by Timothy Zahn
So Shada had become a target. That was very interesting indeed. "May I ask who's suicidal enough to be gunning for you?"
"Sure, go ahead and ask," Shada said. "You're not going to get an answer, though. Not until I get the rest of the Car'das story."
"Somehow, I was expecting you to say that," Karrde murmured.
"So when do I get it?"
Karrde looked up through the haze at the dim glow of Pembric's sun. "Soon," he promised. "Very soon."
CHAPTER
5
"The sixth sumptuous hour of the fifteenth glorious day of the yearly Kanchen Sector Conference now begins," the herald intoned, his deep voice echoing across the bowl-shaped field where the various delegates sat, squatted, lay, or crouched, according to their species' particular physiological design. "Let us all hail and magnify the Grandiose Elector of Pakrik Major, and bid him express his sublime and all-encompassing wisdom in his leading of this gathering." The assembled beings called or growled their agreement with the herald's sentiment. All but Han; and lounging beside him on the feathery matgrass, Leia had to smile in private amusement. Coming out here had been Han's idea, after all: a temporary respite from the bitter dissension and the gnawing suspicions that had been churning through the New Republic government ever since that partially destroyed copy of the Caamas Document had come to light.
And it had been a good idea, too. In the half day since their arrival Leia had already begun to feel the tension draining out of her. Getting away from Coruscant was exactly what she'd needed, and she'd taken great pains to mention that to her husband at least twice now and to thank him for his thoughtfulness.
At the moment, unfortunately, all her reassurances were falling on deaf ears. Once again, Han had failed to take into account what Leia privately referred to as the Solo Embarrassment Factor.
"And let us similarly hail and magnify our glorious visitors from the New Republic," the herald continued, waving his hand in an expansive gesture toward where Han and Leia were stretched out.
"May their sublime wisdom, awesome courage, and magnificent honor enlighten the sky above our gathering."
"You forgot our uplifted eyebrows," Han muttered under his breath as the assembly roared out their greetings.
"It's better than Coruscant," Leia chided him gently as she half rose and waved. "Come on, Han, be nice."
"I'm waving, I'm waving," Han grumbled, leaning up on one arm and waving reluctantly with the other. "I don't know why they have to do this every hour."
"Would you rather have people accusing us of helping cover up attempted genocide?" Leia countered.
"I'd rather they just left us alone," Han said, giving one last wave and then dropping his hand back down. Leia lowered hers as well, and the approving roar of the delegates died away.
"Patience, dear," Leia said as the herald bowed deeply and yielded the podium to the elaborately dressed Grandiose Elector. "It's only for the rest of the day—you can put up with it that long. Tomorrow we'll head over to Pakrik Minor and get all that peace and quiet you promised me."
"It just better be real peaceful and quiet," Han warned, looking around at the crowd of delegates.
"It will be," Leia assured him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "They may be all pomp and pageantry here on Pakrik Major, but over there among the tallgrain farms we probably won't find anyone who even recognizes us."
Han snorted, but even as he did Leia could sense a lightening of his mood. "Yeah," he said. "We'll see."
* * *
"Carib?"
With a wince of tired knees Carib Devist got up from where he'd been crouching, careful not to bump into either of the two rows of tallgrain pressing close around him. "I'm over here, Sabmin," he called, waving his coring tool as high over the stalks as he could reach.
"I see you," Sabmin called back. There was the crackle of brittle leaves being brushed against; and then Sabmin emerged through a gap in the row. "I had to come right—" He broke off, frowning at the tool in Carib's hand. "Uh-oh."
"Save the uh-ohs for polite company," Carib said sourly. "Just say shavit and mean it." Sabmin hissed softly between his teeth. "How many colonies?" he asked.
"So far, just the one," Carib said, waving the corer toward the tailgrain stalk he'd been digging into. "And I did find an empress, so it's possible I got the whole infestation. But I wouldn't bet money on it."
"I'll alert the others," Sabmin said. "Probably should get word to the tri-valley coordinator, too, in case this isn't the only valley the bugs are moving into."
