by Timothy Zahn
For a long moment she just stood there, breathing hard, muscles trembling with reaction. Then, glancing around to make sure no one was running to see what all the commotion was about, she holstered her weapon and knelt down beside him.
There was, as she’d expected, precious little to find. An ID—probably forged—giving his name as Dengar Roth, a couple of spare power clips for his blaster, a backup vibroblade knife, a data card and data pad, and some working capital in both local and Imperial currency. Stuffing the ID and data card into her tunic, she left the money and weapons where they were and got back to her feet. “There’s your twice of nothing,” she muttered, looking down at the body. “Enjoy it.”
Her eyes shifted to the piece of shield tubing that had saved her life. She’d been right. The twitches of power, as well as the hunches, were back. Which meant the dreams wouldn’t be far behind.
She swore under her breath. If they came, they came, and there was nothing much she could do except endure them. For the moment she had other, more pressing matters to deal with. Taking one final look around, she headed for home.
Karrde and Dankin were waiting when she arrived back at the townhouse, the latter all but pacing the floor in his nervousness. “There you are,” he snapped as she slipped in through the back door. “Where the blazes—?”
“We’ve got trouble,” Mara cut him off, handing the Dengar Roth ID to Karrde and brushing past them to the still largely disassembled communications room. Pushing aside a box of cables, she found a data pad and plugged in the card.
“What kind of trouble?” Karrde asked, coming up behind her.
“The bounty hunter land,” Mara said, handing him the data pad. Neatly framed in the center of the display, under a large 20,000, was Karrde’s face. “We’re probably all in there,” she told him. “Or at least as many as Grand Admiral Thrawn knew about.”
“So I’m worth twenty thousand now,” Karrde murmured, paging quickly through the card, “I’m flattered.”
“Is that all you’re going to say?” Mara demanded.
He looked at her. “What would you like me to say?” he asked mildly. “That you were right and I was wrong about the Empire’s interest in us?”
“I’m not interested in laying blame,” she told him stiffly. “What I want to know is what we’re going to do about it.”
Karrde looked at the data pad again, a muscle tightening briefly in his jaw. “We’re going to do the only prudent thing,” he said. “Namely, retreat. Dankin, get on the secure comm and tell Lachton to start pulling the drop apart again. Then call Chin and his team and have them go over and repack the stuff in the equipment dumps. You can stay and help Mara and me here. I want to get off Rishi by midnight if at all possible.”
“Got it,” Dankin said, already keying the encrypt codes into the comm board.
Karrde handed the data pad back to Mara. “We’d better get busy.”
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “And what happens when we run out of backup bases?”
He locked eyes with her. “We don’t give up the Dreadnaughts under duress,” he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “Not to Thrawn; not to anyone else.”
“We may have to,” she pointed out.
His eyes hardened. “We may choose to,” he corrected her. “We will never have to. Is that clear?”
Mara grimaced to herself. “Yes.”
“Good.” Karrde flicked a glance over her shoulder to where Dankin was speaking urgently into the comm. “We have a lot of work to do. Let’s get to it.”
* * *
Mara would have bet that they couldn’t reassemble their equipment in less than twenty-four hours. To her mild surprise, the crews had everything packed and ready to go barely an hour after local midnight. With suitably generous applications of funds to spaceport officials, they were off Rishi and to lightspeed an hour after that.
And later that night, as the Wild Karrde drove through the mottled sky of hyperspace, the dreams started again.
CHAPTER
6
From a distance it had looked like a standard-issue Bulk Cruiser: old, slow, minimally armed, with very little going for it in a fight except its size. But as with so very much of warfare, appearances in this case turned out to be deceiving; and if Grand Admiral Thrawn hadn’t been on the Chimaera’s bridge, Pellaeon had to admit that he might have been caught a bit by surprise.
But Thrawn had been on the bridge, and had recognized immediately the unlikelihood that the Rebellion’s strategists would have put such an important convoy under the protection of such a weak ship. And so, when the Bulk Cruiser’s bays suddenly erupted with three full squadrons of A-wing starfighters, the Chimaera’s TIE interceptors were already in space and swarming to the attack.
