by Timothy Zahn
"Admiral Thrawn heard your question and asked me to come explain his reasoning to you," he said, stepping to D'asima's side where he could talk to her while still keeping an eye on Bel Iblis's attempts to break free of the trap. "He isn't interested in destroying General Bel Iblis, you see. On the contrary, he wants the general to surrender his ship and crew intact."
He gestured toward the multiple turbolaser blasts. "But as you can also see, Bel Iblis is a proud and stubborn man. He has to be convinced first that he has no chance against the resources of this base. Admiral Thrawn is therefore giving him a chance to do his best against us."
"Showing him the futility of resistance," D'asima said. She still didn't sound exactly pleased, but at least the disgust was no longer evident in her tone. "And adding salt to the sore by increasing the number of tractor beams each time Bel Iblis knocks one out."
"Exactly," Tierce said, beaming. "Admiral Thrawn has always been one to treat even his enemies with respect."
"Though naturally he treats his allies far better," Disra put in. It wouldn't hurt to remind D'asima why she was here in the first place.
"Admiral?" the comm officer called again. "We're getting a direct transmission from the perimeter defense coordinator. He urgently requests your assistance in dealing with the X-wings that have broken through his line."
Disra threw a startled look at Tierce behind D'asima's head. "X-wings?" he demanded.
"I don't know," Tierce replied, his voice taut. He made as if to hurry back to Thrawn's side, checked himself just in time at a quick warning glare from Disra. It wouldn't do, the Moff had already warned them both, for Tierce to look too vital to the operation. The con man up there knew how to get him back if he needed him.
But for the moment, at least, their Grand Admiral seemed to have it under control. "What X-wings are those, Lieutenant?" he asked, his voice calm but with an edge to it.
"He says he reported the penetration to General Hestiv over ten minutes ago," the comm officer said, sounding confused. "They apparently sneaked in behind one of our freighters."
"One of our freighters?" Thrawn asked.
"An Imperial freighter, sir," the officer corrected himself hastily. "Supply run, probably. The coordinator reports it was running all the proper access codes."
"I'm sure it was," Thrawn said, his glowing eyes flashing. "And General Hestiv just happened to forget to pass this information on to us, did he?"
His gaze shifted around, fell on Tierce. "Major Tierce?"
"Yes, sir," Tierce said, stepping briskly forward at the cue. "Shall I locate that freighter for you?"
"Please," Thrawn said gravely, picking up on the cue in turn.
And then, still looking back in their direction, the glowing eyes suddenly widened. Disra frowned—
"Don't trouble yourself, Major," a familiar voice called from behind Disra. "The freighter in question is currently docked in your number seven hangar bay."
Slowly, disbelievingly, Disra turned around. It couldn't be. It couldn't. But it was. There he stood, in the center of the archway leading to the aft bridge. Admiral Pellaeon.
* * *
The element of surprise was gone, the fratricidal battle over Bothawui cut short sooner than the Imperials had most likely hoped. Even now, Leia saw, the last lingering shots of that conflict were dwindling away as the various combatants woke up to the greater danger on their flank. But even in its brevity the fight had taken a heavy toll, she realized as she studied the Predominance's tactical display. Out of the nearly two hundred ships that had been fighting, fewer than a hundred ten were arraying themselves for battle against the three Star Destroyers now moving toward them.
"We're outgunned, aren't we?" Gavrisom said quietly from her side.
"I'm afraid we are," Leia conceded. "And even the ships that can still fight have all taken damage. Those Star Destroyers are fresh and rested."
"And not all of our ships may actually stay with us once they compute the odds for themselves," Gavrisom said, twitching his wings. "Even with my general summons under Section 45-2, the fact is, we are still asking them to fight in defense of Bothawui and the Bothan people." Leia nodded grimly. "Something which at least half of them aren't really interested in doing."
"Leia?"
She lifted her comlink. "I'm here, Han," she said. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, sure," he said, dismissing the danger casually. "They gave up shooting at us a long time ago. Look, Elegos has been counting the ships you've got there, and neither of us is very happy with the numbers he's coming up with."
