by Timothy Zahn
And on top of it all was the why.
Why was this happening? Was someone trying to scare the Imperials away? Or was the attacker trying to pin them down, or run them in circles? Or, worst of all, was this some kind of macabre game?
And was the grass-filled flight suit a feint, a distraction, or just some native ritual?
That one, at least, received an answer. About midnight, after a comm consultation with Captain Parck, Barris ordered the stuffed flight suit to be thoroughly examined.
Only then did they discover that the helmet’s comlink was missing.
“Clever little snakes,” Barris growled as Eli edged closer to the conversation. “What about that one?”
“The comlink’s still here,” Wyan confirmed, peering into the second downed pilot’s helmet. “They must not have had time to remove it.”
“Or just didn’t bother,” Barris said.
“Because they could already eavesdrop on our communications?”
“Exactly,” Barris said. “Well, that ends now. Call the Strikefast and have them shut down that circuit.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barris shifted his glare to Eli. “You have something to add, Cadet? Or were you just doing a little eavesdropping of your own?”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said. “I mean, no, sir. I wanted to report that I found a couple of coins between the inner and outer shells of one of the crates that date to the beginning of the Clone Wars. So it looks like our castaway’s been here at least that long—”
“Hold on,” Barris said. “Coins?”
“A lot of shippers out here put freshly minted low-value coins in with their crates,” Eli explained. “It’s a good-luck thing, as well as a way to make sure the dates on the manifests don’t get altered. They take them out and put in new ones whenever that crate comes back to them.”
“So assuming the castaway got the crates new, it means he’s been here for several years,” Wyan said thoughtfully. “Might explain some of his behavior.”
“Not to me it doesn’t,” Barris said. “If all he wants is a ride back to civilization, why doesn’t he just walk out of the forest and ask?”
“Maybe he was on the run when he crashed,” Wyan suggested. “Or maybe he came here voluntarily and just wants us to go away.”
“In which case he’s going to be sadly disappointed,” Barris said. “All right, Cadet, keep looking. Do you want me to assign a tech to help?”
“There’s not much room, sir. We’d probably just get in each other’s way.”
“Then get back to it,” Barris said. “Sooner or later, our friend’s going to push his luck too far. When he does, we’ll be ready.”
—
They had five casualties among the sentry perimeter navy troopers that night. Three of them were incapacitated at the hand of the unseen enemy, their chests or helmets slammed by concussion grenades. No one saw anything, either before the attacks or afterward. The other two casualties were accidentally shot by their own nervous comrades, who mistook them for intruders in the misty darkness.
By the time dawn began to lighten the sky, Barris was back on the comlink to the Strikefast. By the time the sun finished burning off the nighttime mist, two squads of stormtroopers had arrived. They consulted with Barris, then headed briskly into the forest, blaster rifles held ready across their chests.
Personally, Eli doubted they would have any better luck finding the mysterious attacker than Barris’s own troopers had. But he had to admit that the presence of the white-armored warriors brought a welcome boost to morale.
He was taking apart the last crate to look for more marker coins when he heard a soft but pervasive screech erupt from somewhere outside the hut, followed instantly by shouts and curses.
A general alert? Snatching out his comlink, he keyed it on.
And just as quickly keyed it off, holding it as far away from himself as he could, as the screech from outside exploded in his ears.
Someone was jamming their comlinks.
“Full alert!” he heard Barris bellow from across the clearing. “All troopers, full alert. Major Wyan, where are you?”
Eli hurried around the side of the hut, nearly getting bowled over by a navy trooper heading toward the perimeter. The woman’s face was ashy under her heavy black helmet, her expression grim, her uniform spattered with dust. Eli came within sight of Barris just as Wyan reached him. “All comlink channels are out, sir,” Wyan reported.
“I know,” Barris snarled. “Enough is enough. There are eighteen stormtroopers beating the bushes out there—send some navy troopers to recall them. We’re pulling out.”
“We’re leaving, sir?”
“You have an objection?”