“Interesting tactic,” Thrawn commented as the gap between the Chimaera and the Rebel convoy began to sparkle with laser flashes. “If not especially innovative. The idea of converting Bulk Cruisers to starfighter carriers was first proposed over twenty years ago.”
“I don’t recall it ever being implemented,” Pellaeon said, feeling a twinge of uneasiness as he eyed the tactical displays. A-wings were faster even than those cursed X-wings, and he wasn’t at all sure how well his TIE interceptors would handle them.
“Excellent fighters, A-wings,” Thrawn said, as if reading Pellaeon’s thoughts. “Not without their limitations, though. Particularly here—high-speed craft like that are far more suited to hit-and-fade operations than to escort duty. Forcing them to remain near a convoy largely neutralizes their speed advantage.” He cocked a blue-black eyebrow at Pellaeon. “Perhaps were seeing the result of Admiral Ackbar’s removal as Supreme Commander.”
“Perhaps.” The TIE interceptors did indeed seem to be holding their own against the A-wings; and the Chimaera itself was certainly having no trouble with the Bulk Cruiser. Beyond the battlefront, the rest of the convoy was trying to huddle together, as if that would do them any good. “Ackbar’s people are still in charge, though. Obviously.”
“We’ve been over this territory already, Captain,” Thrawn said, his voice cooling slightly. “Planting a vacuum-tight collection of evidence against Ackbar would have ruined him far too quickly. The more subtle attack will still neutralize him, but it will also send ripples of uncertainty and confusion through the Rebellion’s entire political system. At the very least, it will distract and weaken them just at the moment when we’ll be launching the Mount Tantiss campaign. At its best, it could split the entire Alliance apart.” He smiled. “Ackbar himself is replaceable, Captain. The delicate political balance the Rebellion has created for itself is not.”
“I understand all that, Admiral,” Pellaeon growled. “My concern is with your assumption that that Bothan on the Council can be relied upon to push things so close to your theoretical breakup point.”
“Oh, he’ll push, all right,” Thrawn said, his smile turning sardonic as he gazed out at the battle blazing on around the enemy convoy. “I’ve spent many hours studying Bothan art, Captain, and I understand the species quite well. There’s no doubt at all that Councilor Fey’lya will play his part beautifully. As beautifully as if we were pulling his strings directly.”
He tapped a key on his board. “Starboard batteries: one of the Frigates in the convoy is easing into attack position. Assume it’s an armed backup and treat it accordingly. Squadrons A-2 and A-3, move to protect that flank until the Frigate has been neutralized.”
The batteries and TIE wing commander acknowledged, and some of the turbolaser fire began to track on the Frigate. “And what happens if Fey’lya wins?” Pellaeon persisted. “Quickly, I mean, before all this political confusion has a chance to set in. By your own analysis of the species, any Bothan who’s risen as high as Fey’lya has would have to be highly intelligent.”
“Intelligent, yes, but not necessarily in any way that’s dangerous to us,” Thrawn said. “He’d have to be a survivor, certainly, but that land of verbal skill doesn
’t necessarily translate into military competence.” He shrugged. “Actually, a victory by Fey’lya would merely prolong the whole awkward situation for the enemy. Given the kind of support Fey’lya’s been cultivating among the Rebellion military, the politicians would have to go through another polarizing struggle when they realized their mistake and tried to replace him.”
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, suppressing a sigh. It was the kind of tangled subtlety that he’d never really felt comfortable with. He just hoped the Grand Admiral was right about the potential gains; it would be a shame for Intelligence to have engineered such a brilliantly successful bank job and then not get anything of real value out of it.
“Trust me, Captain,” Thrawn said into his unspoken worries. “I dare say the wasting of political effort has already begun, in fact. Ackbar’s staunchest allies would hardly have left Coruscant at this critical point unless they were desperately searching for evidence to clear him.”
Pellaeon frowned at him. “Are you saying that Solo and Organa Solo are headed for the Palanhi system?”
