by Timothy Zahn
Han blinked. “Eleven?” he echoed. “You mean in school?”
“Correct,” Bel Iblis nodded. “Literally correct, in fact. It was at a convocation at your school, where you were being forced to listen to a group of us old fossils talk about politics.”
Han felt his face warming. The specific memory was still a blank, but that was how he’d felt about politicians at that time in his life. Though come to think of it, the opinion hadn’t changed all that much over the years. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t remember.”
“As I said, I didn’t expect you to,” Bel Iblis said. “I, on the other hand, remember the incident quite well. During the question period after the talk you asked two irreverently phrased yet highly pointed questions: the first regarding the ethics of the anti-alien bias starting to creep into the legal structure of the Republic, the second about some very specific instances of corruption involving my colleagues in the Senate.”
It was starting to come back, at least in a vague sort of way. “Yeah, I remember now,” Hah said slowly. “I think one of my friends dared me to throw those questions at you. He probably figured I’d get in trouble for not being polite. I was in trouble enough that it didn’t bother me.”
“Setting your life pattern early, were you?” Bel Iblis suggested dryly. “At any rate, they weren’t the sort of questions I would have expected from an eleven-year-old, and they intrigued me enough to ask about you. I’ve been keeping a somewhat loose eye on you ever since.”
Han grimaced. “You probably weren’t very impressed by what you saw.”
“There were times,” Bel Iblis agreed. “I’ll admit to having been extremely disappointed when you were dismissed from the Imperial Academy—you’d shown considerable promise there, and I felt at the time that a strongly loyal officer corps was one of the few defenses the Republic still had left against the collapse toward Empire.” He shrugged. “Under the circumstances, it’s just as well that you got out when you did. With your obvious disdain for authority, you’d have been quietly eliminated in the Emperor’s purge of those officers he hadn’t been able to seduce to his side. And then things would have gone quite differently, wouldn’t they?”
“Maybe a little,” Han conceded modestly. He glanced around the war room. “So how long have you been here at—you called it Peregrine’s Nest?”
“Oh, we never stay anywhere for very long,” Bel Iblis said, clapping a hand on Han’s shoulder and gently but firmly turning him toward the door. “Sit still too long and the Imperials will eventually find you. But we can talk business later. Right now, your friend outside is probably getting nervous. Come introduce me to him.”
Lando was indeed looking a little tense as Han and Bel Iblis stepped out into the sunlight again. “It’s all right,” Han assured him. “We’re with friends. Senator, this is Lando Calrissian, one-time general of the Rebel Alliance. Lando; Senator Garm Bel Iblis.”
He hadn’t expected Lando to recognize the name of a long-past Corellian politician. He was right. “Senator Bel Iblis,” Lando nodded, his voice neutral.
“Honored to meet you, General Calrissian,” Bel Iblis said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Lando glanced at Han. “Just Calrissian,” he said. “The General is more a courtesy title now.”
“Then we’re even,” Bel Iblis smiled. “I’m not a Senator anymore, either.” He waved a hand at Sena. “You’ve met my chief adviser and unofficial ambassador-at-large, Sena Leikvold Midanyl. And—” He paused, looking around. “I understood Irenez was with you.”
“She was needed back at the ship, sir,” Sena told him. “Our other guest required some soothing.”
“Yes; Council-Aide Breil’lya,” Bel Iblis said, glancing in the direction of the landing pad. “This could prove somewhat awkward.”
“Yes, sir,” Sena said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought him here, but at the time I didn’t see any other reasonable course of action.”
“Oh, I agree,” Bel Iblis assured her. “Leaving him in the middle of an Imperial raid would have been more than simply awkward.”
Han felt a slight chill run through him. In the flush of excitement over meeting Bel Iblis, he’d completely forgotten what had taken them to New Cov in the first place. “You seem to be on good terms with Breil’lya, Senator,” he said carefully.
Bel Iblis eyed him. “And you’d like to know just what those good terms entail?”
Han steeled himself. “As a matter of fact, sir … yes, I would.”
