by Timothy Zahn
Ahead, the door to the starfighter hangar slid open and Lieutenant Gimm stepped out. “Lieutenant,” Eli greeted him. “Excellent flying down there.”
“Thank you,” Gimm said, an odd expression on his face. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
“You have a question, sir?”
Gimm’s lip twisted in an ironic smile. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Eli frowned, studying his face. He couldn’t place it. “No, sir,” he admitted. “Should I?”
“I would have thought so,” Gimm said with a casual shrug. “Of course, it was pretty dark at the time. And you probably had other things on your mind.”
Eli caught his breath as it suddenly clicked. “You were one of the cadets who attacked Commander Thrawn.”
“I categorically deny that, of course.” Gimm lowered his eyes pointedly to Eli’s insignia plaque. “And you’re still an ensign.”
“An ensign in service to the best commander in the navy,” Eli countered stiffly.
“Maybe,” Gimm said. “Though from what I hear, whether he stays a commander is somewhat up in the air.”
“We’ll see,” Eli said. “What do you want?”
“Nothing, really,” Gimm said. “I just wanted you to know that, despite what I’m sure were Commander Thrawn’s best efforts, I wasn’t tossed out of the Academy. In fact, things worked out very well for me. Commandant Deenlark was able to pull enough strings to get the three of us transferred to starfighter training at Skystrike Academy.”
“Really,” Eli said. “Commandant Deenlark did that, did he?”
Gimm’s forehead wrinkled, just for a moment. But then it cleared. “Oh, I see. You think my family were the ones who pulled the strings.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, really, as long as strings were pulled by someone. But don’t take it too hard, Ensign. Getting to be a commander even this long is pretty impressive for an Unknown Regions alien. If he ends up back as a lieutenant in charge of droid repair, well, he’ll still have his memories.”
“I’m sure he’ll have more than that,” Eli said.
Gimm raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure he’ll have more than that, sir,” he corrected.
With a supreme effort, Eli stifled the sudden urge to punch Gimm across the corridor. “I’m sure he’ll have more than that, sir.”
“Better,” Gimm said. “I think I’ll go have a drink with the real officers now. Good night, Ensign.”
He turned and strode off down the passageway. Eli watched him, an unpleasant mix of emotions swirling inside him.
Thrawn had been right. The man had become an outstanding starfighter pilot.
Only he would probably never know who he had to thank for that. In fact, he’d likely go to his grave thinking that he’d put one over on the poor, dumb alien.
With a sigh, Eli continued on toward his quarters. Wondering if anyone, anywhere, really cared about truth.
Alliances are useful in some situations. In others, they are absolutely vital.
But they must always be approached with caution. Unity of that sort is based on mutual advantage. While that advantage exists, the alliance may stand firm. But needs change, and advantages fade, and a day may come when one ally sees new benefits to be gained in betraying another.
The warrior must be alert to such changes if he is to anticipate and survive an unannounced blow. Fortunately, the signs are usually evident in time for defense to be planned and executed.
There is also always the possibility that changes will serve to meld the allies even more closely together. It is rare, but it can happen.
—
“The four-blend is really the best,” Lady Teeyr Hem said, her long, thin Phindian fingers caressing the bottle Arihnda had brought her. “I stand deeply in your debt.”
“I’m pleased you are happy,” Arihnda said. “I, in turn, am in your debt for your sympathy to the goals of Higher Skies.”
“Your goals are much like mine and my husband’s,” Lady Hem said, still gently stroking the bottle’s neck. “You must have gone long and far to find this particular wine.”
“It was my pleasure,” Arihnda assured her. It had, in fact, been something of a challenge, entailing trips to nearly thirty of the Federal District’s finest wine shops and several hours of studying labels until she’d found the exact vintage, blend, and texture she knew Lady Hem wanted.
But it was worth it. The look on the Phindian’s face was priceless.
