Thrawn

by Timothy Zahn

  “Your name Lieutenant Thrawn?” Rossi cut him off. Her facial glow increases. Her stance is stiff, her fingers moving slightly.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then shut it. I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”

  “As Senior Lieutenant Deyland said, the parts were in a scrap market,” Thrawn said. “They are antiques, remnants of the Clone War.”

  “I know what they are,” Rossi growled, looking at the piles again. “Droideka, buzz droid—two buzz droids—half a STAP—” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that part of a hyperdrive ring?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “These aren’t antiques, Lieutenant.” Rossi snorts, her lips curling down briefly. “These are junk.”

  “Perhaps, ma’am,” Thrawn said. “However, as I am not fully familiar with the technology of that era, I hoped to gain insight by studying them.”

  “And maybe get them working again?” Rossi asked. “Don’t deny it—I can see fill-ins on both buzz droids. Brand-new components.” She raises her eyebrows. Her finger movements intensify briefly. “They’d better not be components from the Blood Crow’s stores.”

  “No, ma’am,” Thrawn said. “They were purchased elsewhere.”

  “At his own expense,” Deyland murmured.

  “Senior Lieutenant Deyland is correct,” Thrawn said. “The buzz droids in particular struck me as potentially useful. They are compact, with specialized drilling and cutting tools that allow them—”

  “Spare me the lecture,” Rossi cut him off. Her hand makes an abbreviated slash through the air. The pitch of her voice lowers. “You may have read about the Clone Wars, but some of us lived it. And Virgilio just let you bring this stuff aboard?”

  “Captain Virgilio permitted me to purchase them, yes, ma’am,” Thrawn said. “He also gave me permission to store them here when I was not working on them.”

  “Very generous of him,” Rossi said. “It may have caught your attention that Virgilio isn’t captain anymore. I am, and I run a clean ship. I want this garbage dumped before your next watch. Clear?”

  Beside her, Deyland stirred. His stance indicates disagreement. “Ma’am, if I might suggest—”

  “I asked if that was clear, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Thrawn said. “May I offer an alternative?”

  “If I didn’t want to hear from my first officer, what makes you think I want to hear from you?” Rossi countered. “Senior Lieutenant Deyland, you’ll see that he dumps it as ordered. We’re done here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Deyland remains standing where he is, making no indication of preparing to leave the bay. “With your permission, ma’am, I’d like to hear Lieutenant Thrawn’s suggestion.”

  Captain Rossi’s eyes narrow further as she stares at Deyland. Her arms are stiff beneath the uniform sleeves, her fingers now motionless, her stance leaning slightly forward. Senior Lieutenant Deyland’s expression is tense but his stance indicates firmness. Captain Rossi straightens slightly. “Apparently, no one aboard understands proper respect for their captain,” she said, her voice stiff. “We’ll have to deal with that.” She turned back to Thrawn. “Fine. Let’s hear this alternative.”

  “It is my understanding, ma’am, that matériel aboard an Imperial war vessel is the property of that vessel, and thus under control of the commander,” Thrawn said. “When I bought these items for five hundred credits—”

  “Five hundred credits?” Rossi interrupted. “Are you serious? Those things aren’t worth a tenth that.”

  “That would be correct, Captain, were these standard buzz droids,” Thrawn said. “But they are of the Mark One version. Quite rare, and apparently quite valuable.”

  “Really.” Rossi looks at the buzz droids, her lips pursing. “How valuable?”

  “When I bought them, they were nonfunctional,” Thrawn said. “As you have noted, I have made some progress in repairing them. I would expect that once they are fully restored they will be quite valuable to collectors.”

  “Collectors.” Rossi’s tone is flat. “People with more money than brains.”

  “Some also merely have an interest in Clone War antiquities,” Thrawn said. “I am told there are members of the High Command with such interests.”

  Rossi’s lips part slightly, her stance straightening. She gazes again at the buzz droids, the muscles in her cheeks tensing then relaxing then tensing again. Her fingers are in motion, the thumb and forefinger of her right hand rubbing gently together. “Mark Ones, you said?”

  “I did.”