"Neither are any of the rest of us," Leia said. "Gavrisom has a call in to any New Republic forces nearby, but so far there's been no response."
"Yeah, well, maybe I can come up with something," Han said, his tone studiously casual. "You know if Fey'lya's on Bothawui at the moment?"
Leia frowned. "Actually, I believe he is. Why?"
"You know how to reach him?"
"His private comlink frequency's in the Falcon's computer, listed under his name," Leia said.
"Why?"
"I'm going to try a little diplomacy," he told her. "See if you can stall off those Star Destroyers a little."
He clicked off. "Right," Leia murmured to herself. "Stall them off." Beside her, Gavrisom shook his mane. "There is one other matter of immediate concern, Leia," he said. "This fleet is made up of beings who, by and large, do not trust each other. We need someone in command who all will trust, or at least tolerate."
"That one I may be able to solve," Leia said, rekeying her comlink. "Lando?"
"Yes, Leia?"
"Lando, at the request of President Gavrisom, I'd like you to accept immediate reinstatement into the New Republic military," she said. "We need you to take command of this defense force." There was a short pause. "You are kidding," he said.
"Not at all, General," Gavrisom assured him. "As a hero of Taanab and Endor, you are precisely the one we need."
There was a faintly audible sigh. "I'd argue if I thought it would do any good," Lando said reluctantly. "All right, I'll do it. It would have been nice if you could have given me a bigger fleet to work with, though."
"Hey, no problem, buddy," Han's voice broke in. "It's all taken care of. Take a look behind you." Leia stared at the bridge's aft-view display, feeling her mouth falling open. Rising rapidly from the surface of Bothawui were over a hundred ships, everything from Z-95 Headhunters to Skipray Blastboats to even a few small capital warships. And more were still rising through the atmosphere.
"Han!" she gasped. "What in the worlds did you do?"
"Like I said, a little diplomacy," Han said. "I got to remembering that Thrawn suggested to Lando and me that Fey'lya had a little private army stashed away. Made sense to me, so I called the little furball and pointed out that any Bothan who helped save Bothawui could really cash in on that when this was all over."
"And Fey'lya came up with all of that?" Leia asked, still not believing it.
"Not exactly," Han said smugly. "Turns out there was a lot of signal leakage in my transmission. Battle damage, probably. I figure half the planet must have heard what I said to him." And finally, Leia understood. "And of course none of them wanted Fey'lya to grab all the glory for himself," she said, smiling tightly. "Have I told you lately that you're brilliant?"
"No," he said. "But that's okay—you've been busy. Are we ready?"
"We're ready," Leia said, nodding. "General Calrissian: your fleet awaits your orders."
* * *
For a long minute the bridge seemed to have become suspended in time and space. Moff Disra stood stiffly where he was, a couple of steps away from the two female civilians, his face contorted with disbelief and hatred and perhaps even a touch of fear. Major Tierce had stopped, too, halfway along the command walkway, looking back at Pellaeon with an unreadable expression on his face. Captain Dorja and the officers at the side consoles were staring back at him, and even the men down in the crew pits had somehow sense
d something was wrong and had dropped their voices to whispers.
"Admiral Pellaeon," Thrawn's smoothly modulated voice broke the silence. Pellaeon had rather expected him to be the first to speak. "Welcome aboard the Relentless. I'm afraid we somehow missed the news of your arrival."
"As I somehow missed the news of your return," Pellaeon countered. Like Tierce, the expression behind those glowing red eyes was unreadable. "An unintentional oversight, I'm sure."
"Are you questioning the Grand Admiral's decisions?" Disra snarled.
"On the contrary," Pellaeon assured him. "I've always had the highest respect for Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Then why sneak aboard this way?" Tierce demanded, coming back along the walkway and stopping next to the younger of the two women. "Do you have something to hide? Or some dark errand of treason to carry out?"