“At any rate, I must leave now,” Arihnda added, standing up. “I just wanted to drop off this small token of my appreciation, and to ask if Senator Hem had found time to read the document I sent him.”
“He has,” Lady Hem said, her fingers now moving to the bottle’s textured label. “I believe he agrees with your agenda and your plans. But I will speak to him about that this night.” She blinked rapidly, her species’ version of a wide smile. “Over a glass of wine, perhaps.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing from him,” Arihnda said, smiling back. “Until we speak again, Lady Hem, farewell.”
“Farewell, my good friend Arihnda Pryce.”
Driller, not surprisingly, was aghast.
“Two thousand credits for a bottle of wine?” he gasped as he stared at Arihnda’s receipt. “Are you out of your mind?”
“The Phindians are a highly technological species, and are very devoted to family,” Arihnda reminded him. “Both of those go double for Senator Hem. A simple bottle of his wife’s favorite wine, and he’s as good as in our pocket.”
“Not exactly a simple bottle,” Driller growled. “Will this at least buy you access to his office?”
“I’m expecting an invitation by the end of the week,” Arihnda assured him. “And yes, I’m sure I’ll be able to get some numbers from him about the navy’s military budget and the level of Senate support. The secret numbers, not the ones the public gets to see.”
“Great,” Driller said. “It’s important to know where the money is going so we can see what’s left for schools and hospitals.”
“Absolutely,” Arihnda said, smiling to cover her sudden surge of contempt. Did he really think she was this naïve and stupid? Apparently, he did. “So is there anyone else you want me to pitch Higher Skies to?”
“Let’s see,” he said, studying his datapad. “A couple of governors are in for a visit. Mid Rim, not too difficult. Or—ooh. How big a fish are you willing to go after?”
“How big a fish have you got?”
“The biggest,” he said, eyeing her closely. “The fish you were once going to leave me for until the job offer fell through. Grand Moff Tarkin.”
Arihnda felt her stomach tighten. Tarkin.
And the timing was absolutely perfect.
“Wow,” she said, trying for just the right mix of casualness and interest. “Sure, why not?”
“Why not is because he’s got a reputation for chewing up advocates and small bureaucrats and spitting them out in neat linear meat strips,” Driller warned. “It won’t be one of the milk runs you’ve been doing lately. This’ll be more like a dogfight.”
“Milk runs are fun,” Arihnda said. “But I like dogfights, too. Can you get me in to see him?”
“I think so,” Driller said. “You sure?”
Arihnda smiled. “Trust me,” she said. “Tarkin’s someone I’ve always wanted to meet.”
—
There were, Arihnda had learned, many tricks politicians and military types used to intimidate, pressure, and otherwise put visitors at a disadvantage.
Tarkin knew them all.
It began with his office: the long walk from the door; the thick, textured carpet that dragged at a visitor’s feet and threatened to trip her up with each step; the sunlight glinting off corners of shelves and display stands and the desk itself, the spots shifting and flickering and distracting. The objects on the shelves and stands were the next layer: mementos of Tarkin’s past triumphs, a procession of reminders of his power. Here and there, she spotted
some ancient and valuable artifact that he had either bought, stolen, or despoiled. Yet another object lesson: The man got whatever he wanted.
It was an impressive display, especially considering that the grand moff probably only used this office a few weeks each year. His main office, the one from which he controlled a large swath of the Outer Rim, was probably even more intimidating.
At the end of the gauntlet, seated in a tall-backed chair as he watched her approach, was Tarkin.
If the office itself wasn’t enough to put guests into defensive mode, Arihnda mused, their first look at the man himself probably did the trick. The gaunt face, gray-white hair, thin lips, and steely eyes were like an image of waiting death; the twelve tiles of his insignia plaque were in deceptively colorful contrast with the dark olive green of his uniform; the stillness of his expression and body as he watched her approach was like that of a jungle predator preparing to strike.
It was an impressive display of power and intimidation, one that no doubt worked well against nearly everyone who dared enter his sanctum.