  “Mark Ones,” she murmured. Her voice carries the mix of tension and interest that indicates sudden understanding. Her hand makes a small movement toward her datapad, then stops. “All right, I’ll meet you halfway. We’re due back at Ansion in three months. You can have until then to play with your toys. Once we reach Ansion, I’m taking them, working or not. Clear?”

  “Clear, ma’am,” Thrawn said. “Thank you.”

  Rossi looks at Deyland, then at the droids. The tension lines in her face smooth out. She brushes past Deyland to the bay’s exit. “At your convenience, Senior Lieutenant Deyland,” she called back over her shoulder.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Deyland gives a small smile of satisfaction, then follows the captain back into the corridor. They continue aft, the rest of the officers again forming up behind them.

  “Well?” Vanto asked quietly as he reached the bay. His expression holds both anticipation and dread. “Is she making you throw it all out?”

  “Why do you assume that?”

  “Because Virgilio let you have it, and Rossi’s going to try to wipe every trace of him off the Blood Crow,” Vanto said. His voice holds a low level of bitterness. “Trust me—I’ve seen her type a lot.”

  “Interesting,” Thrawn said. “As it happens, she has agreed to allow me until the end of our current patrol to bring the items to full function.”

  “Generous of her. I presume there’s a catch?”

  “I reminded her that they would become her property.”

  “Ah,” Vanto said. He nods in understanding. “And you remembered what I said back when you first got them about collectors and non-intrinsic value?”

  “I did. I thank you for that insight.”

  “You’re welcome,” Vanto said. “I don’t suppose you happened to mention that the buzz droids were already fully operational?”

  “She did not ask. But I believe she also came to a belated realization that they have a value beyond even the non-intrinsic lure to collectors. Do you remember a metal called doonium from our technical classes?”

  “Oh, I knew doonium long before I got to Royal Imperial,” Vanto said. “Dad always put on extra security whenever we were lucky enough to carry a crate or two of the stuff. But there’s no doonium in buzz droids.”

  “There was in the Mark One models,” Thrawn said. “It was a shell protecting the brain core. It was removed in later models because the cost outweighed the defensive benefits.”

  “So, rare and intrinsically valuable,” Vanto said. He nods understanding. “You say the captain figured out that last part herself?”

  “I believe so. She reached for her datapad, presumably intending to confirm her memory of the Mark One construction, but then changed her mind.”

  “Didn’t want to make a big deal of it in front of everyone,” Vanto said. “She’ll wait until she’s alone.” He smiles with cynical amusement. “And then will no doubt congratulate herself on her memory and insight and on putting one over on her poor naïve weapons officer.”

  “Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “And we should probably rejoin the others.”

  “Right.” Vanto starts down the corridor at a quick walk. “Hopefully, Deyland also won’t mention the droids are functional. If he does, Rossi will probably take them right now, and you won’t get to fiddle with them anymore.”

  “He said nothing at the time.”

  “Good for him,” Vanto said. “Of course, he does owe you. Getting blind
sided when those Delphidians made a run for it could have been embarrassing.”

  “Possibly lethal, as well.”

  “Very possibly,” Vanto agreed.

  “Thrawn!” A distant bellow echoed down the passageway.

  “I believe they have reached the electronics repair shop,” Thrawn said.

  “And found the other part of your hyperdrive ring,” Vanto said. “Yeah. We might want to hurry.”

  —

  It took a week for Captain Rossi to come fully up to speed on her new command, and to acquaint herself with her ship, her officers, and her crew.

  She was, Eli had to admit, pretty good at it. By the end of the second week she was being spoken of with cautious acceptance by most of the crew, and was well on her way to good working relationships with most of her officers.

  With two glaring exceptions.

  Eli, of course, was the second one.

  The most frustrating part was that he’d predicted the problem right from the start. The captain had an aide; nonhuman Lieutenant Thrawn had one; and no one else aboard ship did.

  It wasn’t proper protocol. It certainly wasn’t proper tradition. And in the Imperial Navy, those two things were the bedrock on which everything else was built.

  It had taken Captain Virgilio some time to get used to the idea. It had taken Senior Lieutenant Deyland even longer. Neither man, Eli suspected, had ever been really happy with it.