Deliberately, Pellaeon shifted his gaze from the major to the women beside him. "I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced," he said, bowing his head in greeting. "I'm Admiral Pellaeon, Supreme Commander of Imperial forces."
"Not anymore you're not," Disra growled. "Grand Admiral Thrawn is in command now."
"Really," Pellaeon said, eyeing him coolly. "I wasn't informed of any change of command. Another unintentional oversight?"
"Take care, Admiral," Tierce warned softly. "You're treading on very slippery ground here." Pellaeon shook his head. "You're mistaken, Major," he said. "Whatever slippery ground exists here is beneath your feet." He looked at Disra. "And yours, Your Excellency." He shifted his gaze to the man in the white Grand Admiral's uniform. "And yours... Flim." Disra's head jerked as if he'd touched a live power cable. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. But there was a new tremor in the Moff's voice, and his eyes were those of a man seeing sudden destruction coming inexorably toward him.
"I'm talking about an accomplished con artist," Pellaeon said, raising his voice so that the entire bridge could hear. "I have his rather colorful life history right here," he added, pulling a datacard from his tunic and holding it up. "Including detailed holos and a complete genetic profile." He looked across at Flim. "Would you care to accompany me to the nearest medical station for an examination?"
"But we checked his genetic profile, sir," Captain Dorja objected, stepping away from the side console where he'd been standing. "Captain Nalgol took a skin sample and compared it to Thrawn's official records."
"Records can be altered, Captain," Pellaeon reminded him. "Even official records, if the access codes have been sliced. When we return to Bastion, you can compare the genetic records with those on this datacard."
"Lies can even more easily be created on datacards," Tierce said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge of something vicious beneath it. "This is nothing but a last, pitiful attempt to undermine Grand Admiral Thrawn's authority, driven by Pellaeon's jealous fear of losing his position and prestige."
He half turned. "You see it, Captain Dorja, don't you?" he called. "Thrawn came to you instead of Pellaeon—that's what he can't stomach. He came to you and Nalgol and the others and not to him." Dorja's eyes met Pellaeon's, his face tight with confusion. "Admiral, I've always trusted your word and your judgment," he said. "But in this case..."
"There's one other record of interest on this datacard," Pellaeon said, looking back at Tierce.
"Again, from the same source. It's the record and life history of a certain Imperial Major Grodin Tierce."
Slowly, Tierce turned back to face him. And this time there was no mistaking the murder in his eyes. "And what does that record say?" he asked softly.
"It says that Major Tierce was one of the finest combat stormtroopers ever to serve the Empire," Pellaeon told him. "That his successes raised him to command rank far more quickly than even stormtrooper norm. That at the age of twenty-four he was selected to serve the Emperor as one of the elite Royal Guard. That his fierce loyalty to Palpatine's New Order was second to none." Pellaeon lifted his eyebrows slightly. "And that, as part of a stormtrooper unit involved in Thrawn's campaign against Generis, he died in combat.
"Ten years ago."
Once again, the bridge went silent. But this time it wasn't the silence of surprise. It was the silence of total shock.
"You're a clone." The words had come from Disra, but the voice was so distorted as to be almost unrecognizable. "You're just a clone."
Slowly, Tierce turned his venomous gaze from Pellaeon to Disra. And then, abruptly, he barked out a short, tortured-sounding laugh. "Just a clone," he repeated mockingly. "Just a clone—is that what you said, Disra? Just a clone? You have no idea."
He looked around the room. "None of you do. I wasn't just a clone—I was something very special. Something special and glorious."
"Why don't you tell us what that was," Pellaeon invited quietly. Tierce spun back to face him. "I was the first of a new breed," he bit out. "The first of what would have been a class of warlords the likes of which the galaxy had never seen. Warlords who combined stormtrooper combat strength and loyalty with Thrawn's own tactical genius. We would have led, and we would have conquered, and no one could have stood against us."
He turned around, his movements becoming almost jerky in his agitation. "Don't you see?" he shouted, his eyes darting to each of the officers and crewers staring in fascination or revulsion at him.