Arihnda intended to be the exception.
“Governor Tarkin,” she greeted him as she reached the desk. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me.”
“Ms. Arihnda Pryce,” he greeted her in return. His voice was a match for the coolness of his face. “I understand you represent an advocacy group called Higher Skies.”
“That’s certainly what they think,” Arihnda agreed. “Actually, I’m here to represent myself. And to make you the best offer you’ll get today.”
His expression didn’t change. But his eyes seemed to grow colder. “Really,” he said. “I think perhaps you overestimate your charm.”
“Oh, I don’t run on charm, Governor,” Arihnda assured him. “I run on information.” She slipped a data card out of her pouch and set it on the desk. “Here’s a sample. I’ll be happy to wait while you look it over.”
For a moment he was silent, his eyes locked on hers. Then, a small smile creased his lips. “Full credit for ingenuity,” he said, picking up the data card. “Sit down.”
Arihnda stepped to the chair at the corner of his desk and lowered herself into it, trying not to let any of her submerged apprehension make it to the surface. She was 90 percent certain she’d read this man correctly, but that remaining 10 percent could make or break her.
Tarkin watched her another moment, then slipped the data card into his computer. “At least you aren’t so obvious as to try a data-thief program,” he commented.
“Not at all.” Arihnda pulled out another data card and set it on the desk. “This is the one with the thief program. It’s the Higher Skies brochure and agenda I was supposed to give you.”
Tarkin’s forehead furrowed briefly. “Really,” he said, his tone intrigued. “Who exactly are you, Ms. Pryce?”
“Someone who wants to make a deal that will benefit us both,” Arihnda said. “But please—look at the information on that card. It’ll give you a taste of what I have to offer.”
Again, Tarkin gazed at her a moment before returning his attention to his computer. Arihnda sat silently, watching his eyes track back and forth across the display as he skimmed the file. She’d gotten good at reading faces, human and nonhuman alike, during her time with Higher Skies. But Tarkin’s might as well have been a theatrical mask.
He reached the end and turned back to Arihnda. “Interesting,” he said.
“You found it informative?” Arihnda asked.
“Hardly,” he said. “Most of this I already knew.”
Arihnda felt her stomach tighten. “I see.”
“Don’t look so concerned,” Tarkin said with another thin smile. “That’s a good thing. It proves you’ve successfully tapped into Governor Nasling’s records, and also lends credence to the one or two items I was unaware of. No, my comment was directed at the skill of your employers. How did they come to create such a clever thief program?”
“I imagine they brought in someone to help,” Arihnda said. “You see, I think they’re rebels.”
For the briefest of moments a flicker of emotion crossed Tarkin’s face. Then the mask fell back into place. “Rebels,” he repeated.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Arihnda said. “But don’t worry. All they have is the merest skeleton of that data file. Just enough to keep them happy with my work so that they’ll keep sending me to other officials.” She dared a smile. “And keep funding me, of course. Bribery can be expensive.”
“Especially on Coruscant,” he agreed. “So this is a double-layer thief program?”
“Exactly,” Arihnda said. “It was layered on top of the Higher Skies version by an associate. The idea of bringing it to you was inspired by another associate. Both of whom would prefer to remain anonymous,” she added, as if it were an afterthought.
The tease worked exactly as she had hoped. Tarkin leaned back in his chair, his eyes boring into hers. “We’re far past the point of coyness,” he said coldly. “Their names.”
“The program was crafted on the orders of ISB Colonel Wullf Yularen,” Arihnda said. “The one who advised me to bring the results to you was Commander Thrawn.”
“Ah,” Tarkin said, his voice dropping a few more degrees. “So you drop the names of two highly respected individuals in the hope that I’ll think you have powerful friends and benefactors. Which one of them suggested that?”
“Neither,” Arihnda said, starting to sweat a little. “I’ve always considered that you were the only benefactor I needed.”