"Yeah." Carib eyed his brother. "And what wonderful news have you brought me?" Sabmin's lips compressed. "We just got confirmation from Bastion," he said quietly. "New Republic High Councilor Leia Organa Solo is definitely over on Pakrik Major. And the attack on her is definitely on."
Reflexively, Carib glanced up at the half-lit planet hanging in the sky overhead. "They must be crazy," he said. "Attack a New Republic High Councilor, just like that?"
"I don't think they really cared who they got to attack, so long as it was a New Republic official," Sabmin said. "Apparently, the Grandiose Elector sent out a blanket invitation to Coruscant asking for a representative. My guess is that the request was prodded by some Imperial plant, with an eye to the fact that we were already in place here and could act as backup. It was just luck that Gavrisom decided to send Organa Solo."
"Yeah," Carib said darkly. "Luck. Did this come over Grand Admiral Thrawn's personal authorization?"
"I don't know," Sabmin said. "The notice didn't say. But it has to have come from him, doesn't it?
I mean, if he's in command, then he's in command."
"I suppose so," Carib conceded reluctantly. So there it was. The war was about to be brought suddenly and violently to the Pakrik system. Right to their doorstep... and the long wait was over. The quiet existence of Imperial Sleeper Cell Jenth-44 was about to come to an end. "You say we're the backup. Who's the primary?"
"I don't know," Sabmin said. "Some tag team in from Bastion for the occasion, I'd guess."
"And when is it supposed to happen?"
"Tomorrow," Sabmin said. "Organa Solo and her husband are supposed to be coming over here to Minor once the conference breaks up."
"And there's no indication whether the attack is real or just supposed to look real?" Sabmin gave him a startled look, an expression that quickly turned knowing and thoughtful.
"Interesting point," he said. "With Thrawn involved you can't take anything for granted, can you? No, all I know is that there's an attack coming and that we're supposed to stand ready in case Solo's better or luckier than expected."
Carib grimaced. "I suppose even Solo's luck has to run out sooner or later."
"Yeah." Sabmin eyed him suspiciously. "What are you thinking?" Carib looked up at the sky again. "I'm thinking we have to play this by ear," he said quietly. "One thing's for sure, though: if the battle comes anywhere near our valley, no matter who's winning, we're definitely not going to just sit by and watch. We've invested too much here to let it go without a fight." Sabmin nodded. "Understood," he said soberly. "I'll pass the word to the others. Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll be ready."
* * *
Ahead, through the alien greenery, a stand of gnarled trees brushed past the screen to Pellaeon's left, and the AT-AT simulator bucked to the right in response. "Watch those trees, Admiral," Major Raines's voice warned in his helmet headphone. "You probably won't knock yourself over that way, but I've seen walkers get hung up so bad you had to send a couple of troopers down to blow the tree off at the roots. Takes time, and you're a sitting flink until you get free."
"Acknowledged," Pellaeon said, easing over away from the trees. Simulated AT-AT combat, frustrating though it could be sometimes, was far enough outside his normal command duties that it was actually a form of relaxation for him.
Though of course nothing that included combat was ever truly outside a Supreme Commander's duties. The better Pellaeon understood ho
w mechanized equipment handled on difficult terrain, the better he would know how to deploy them in future operations.
Assuming, of course, the Empire ever again had occasion to launch ground assaults. Firmly, he shook the thought away. One of the reasons for coming down here, after all, had been to distract himself from the continued and frustrating lack of response to his peace offer on the New Republic's part.
He was past the stand of trees now. Easing back on his speed, he keyed for a side view to see how Raines was handling the jungle.
Very straightforwardly, actually. Keeping an eye farther ahead than Pellaeon was doing, he was using his forward laser cannon to cut down potential obstacles well before they became a problem. A fairly noisy technique, of course, and one that gave any enemies that much more advance warning. On the other hand, AT-ATs were hardly the weapon of choice where stealth was required, and Raines's method was definitely moving him through the jungle faster than Pellaeon. Lifting his gaze, trying to stifle the reflexive impulse to watch where his AT-AT was about to step, he squeezed off a few tentative shots.
"That's the way, Admiral," Raines said approvingly. "Just try to anticipate where the trouble's going to be before you're too close to aim the guns where they can do any good." Pellaeon grunted. "Better yet, avoid using AT-ATs entirely in this situation."