"Thrawn took Tierce and cloned him, but he put some of himself into the process. He added part of his own tactical genius to the usual flash-learning, combining it with Tierce's own mind." He spun again to face Disra. "You've seen it, Disra. Whether you know it or not, you've seen it. I was manipulating you from the very start—don't you see? It was me, right from the minute I maneuvered myself in as your aide. All those pirate attacks—the Preybird deals—that was me. All me. You never saw it—you never even guessed it—but I was the one making the quiet suggestions and feeding you the right data in the right order to get you to do what I wanted.
"And all the rest of you have seen it, too," he shouted, spinning around again. "I've been running the tactics here. Not Flim—not that red-eyed figurehead. Me. It's always been me. And I'm good at it—it's what Thrawn made me to be. I can do this."
His eyes seized on Disra again. "You talk about the Hand of Thrawn, his last ultimate weapon," he said, his voice almost pleading. "I can be that Hand of Thrawn. I can be Thrawn himself. I can defeat the New Republic—I know it."
"No, Major," Pellaeon said. "The war is over."
Tierce spun back to face him. "No," he snarled. "It's not over. Not yet. Not until we've crushed Coruscant. Not until we've had our vengeance against the Rebels."
Pellaeon gazed at him, pity and revulsion swirling together within him. "You don't understand at all," he said sadly. "Thrawn was never interested in vengeance. His goal was order, and stability, and the strength that comes of unity and common purpose."
"And how would you know what Thrawn was interested in?" Tierce sneered. "Do you have part of his mind inside you? Well? Do you?"
Pellaeon sighed. "You say you were the first of these new warlords. Do you know why there weren't any others?"
Tierce's eyes seemed to withdraw within him. "He ran out of time," he said. "He died at Bilbringi. You let him die at Bilbringi."
"No." Pellaeon lifted the datacard slightly. "You were created two months before his death—there was plenty of time for him to have made others. The fact is that there weren't any others because the experiment was a failure."
"Impossible," Tierce breathed. "I wasn't a failure. Look at me— look at me. I'm exactly what he wanted."
Pellaeon shook his head. "What he wanted was a tactically brilliant leader," he said gently. "What he got was a tactically brilliant stormtrooper. You're not a leader, Major. By your own statement you're nothing but a manipulator. You have no vision, only a thirst for revenge." Tierce's eyes darted around the bridge, as if looking for support. "That doesn't matter," he ground out. "What matters is that I can do the job. I can defeat the Rebels. Just give me a l
ittle more time."
"There is no more time," Pellaeon said with quiet finality. "The war is over." He looked over at Ardiff. "Captain Ardiff, please call a security detachment to the bridge." He started to turn away—
And in that instant, Tierce exploded into action.
The young woman standing beside him was his first victim, doubling over in agony as Tierce swung his fist viciously down and back into her stomach. In the same motion he plucked away the blaster that had suddenly appeared in her hand, twisting around to fire a shot at the older woman as the younger collapsed to the deck. He twisted back, bringing the blaster to bear on Pellaeon. There was a flicker of movement at the corner of Pellaeon's eye—
And Tierce jerked back, screaming in rage and pain as his gun hand was slapped to the side, the shot going wide, the blaster itself flying uselessly from his grip to skitter across the deck and down into the starboard crew pit.
And from concealment around the side of the archway behind Pellaeon, gliding silently across the deck, came Shada D'ukal.
Tierce didn't even bother to pull out the lacquered zenji needle now waving bloodily from the back of his gun hand. Screaming incoherently, he hooked his fingers into predator's claws and charged.
Reflexively, Pellaeon took a step backward. But he needn't have bothered. Shada was already there, meeting Tierce halfway.
And in a blurred flurry of hands and arms, it was all over.
"Captain Dorja, call a medical team to the bridge," Pellaeon ordered as Shada stepped over Tierce's broken body and hurried over to kneel beside the injured woman. "Then order all Imperial forces to cease fire immediately."
"Yes, sir," Dorja said hesitantly. "However..."