  Eli wasn’t expecting Rossi to ever get used to it, or accept it. Unfortunately, there were an infinite number of ways a commander could show her displeasure with something. Or with someone.

  Sure enough, over the next month Eli saw a clear pattern developing. Every nasty, dirty, or undesirable job somehow ended up on Thrawn’s list. If it was a job that an officer couldn’t legitimately be ordered to do, Thrawn would still be tasked with overseeing the procedure.

  And as Thrawn’s aide, Eli was usually assigned the job right along with him.

  Thrawn took it with stoic good grace. Eli made sure his own annoyance was equally invisible. The slightest hint of insubordination, he knew, and Rossi would be on him like a tusk-cat on a shaak.

  So when the Blood Crow picked up a distress call from a freighter carrying a cargo of static-locked tibanna gas, Eli knew exactly who would be leading the boarding party.

  “If I understand correctly,” Thrawn said as Ensign Merri Barlin maneuvered their shuttle between the Blood Crow and the derelict freighter Dromedar, “the most disagreeable part of this duty is the dust?”

  “Yes, sir,” Eli said, looking at the man and woman sitting silently in the jump seats along the shuttle’s walls. Neither of them looked particularly happy with their assignment, either. “Electronics Tech Layneo has had experience with static-locking,” Eli continued, gesturing to the woman. “Care to elaborate on the problem?”

  “As Ensign Vanto says, sir, there’s dust,” Layneo said, her face wrinkling briefly with disgust. “A lot of it. Something about static-locking brings the stuff out of every nook and cranny on a ship and deposits it neatly on your uniform and skin. You come out looking like a dirt miner.”

  “It sticks to fabrics especially well,” Engineering Tech Jakeeb added. “You usually have to run your uniform through the cleaner twice to get everything out.”

  “And we all know how Captain Rossi likes her crew to look sharp,” Barlin called back from the cockpit.

  “How does it affect electronic equipment?” Thrawn asked.

  “Luckily, the dust is usually coarse enough not to get into properly sealed gear,” Layneo said. “Emphasis on properly. I’ve never seen a civilian transport yet where everything was up to proper code.”

  “In fact, I’d bet fifty credits we don’t find anyone aboard,” Jakeeb said. “Automated beacon, dead in space—odds are they got dust in their hyperdrive, couldn’t fix it, and took off.”

  “I’ll take that bet,” Layneo said.

  “Easy,” Eli warned. “No gambling aboard ship, remember?”

  “But we’re not aboard ship, sir,” Jakeeb said innocently.

  “This vessel is considered part of the Blood Crow,” Thrawn said. “If static-locking has such serious disadvantages, why is it still used?”

  “It’s really only used with tibanna gas, sir,” Layneo said. “The stuff’s highly explosive and highly valuable. Big draw for hijackers. Static-locking the tanks makes stealing them a risky business.”

  “Which means it’ll be equally tricky for us if Captain Rossi wants them brought aboard,” Jakeeb warned. “Hopefully, it’ll just be a matter of fixing whatever’s wrong and flying the whole freighter to Ansion.”

  There was a gentle bump. “We’re here, sir,” Barlin reported. “Engaging locking collar…okay, we’re set. Atmosphere inside reading normal. Lights on low, temperature mid-range, gravity functional and standard. Scrub is still running.”

  “Life-form readings?” Thrawn asked.

  “Nothing useful, sir,” she replied. “The static-locking’s still screwing all that up. Okay, scrub’s finished…negative on dangerous chemicals or microorganisms. We’re good to go, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you,” Thrawn said. “Ensign Vanto, take Techs Layneo and Jakeeb aft to the engine section. Ensign Barlin and I will go forward to the bridge.”

  Two minutes later, Eli and the two techs were moving down the freighter’s central passageway, their footsteps echoing in the gloom. “Really hate derelicts, sir,” Layneo muttered as they walked. Her hand, Eli noted, was resting on the grip of her holstered blaster. “Too many ghost-ship stories when I was growing up.”