"Whenever we can," Raines said. "Unfortunately, troublemakers like to hide themselves in places like this and then put up energy shields over their heads. Besides, there's nothing like an AT-AT
clumping through the trees to scare the sneer off someone's face."
There was a click from the headset. "Admiral, this is Ardiff," the Chimaera's captain's voice came. "Lieutenant Mavron is on his way in." There was just the briefest pause. "He reports, sir, that he has a vector."
Pellaeon felt his eyes narrow. Mavron's mission had been a long shot, one last attempt to find out something about the force that had hit them six days ago. If he said he'd found a vector... "Have him report to Ready Room 14 as soon as he docks," he instructed Ardiff, shutting off the simulator. "I'll meet you there."
Ardiff was waiting alone in the ready room when Pellaeon arrived. "I assumed this was to be a private meeting, so I cleared the other pilots out," he explained. "Is this about that HoloNet search?"
"I hope so," Pellaeon said, waving him to one of the chairs around the central monitor table and sitting down himself. "Ah—Lieutenant," he added as the door slid open and Mavron stepped inside.
"Welcome home. A vector, you said?"
"Yes, sir," Mavron said, setting a datapad down on the monitor table and easing himself into a chair with the peculiar stiffness of a man who has been sitting in a starfighter cockpit for too long. "The HoloNet relay at Horska did indeed still have their records for transmissions from this area just after that raid against us."
"You were able to pull them all, I presume?" Pellaeon asked, picking up the datapad.
"Yes, sir," Mavron said. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get any names, but I did get endpoints for the transmissions." He nodded toward the datapad. "I took the liberty of sifting through them on the way back. The one I marked struck me as the most interesting."
Pellaeon felt his jaw tighten as he found the lieutenant's mark. "Bastion." Ardiff rumbled deep in his throat. "So it was an Imperial behind that attack."
"There's more," Mavron said. "The original endpoint was Bastion; but then it got relayed a few more times and wound up somewhere in the Kroctar system."
"Kroctar system?" Ardiff said, frowning. "That's deep in New Republic territory. What would someone from Bastion be doing there?"
"I wondered that, too," Mavron said, his voice suddenly grim. "So I stopped off at Caursito on the way back here and pulled a copy of the TriNebulon for that day. If the timings are correct, a few hours after that transmission the Unified Factions of Kroctar announced that a treaty had been negotiated between themselves and the Empire. The mediator of record—well, according to Lord Superior Bosmihi, it was Grand Admiral Thrawn."
An icy chill ran up Pellaeon's back. "That's impossible," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "Thrawn is dead. I watched him die."
"Yes, sir," Mavron said, nodding. "But according to the report—"
"I watched him die!" Pellaeon thundered.
The sudden outburst surprised even him. It certainly startled Ardiff and Mavron. "Yes, sir, we know," Ardiff said. "Obviously, it's some kind of trick. Lieutenant, I imagine the rest can wait until you file your complete report. Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up."
"Thank you, sir," Mavron said, clearly glad to be given the opportunity to escape. "I'll have my report filed within an hour."
"Very good." Ardiff nodded. "Dismissed."
He waited until Mavron had gone and the door was once again closed before speaking. "It is a trick, Admiral," he said to Pellaeon. "It has to be."
With an effort, Pellaeon pulled his thoughts back from the memories of that awful day at Bilbringi. The day the Empire had finally and irrevocably died. "Yes," he murmured. "But what if it's not? What if Thrawn really is still alive?"
"Why, in that case..." Ardiff trailed off, his forehead wrinkled in sudden uncertainty.
"Exactly," Pellaeon said, nodding. "The time when Thrawn's tactical genius could have done us any good was—when? Five years ago? Seven? Ten? What could he possibly do now except bring the New Republic down on us in panic?"
"I don't know, sir." Ardiff paused. "But that's not what's really bothering you." Pellaeon looked down at his hands. Old hands, gnarled with age and darkened by the sunlight of a thousand worlds. "I was with Thrawn for just over a year," he told Ardiff. "I was his senior fleet officer, his student"—he hesitated—"perhaps even his confidant. I'm not sure. The point is that he chose the Chimaera and me when he returned from the Unknown Regions. He didn't just pick us at random; he chose us."