The other smiled slightly. “You still have that underlying refusal to flinch before authority, don’t you. Good. Come on over to the headquarters lounge and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His smile hardened, just a little. “And after that, I’ll have some questions to ask you, as well.”
The door slid open, and Pellaeon stepped into the darkened antechamber of Thrawn’s private command room. Darkened and apparently empty; but Pellaeon knew better than that. “I have important information for the Grand Admiral,” he said loudly. “I don’t have time for these little games of yours.”
“They are not games,” Rukh’s gravelly voice mewed right in Pellaeon’s ear, making him jump despite his best efforts not to. “Stalking skills must be practiced or lost.”
“Practice on someone else,” Pellaeon growled. “I have work to do.”
He stepped forward to the inner door, silently cursing Rukh and the whole Noghri race. Useful tools of the Empire they might well be; but he’d dealt with this kind of close-knit clan structure before, and he’d never found such primitives to be anything but trouble in the long run. The door to the command room slid open—
Revealing a darkness lit only by softly glowing candles.
Pellaeon stopped abruptly, his mind flashing back to that eerie crypt on Wayland, where a thousand candles marked the graves of offworlders who had come there over the past few years, only to be slaughtered by Joruus C’baoth. For Thrawn to have turned his command room into a duplicate of that …
“No, I haven’t come under the influence of our unstable Jedi Master,” Thrawn’s voice came dryly across the room. Over the candles, Pellaeon could just see the Grand Admiral’s glowing red eyes. “Look closer.”
Pellaeon did as instructed, to discover that the “candles” were in fact holographic images of exquisitely delicate lighted sculptures. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Thrawn said, his voice meditative. “They’re Corellian flame miniatures, one of that very short list of art forms which others have tried to copy but never truly been able to duplicate. Nothing more than shaped transoptical fibers, pseudoluminescent plant material, and a pair of Goorlish light sources, really; and yet, somehow, there’s something about them that’s never been captured by anyone else.” The holographic flames faded away, and in the center of the room a frozen image of three Dreadnaught cruisers appeared. “This was taken by the Relentless two days ago off the planet New Cov, Captain,” Thrawn continued in the same thoughtful tone. “Watch closely.”
He started the recording. Pellaeon watched in silence as the Dreadnaughts, in triangular formation, opened fire with ion cannons toward the camera’s point of view. Almost hidden in the fury of the assault, a freighter and what looked like a small pleasure yacht could be seen skittering to safety down the middle of the formation. Still firing, the Dreadnaughts began drawing back, and a minute later the whole group had jumped to lightspeed. The holo faded away, and the room lights came up to a gentle glow. “Comments?” Thrawn invited.
“Looks like our old friends are back,” Pellaeon said. “They seem to have recovered from that scare we gave them at Linuri. A nuisance, especially right now.”
“Unfortunately, indications are that they’re about to become more than just a nuisance,” Thrawn told him. “One of the two ships they were rescuing was identified by the Relentless as the Lady Luck. With Han Solo and Lando Calrissian aboard.”
Pellaeon frowned. “Solo and Calrissian? But—” He broke off sharply.
/> “But they were supposed to go to the Palanhi system,” Thrawn finished for him. “Yes. An error on my part. Obviously, something more important came up than their concerns for Ackbar’s reputation.”
Pellaeon looked back at where the holo had been. “Such as adding new strength to the Rebellion military.”
“I don’t believe they’ve merged quite yet,” Thrawn said, his forehead furrowed with thought. “Nor do I believe such an alliance is inevitable. That was a Corellian leading that task force, Captain—I’m sure of that now. And there are only a few possibilities as to just who that Corellian might be.”
A stray memory clicked. “Solo is Corellian, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “One reason I think they’re still in the negotiation stage. If their leader is who I suspect, he might well prefer sounding out a fellow Corellian before making any commitment to the Rebellion’s leaders.”
To Thrawn’s left, the comm pinged. “Admiral Thrawn? We have the contact you requested with the Relentless.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said, tapping a switch. In front of the double circle of repeater displays a three-quarter-sized hologram of an elderly Imperial officer appeared, standing next to what appeared to be a detention block control board. “Grand Admiral,” the image said, nodding gravely.