  “I heard my share, too,” Eli said. “Most are just stories. The rest are real incidents embellished out of all recognition.”

  “I’m sure this place will look a lot cheerier once Barlin gets to the lighting controls,” Jakeeb said helpfully.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Layneo growled. “All the light in the world—”

  Without warning, the corridor erupted in a blinding blaze of light.

  “Freeze!” a taut voice said from somewhere behind them. “You hear me? Freeze! Or I swear I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  —

  Vanto’s expression is wary as he comes into view, but the tension that was in his voice when he gave the alarm has subsided. He holds an unfamiliar blaster loosely in his hand. “Ensign Vanto: Report,” Thrawn ordered.

  “Lieutenant,” Vanto said. He gives a brief, formal nod of greeting and acknowledgment. His fingers are half curled in the silent signal that confirms all is indeed well. “May I present Nevil Cygni. He apparently mistook us for someone else.”

  “Did he,” Thrawn said. Cygni is a human with dark hair and the textured skin of one who has worked long years in bright sunlight. He sits on the deck at Vanto’s feet. His torso is hunched forward, his face buried in his hands. His expression is largely hidden, but the tensed muscles in his neck and arms hold fear and weariness. His clothes are stained with the same dust that clings to the Imperials’ own uniforms. His hands show the scarring and calluses of mild physical labor. “Whom did he mistake us for?”

  “Cygni?” Vanto prompted.

  “Yes, sir,” Cygni said. Still seated, he straightens up and lowers his hands. His face is well fleshed, with no signs of malnutrition. The skin around his eyes is taut with stress, as are the muscles in his throat. His eyes are dark and wary. “Please believe that I thought you were—” He breaks off and his eyes widen. “I—uh—”

  “Lieutenant Thrawn asked you a question, Cygni,” Vanto said.

  “Yes,” Cygni said. He blinks twice and turns his eyes to Vanto. “Sorry. My name—no; you already know my name. Sorry. The thing is, we were attacked. By pirates.”

  “Who were they?” Vanto asked. “Did they mention any names? Were they wearing any kind of insignia?”

  “No,” Cygni said. “No names.” His lips twitch. “At least, nothing I heard. I sort of…ran.”

  There is a brief silence. “Where d
id you run?” Vanto asked.

  “There’s a storage locker back there where Captain Fitz stores her private food stocks.” Cygni angles his head behind him. “Specialized stuff she picks up along our route that she sells wherever she can make a profit. We used to pilfer it, taking from the back and keeping the front intact so she wouldn’t notice as quickly.”

  “Which left enough room behind the packages where you could hide?”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Cygni said. His voice becomes harsh. “I should have stood with the others. Maybe fought, maybe—” He broke off, his throat working. “And then they took them.” His voice drops in volume. “All of them. I heard someone say they were going to go back to their base and find a slicer to get the ship running. But they took everyone else with them.”

  “What happened to the hyperdrive?” Thrawn asked.

  “I’ve got Layneo checking it out,” Vanto said. “Best guess is that someone locked it down before the pirates could get to it.”

  “Yes—that was it,” Cygni said. “Captain Fitz locked the hyperdrive. I heard them threatening her. Or maybe it was Toom, our engineer, who locked it.” He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “I heard…screams.”

  “You thought we were the returning pirates?” Thrawn asked.

  “Yes.” Cygni opens his eyes and waves one hand at Vanto. “I was scared, and I didn’t focus on the uniforms. I never thought anyone would hear the beacon or come looking anyway. When I saw who you were…” He trails off. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t just shoot me for pulling a blaster on you.”

  “We have better self-control than that,” Vanto said. He looks at Thrawn. “Orders, sir?”

  “Contact the Blood Crow,” Thrawn said. Cygni buries his face in his hands again. The muscles in his hands are tight with tension. “Report the situation to the captain, and inform her I will be making a thorough examination of the ship.”

  “Except for the power compartment, sir,” Layneo said as she joined them from around a corner. “There’s a bad leak in the main reactor.”

  “Oh, yes—don’t go in there,” Cygni said quickly. He drops his hands from his face. His back stiffens as he looks up. “Sorry—I should have warned you about that.”