"No, there wasn't much Thrawn did at random," Ardiff agreed. "From which it follows that if he's back...?"
"That he's chosen someone else," Pellaeon finished the other's sentence, the words a sharp ache in his heart. "And there can be only a very few reasons why he would do that."
"It can't be position," Ardiff said firmly. "You are Supreme Commander, after all. And it certainly can't be competence. What's left?"
"Vision, perhaps," Pellaeon suggested, tapping the datapad gently with a fingertip. "This peace proposal was my idea, you know. I came up with it, I argued for it, and I crammed it down the Moffs'
throats. Moff Disra was one of those who loudly and strongly opposed it. Moff Disra of Bastion. Coincidence?"
For a moment Ardiff was silent. "All right," he said. "Even if we grant all that—which I don't, by the way—why send a pirate or mercenary group out here to attack us? Why not simply come here and tell you directly that the treaty idea is off?"
"I don't know," Pellaeon said. "Perhaps it isn't off. Perhaps this is exactly where Thrawn wants me to be. Either preparing to talk to Bel Iblis, for whatever reason, or else—" He pursed his lips. "Or else simply out of his way. Where I can't interfere with whatever he's planning."
The silence this time stretched out painfully. "I don't believe he would do that to you, sir," Ardiff said at last. But the words carried no genuine conviction that Pellaeon could hear. "Not after all you went through together."
"You don't believe that any more than I do," Pellaeon said quietly. "Thrawn wasn't human, you know, no matter how human he might have looked. He was an alien, with alien thoughts and purposes and agendas. Perhaps I was never more to him than just one more tool he could use in reaching his goal. Whatever that goal was."
Almost hesitantly, Ardiff reached over and touched Pellaeon's arm. "It's been a long road, sir," he said. "Long and hard and discouraging. For all of us, but mostly for you. If there's anything I can do..." Pellaeon forced a smile. "Thank you, Captain. Don't worry; I'm not going to give up. Not until I've seen this through."
"We're staying here, then?" Ardiff asked
.
"For a few more days," Pellaeon said. "I want to give Bel Iblis every possible chance."
"And if he doesn't show?"
"Whether he does or not, we'll be going to Bastion next," Pellaeon said, hearing a touch of grimness in his voice. "For this and other matters, Moff Disra has some explaining to do."
"Yes, sir," Ardiff said, standing up. "We'll hope that this whole Thrawn appearance is just some trick of his."
"We most certainly will not," Pellaeon reproved him mildly. "Thrawn's return would revitalize our people and bring nothing but good to the Empire. I would never want it said that I valued my own pride above that."
Ardiff colored slightly. "No, sir, of course not. My apologies, Admiral."
"No apologies necessary, Captain," Pellaeon assured him, getting to his feet. "As you said, it's been a long, hard road. But it's nearly over. One way or another, it's nearly over."
* * *
The entry procedures at the Drev'starn Spaceport were considerably tighter today than they'd been the last time Drend Navett had landed here on the Bothan homeworld. Hardly surprising, considering the events of the past five days. With the surprise Leresen attack against their orbital manufacturing plant and the subsequent multispecies military buildup in the sky overhead, tensions were growing at a rapid and eminently satisfying pace.
And the Bothans' normally business-friendly procedures had suffered as a result. Once little more than a formality, exit from the spaceport quarantine area now required a complete ID check and cargo scan.
Not that that mattered to Navett. This time through, there was nothing in his cargo that would raise even a paranoid Bothan's fur. And his ID was as perfect as only Imperial Intelligence could make them.
"Your identification and personal effects appear to be in order," the Bothan customs official said after the fifteen-minute procedure that seemed to be the norm today. "However, the Importation Department will have to run further tests on your animals before they can be allowed into the city proper."
"Sure, no problem," Navett said, waving his hand in one of the expansive gestures typical of the Betreasley district on Fedje where his ID claimed he'd been born. He had no idea whether the Bothan would notice subtleties of that sort, but the first law of infiltration was to wear a role the way a stormtrooper wore his armor. "Hey, I done this on dozens of planets," he added. "I know how this quarantine thing works."