“Good day, Captain Dorja,” Thrawn nodded back. “You have the prisoner I asked for?”
“Right here, sir,” Dorja said. He glanced to the side and gestured; and from off-camera a rather bulky human appeared, his hands shackled in front of him, his expression studiously neutral behind his neatly trimmed beard. “His name’s Niles Ferrier,” Dorja said. “We picked him and his crew up during the raid on New Cov.”
“The raid from which Skywalker, Solo, and Calrissian escaped,” Thrawn said.
Dorja winced. “Yes, sir.”
Thrawn shifted his attention to Ferrier. “Captain Ferrier,” he nodded. “Our records indicate that you specialize in spaceship theft. Yet you were picked up on New Cov with a cargo of biomolecules aboard your ship. Would you care to explain?”
Ferrier shrugged fractionally. “Palming ships isn’t something you can do every day,” he said. “It takes opportunities and planning. Taking the occasional shipping job helps make ends meet.”
“You’re aware, of course, that the biomolecules were undeclared.”
“Yes, Captain Dorja told me that,” Ferrier said with just the right mixture of astonishment and indignation. “Believe me, if I’d known I was being made a party to such cheating against the Empire—”
“I presume you’re also aware,” Thrawn cut him off, “that for such actions I can not only confiscate your cargo, but also your ship.”
Ferrier was aware of that, all right. Pellaeon could see it in the pinched look around his eyes. “I’ve been very helpful to the Empire in the past, Admiral,” he said evenly. “I’ve smuggled in loads of contraband from the New Republic, and only recently delivered three Sienar patrol ships to your people.”
“And were paid outrageous sums of money in all cases,” Thrawn reminded him. “If you’re trying to suggest we owe you for past kindnesses, don’t bother. However … there may be a way for you to pay back this new debt. Did you happen to notice the ships attacking the Relentless as you were trying to sneak away from the planet?”
“Of course I did,” Ferrier said, a touch of wounded professional pride creeping into his voice. “They were Rendili StarDrive Dreadnaughts. Old ones, by the look of them, but spry enough. Probably undergone a lot of refitting.”
“They have indeed.” Thrawn smiled slightly. “I want them.”
It took Ferrier a handful of seconds for the offhanded sounding comment to register. When it did, his mouth dropped open. “You mean … me?”
“Do you have a problem with that?” Thrawn asked coldly.
“Uh …” Ferrier swallowed. “Admiral, with all due respect—”
“You have three standard months to get me either those ships or else their precise location,” Thrawn cut him off. “Captain Dorja?”
Dorja stepped forward again. “Sir.”
“You will release Captain Ferrier and his crew and supply them with an unmarked Intelligence freighter to use. Their own ship will remain aboard the Relentless until they’ve completed their mission.”
“Understood,” Dorja nodded.
Thrawn cocked an eyebrow. “One other thing, Captain Ferrier. On the off chance that you might feel yourself tempted to abandon the assignment and make a run for it, the freighter you’ll be given will be equipped with an impressive and totally unbreakable doomsday mechanism. With exactly three standard months set on its clock. I trust you understand.”
Above his beard, Ferrier’s face had gone a rather sickly white. “Yes,” he managed.
“Good.” Thrawn shifted his attention back to Dorja. “I leave the details in your hands, Captain. Keep me informed of developments.”
He tapped a switch, and the hologram faded away. “As I said, Captain,” Thrawn said, turning to Pellaeon. “I don’t think an alliance with the Rebellion is necessarily inevitable.”
“If Ferrier can pull it off,” Pellaeon said doubtfully.
“He has a reasonable chance,” Thrawn assured him. “After all, we have a general idea ourselves of where they might be hidden. We just don’t have the time and manpower at the moment to properly root them out. Even if we did, a large-scale attack would probably end up destroying the Dreadnaughts, and I’d rather capture them intact.”
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said grimly. The word capture had reminded him of why he’d come here in the first place. “Admiral, the report on Khabarakh’s ship has come in from the scanning team.” He held the data card over the double display circle.
