t get enough of a grip on the edges. The cot was too flimsy to use as a prybar, and too light to make an effective missile.

  “Interesting structures,” Thrawn’s voice came from the next cell, echoing oddly off the hard surfaces. “I wonder what they used to store in here.”

  “Hadn’t really thought about it,” Anakin said shortly, stretching out a hand toward the door for focus. If he used the Force to pull, and then immediately to push…

  No good. A trick like that required a certain amount of slack in the fit, with a chance to build up momentum in one direction before abruptly sending the door in the other. But the fit here was well-nigh perfect, with no more than a millimeter’s worth of give. Not nearly enough.