To her relief, he gave her another thin smile. “Thank you for not presuming we would ever be friends.” His smile faded, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Interesting about Commander Thrawn. He was on Coruscant just a few weeks ago, explaining himself to yet another court-martial panel.”
“What did he do?” Arihnda asked. She’d tried to keep track of Thrawn’s activities, but she hadn’t heard a whisper of this one.
“Burned off a vein of scarn spice on some alien’s territory,” Tarkin said. “Direct and efficient. Not as politically astute as some would have liked.”
“What was the outcome?”
“He was cleared, of course,” Tarkin said. “The High Command doesn’t especially like him, but they find it difficult to argue with his results. The Emperor seems to have taken a fancy to him, as well. What exactly did he and our good Colonel Yularen expect from you in return for their help?”
“Colonel Yularen wanted the data, of course,” Arihnda said. “He was highly interested in my, shall we say, unofficial survey of the Empire’s top politicians.”
“I assume you haven’t turned it over to him?”
“Not yet,” Arihnda said. “I thought you might like a preview. And perhaps to extract a few tidbits you could use for—” She shrugged. “Let’s just say for the good of the Empire.”
“Very noble of you,” Tarkin said. “And Commander Thrawn?”
“Amazingly easy to please,” Arihnda said. “All he asked for were expedited repairs on his ship, and a long-overdue promotion for his aide. The first I’ve already managed through some of my other contacts. But there’s still some political resistance to the second.”
“Resistance to a military promotion?” Tarkin asked disbelievingly. “Which of our esteemed politicians has that much time and energy to spare?”
“Moff Ghadi,” Arihnda said, watching Tarkin closely.
It was all she had hoped for. More, even. Tarkin’s face stiffened, his eyes going bright and narrow.
She’d already known there was a rivalry between the two men. She hadn’t realized how deep and bitter that rivalry truly was.
“Moff Ghadi,” Tarkin repeated. “I should have guessed.”
“I have information on him, of course,” Arihnda said, keeping her voice casual. “He was one of the first politicians I targeted.”
“You have that information with you?”
“Right here,” Arihnda said, touching her hip pouch and then pulling out
her datapad. “But first, I thought you might be interested in hearing a recording I made a few months ago.” She keyed it on and turned up the volume.
“This had better be important.” Ghadi’s voice came from the speaker. “And I mean damn important. I’m this close to having Ottlis whipped for waking me up, and you don’t even want to know what I want to do to you.”
“It’s important,” Arihnda’s voice came back. “You were right—Higher Skies is keeping watch on many important people. I’ve found the files.”
“Of course I was right. Any reason this revelation couldn’t have waited until later?”
“It probably could have. But I thought you’d want to hear as soon as possible about the Tarkin file.”
“They have a file on Tarkin? What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. This one’s under a different encryption than anything else I’ve found. But if it’s like the ones I’ve been able to read, it probably has a lot of secrets in it. Things Tarkin wouldn’t want anyone else knowing about.”
“Perfect. Yes. I absolutely want those files.”
“I thought you would. I can collate them with the other files I’ve been able to find. But I wanted to make sure you wanted this one.”
“Don’t be stupid. You have the weapon I need to take down Tarkin, and you want to know if I want it? Get it on a data card and bring it to my office. Now.”
“Yes, Your Excellency. As I said, though, at the moment it’s unreadable. If you give me time, I may be able to decrypt it.”
“Just bring it to me. I’ll decrypt it. Let’s see how high and mighty Grand Moff Tarkin is when I’m shoving his dirty little secrets down his throat.”
“Very well, Your Excellency—”
“That’s enough,” Tarkin said quietly.
Arihnda shut down the recording. “Imagine that,” she said, mock-seriously. “A high official conspiring to use illegally obtained material to topple another high official.”
“And being foolish enough to allow that conspiracy to be recorded.” Tarkin eyed her. “I notice your own voice wasn’t nearly as identifiable as his.”
“A malfunction in the recorder.”