For a moment Thrawn’s glowing red eyes burned into Pellaeon’s face, as if trying to read the reason for his subordinate’s obvious tension. Then, wordlessly, he took the data card from the captain’s hand and slid it into his reader. Pellaeon waited, tight-lipped, as the Grand Admiral skimmed the report.
Thrawn reached the end and leaned back in his seat, his face unreadable. “Wookiee hairs,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon nodded. “All over the ship.”
Thrawn was silent another few heartbeats. “Your interpretation?”
Pellaeon braced himself. “I can only see one, sir. Khabarakh didn’t escape from the Wookiees on Kashyyyk at all. They caught him … and then let him go.”
“After a month of imprisonment.” Thrawn looked up at Pellaeon. “And interrogation.”
“Almost certainly,” Pellaeon agreed. “The question is, what did he tell them?”
“There’s one way to find out.” Thrawn tapped on the comm. “Hangar bay, this is the Grand Admiral. Prepare my shuttle; I’m going to the surface. I’ll want a troop shuttle and double squad of stormtroopers ready to accompany me, plus two flights of Scimitar assault bombers to provide air cover.”
He got an acknowledgment and keyed off. “It may be, Captain, that the Noghri have forgotten where their loyalties lie,” he told Pellaeon, standing up and stepping out around the displays. “I think it’s time they were reminded that the Empire commands here. You’ll return to the bridge and prepare a suitable demonstration.”
“Yes, sir.” Pellaeon hesitated. “Do you want merely a reminder and not actual destruction?”
Thrawn’s eyes blazed. “For the moment, yes,” he said, his voice icy. “Let them all pray that I don’t change my mind.”
CHAPTER
12
It was the smell Leia noticed first as she drifted slowly awake: a smoky smell, reminiscent of the wood fires of the Ewoks of Endor but with a tangy sharpness all its own. A warm, homey sort of aroma, reminding her of the campouts she’d had as a child on Alderaan.
And then she woke up enough to remember where she was. Full consciousness flooded in, and she snapped open her eyes—
To find herself lying on a rough pallet in a corner of the N
oghri communal bake house. Exactly where she’d been when she’d fallen asleep the night before.
She sat up, feeling relieved and a little ashamed. What with that unexpected visit last night by the Grand Admiral, she realized she’d half expected to wake up in a Star Destroyer detention cell. Clearly, she’d underestimated the Noghri’s ability to stick by their promises.
Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been a long time since she’d eaten; a little lower down, one of the twins kicked a reminder of his own. “Okay,” she soothed. “I get the hint. Breakfast time.”
She tore the top off a ration bar from one of her cases and took a bite, looking around the bake house as she chewed. Against the wall by the door, the double pallet that had been laid out for Chewbacca to sleep on was empty. For a moment the fear of betrayal again whispered to her; but a little concentration through the Force silenced any concerns. Chewbacca was somewhere nearby, with a sense that gave no indication of danger. Relax, she ordered herself sternly, pulling a fresh jumpsuit out of her case and starting to get dressed. Whatever these Noghri were, it was clear they weren’t savages. They were honorable people, in their own way, and they wouldn’t turn her over to the Empire. At least, not until they’d heard her out.
She downed the last bite of ration bar and finished dressing, making sure as always that her belt didn’t hang too heavily across her increasingly swollen belly. Retrieving her lightsaber from its hiding place under the edge of the pallet, she fastened it prominently to her side. Khabarakh, she remembered, had seemed to find reassurance of her identity in the presence of the Jedi weapon; hopefully, the rest of the Noghri would also respond that way. Stepping to the bake house door, she ran through her Jedi calming exercises and went outside.
Three small Noghri children were playing with an inflatable ball in the grassy area outside the door, their grayish-white skin glistening with perspiration in the bright morning sunlight. A sunlight that wasn’t going to last, Leia saw: a uniform layer of dark clouds extending all the way to the west was even now creeping its way east toward the rising sun. All for the best; a thick layer of clouds would block any direct telescopic observations the Star Destroyer up there might make of the village, as well as diffusing the non-Noghri infrared signatures she and Chewbacca were giving off.