“Solo only, I think,” Thrawn corrected thoughtfully. “Organa Solo and the Wookiee are most likely still trying to find a place to hide from our Noghri. But Solo will be going to Palanhi, firmly convinced by Intelligence’s electronic sleight-of-hand that the trail leads through that system. Which is why the Death’s Head is on its way there right now.”
“I see,” Pellaeon murmured. He’d noticed that order on the daily log and had wondered why Thrawn was pulling one of their best Imperial Star Destroyers off battle duty. “I hope it will be equal to the task. Solo and Skywalker have both proved hard to trap in the past.”
“I don’t believe Skywalker is going to Palanhi,” Thrawn told him, his face settling into a somewhat sour expression. “Our esteemed Jedi Master apparently called it correctly. Skywalker has decided to pay a visit to Jomark.”
Pellaeon stared at him. “Are you sure, Admiral? I haven’t seen anything from Intelligence to that effect.”
“The information wasn’t from Intelligence,” Thrawn said. “It came from Delta Source.”
“Ah,” Pellaeon said, feeling his own expression go a little sour. The Chimaera’s Intelligence section had been nagging him for months now to find out what exactly this Delta Source was that seemed to feed such clear and precise information to the Grand Admiral from the very heart of the Imperial Palace. So far all Thrawn would say was that Delta Source was firmly established and that the information gained through it should be treated as absolutely reliable.
Intelligence hadn’t even been able to figure out whether Delta Source was a person, a droid, or some exotic recording system that was somehow able to elude the Rebellion’s hourly counterintelligence sweeps of the Palace. It irritated them no end; and Pellaeon had to admit he didn’t much like being kept in the dark about it, either. But Thrawn had personally activated Delta Source, and long years of unwritten protocol in such matters gave him the right to keep the contact confidential if he chose. “I’m sure C’baoth will be pleased to hear it,” he said. “I presume you’ll want to give him the news yourself.”
He thought he’d hidden his irritation with C’baoth reasonably well. Apparently, he’d thought wrong. “You’re still upset about Taanab,” Thrawn said, turning to gaze out at the battle. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Pellaeon said stiffly. “I’ve been over the records again, and there’s only one possible conclusion. C’baoth deliberately went beyond the battle plan Captain Aban had laid out—went beyond it to the point of disobeying a direct order. I don’t care who C’baoth is or whether he felt justified or not. What he did constitutes mutiny.”.
“It did indeed,” Thrawn agreed calmly. “Shall I throw him out of the Imperial service altogether, or simply demote him in rank?”
Pellaeon glared at the other. “I’m serious, Admiral.”
“So am I, Captain,” Thrawn countered, his voice abruptly cold. “You know full well what’s at stake here. We need to utilize every weapon at our disposal if we’re to defeat the Rebellion. C’baoth’s ability to enhance coordination and battle efficiency between our forces is one of those weapons; and if he can’t handle proper military discipline and protocol, then we bend the rules for him.”
“And what happens when we’ve bent the rules so far that they come around and stab us in the back?” Pellaeon demanded. “He ignored a direct order at Taanab—maybe next time it’ll be two orders. Then three, then four, until finally he’s doing what he damn well pleases and to blazes with the Empire. What’s to stop him?”
“Initially, the ysalamiri,” Thrawn said, gesturing at the odd-looking tubular frameworks scattered around the bridge, each with an elongated furry creature wrapped around it. Each of them creating a bubble in the Force where none of C’baoth’s Jedi tricks would work. “That’s what they’re here for, after all.”
“That’s all well and good,” Pellaeon said. “But in the long run—”
“In the long run, I will stop him,” Thrawn cut him off, touching his board. “Squadron C-3, watch your port-zenith flank. There’s a blister on that Frigate that could be a cluster trap.”
The commander acknowledged, the TIE interceptors veering away in response. A second later, half a heartbeat too late, the blister abruptly exploded, sending a withering hail of concussion grenades outward in all directions. The rearmost of the TIE interceptors was caught by the edge of the fiery flower, shattering in a brilliant secondary explosion. The rest, out of range, escaped the booby trap unharmed.
Thrawn turned his glowing eyes on Pellaeon. “I understand your concerns, Captain,” he said quietly. “What you fail to grasp—what you’ve always failed to grasp—is that a man with C’baoth’s mental and emotional instabilities can never be a threat to us. Yes, he has a great deal of power, and at any given moment he could certainly do considerable damage to our people and equipment. But by his very nature he’s unable to use that power for any length of time. Concentration, focus, long-term thinking—those are the qualities that separate a warrior from a mere flailing fighter. And they’re qualities C’baoth will never possess.”
Pellaeon nodded heavily. He still wasn’t convinced, but there was clearly no use in arguing the point further. Not now, anyway. “Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “C’baoth will also want to know about Organa Solo.”
Thrawn’s eyes glittered; but the annoyance, Pellaeon knew, wasn’t directed at him. “You will tell Master C’baoth that I’ve decided to allow the Noghri one last chance to find and capture her. When we’ve finished here, I’ll be taking that message to them. Personally.”
Pellaeon glanced back at the entrance to the bridge, where the Noghri bodyguard Rukh stood his usual silent vigil. “You’re calling a convocate of the Noghri commandos?” he asked, suppressing a shiver. He’d been to one such mass meeting once, and facing a whole roomful of those quiet gray-skinned killers was not an experience he was anxious to repeat.
“I think matters have gone beyond simply calling a convocate,” Thrawn said coldly. “You’ll instruct Navigation to prepare a course from the rendezvous point to the Honoghr system. The entire Noghri populace, I think, needs to be reminded of who it is they serve.”
He shifted his glare out the viewport at the battle and tapped his board. “TIE command: recall all fighters to the ship,” he ordered. “Navigation: begin calculations for a return to the rendezvous point.”
Pellaeon frowned out the viewport. The modified Bulk Cruiser and backup Frigate were pretty much dead where they lay, but the convoy itself was largely undamaged. “We’re letting them go?”
“There’s no need to destroy them,” Thrawn said. “Stripping them of their defense is an adequate object lesson for the moment.”
He tapped a key, and a tactical holo of this section of the galaxy appeared between their two stations. Blue lines marked the Rebellion’s main trade routes; those sheathed in red marked ones the Imperial forces had hit in the past month. “The
re’s more to these attacks than simple harassment, Captain. Once this group has told their story, all future convoys from Sarka will demand upgraded protection. Enough such attacks, and the Rebellion will face the choice of either tying up large numbers of its ships with escort duty or effectively abandoning cargo shipment through these border sectors. Either way, it will put them at a serious disadvantage when we launch the Mount Tantiss campaign.” He smiled grimly. “Economics and psychology, Captain. For now, the more civilian survivors there are to spread the tale of Imperial power, the better. There’ll be time enough for destruction later.” He glanced at his board, looked back out the viewport. “Speaking of Imperial power, any news on our ship hunt?”
“We’ve had five more capital ships turned in to various Imperial bases in the past ten hours,” Pellaeon told him. “Nothing larger than an old Star Galleon, but it’s a start.”
“We’re going to need more than just a start, Captain,” Thrawn said, craning his neck slightly to watch the returning TIE interceptors. “Any word on Talon Karrde?”
“Nothing since that tip from Rishi,” Pellaeon told him, tapping the proper log for an update. “The bounty hunter who sent it was killed shortly afterward.”
“Keep up the pressure,” Thrawn ordered. “Karrde knows a great deal about what happens in this galaxy. If there are any capital ships lying unused out there, he’ll know where they are.”
Personally, Pellaeon thought it pretty unlikely that a mere smuggler, even one with Karrde’s connections, would have better information sources than the vast Imperial Intelligence network. But he’d also dismissed the possibility that Karrde might be hiding Luke Skywalker out at that base on Myrkr. Karrde was turning out to be full of surprises. “There are a lot of people out there hunting for him,” he told the Grand Admiral. “Sooner or later, one of them will find him.”
“Good.” Thrawn glanced around the bridge. “In the meantime, all units will continue their assigned harassment of the Rebellion.” His glowing red eyes bored into Pellaeon’s face. “And they will continue, too, to maintain a watch for the Millennium Falcon and the Lady Luck. After the Noghri have been properly primed for their task, I want their prey to be ready for them.”