“No, sir. But what about that?” Wyan jerked a thumb at the hut. “The protocols require us to study it.”
Barris glared at the hut for a couple of seconds. Then his face cleared. “But they don’t require us to study it here,” he said. “We’ll take it with us.”
Wyan’s jaw dropped. “To the Strikefast?”
“Why not?” Barris said, as if still thinking it through. “There’s plenty of room in the transport for all of it. Tell the techs to break out the heavy repulsorlifts and get busy.”
Wyan threw a considerably less-than-enthusiastic look at the settlement. “Yes, sir.”
“And tell them to move it,” Barris called after Wyan as the major hurried away. “The only reason to jam our comlinks is if he’s getting ready to launch a major attack.”
Eli pressed himself close to the hut as he looked around the edge of the forest. He couldn’t see any lurking enemies out there. But then, none of them ever had.
Three minutes later a squad of grim-faced troopers and techs arrived at the encampment and began attaching repulsorlift hoists to the generators and storage crates. One of the techs stayed with Eli as the others began transferring their prizes to the transport, the two of them studying the hut’s exterior and figuring out where to attach the hoists in order to keep the building intact.
They were still discussing the procedure when the first of the stormtroopers began to reemerge from the forest in response to Barris’s orders. The jamming continued as the rest of the troops filtered into the encampment, turning to face the forest in defensive formation for the attack they all knew was coming.
Only it didn’t. Barris’s stipulated half hour ended with the encampment packed aboard the transport, leaving the entire group ready to leave.
Except for one small hitch. One of the eighteen stormtroopers was missing.
“What do you mean, missing?” Barris demanded in a voice that carried across nearly the entire clearing as three of the stormtroopers headed purposefully into the forest again. “How does a stormtrooper go missing?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Wyan said, looking around. “But you’re right. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“Damn right I’m right,” Barris said. “That’s it, Major. Get the techs aboard the transport, with your troopers following in standard rearguard formation.”
“What about the stormtroopers?” Wyan asked.
“They’ve got their own troop carrier,” Barris said. “They can stay behind and beat the bushes to their hearts’ content. We’ll leave as soon as everyone else is aboard.”
Eli didn’t wait to hear more. Barris’s order hadn’t specifically mentioned him, but he was more tech than trooper. Close enough. He turned toward the transport.
And paused. One of the stormtroopers was standing rigid guard just outside the hatchway, his weapon held ready across his chest. If he took exception to Barris’s order abandoning him and his companions…
Without twitch or warning, the stormtrooper abruptly dissolved in a violent explosion.
Eli was flat on the ground in an instant. “Alert!” he heard someone shout, the voice distorted by the ringing in his ears. A handful of troopers were charging toward the forest, but Eli couldn’t tell if they were on an actual trail or
just hoping to randomly catch their attacker. He looked back at the transport—
His breath caught in his throat. The smoke of the explosion was clearing away, revealing that the ship itself had sustained only minor damage. Mostly cosmetic, nothing that should interfere with flight operation or hull integrity. The stormtrooper’s armor, no longer pristine white, was scattered in bits and pieces in a small radius around the spot where the man had been standing.
The armor was all there was. The body itself was gone.
“No,” Eli heard himself mutter under his breath. It was impossible. A blast that caused so little damage to the ship behind it couldn’t possibly have disintegrated a body so completely. Especially not without doing the same to the armor that had encased it.
A movement to his left caught his eye. Emerging into the clearing were the three stormtroopers who’d gone to look for their missing comrade. They had indeed found him.
Or at least, what was left of him.
—
Eli had half expected the transport and troop carrier would be attacked as they lifted into the sky. But no missiles, laser pulses, or catapulted grenades followed them up. Soon, to his relief, they were safe in the Strikefast’s hangar bay.
Captain Parck was waiting beside the transport’s hatch as the men filed out. “Colonel,” he said, nodding gravely as Barris emerged behind Eli. “I don’t recall giving you permission to leave your position.”
“No, sir, you didn’t,” Barris said, and Eli had no trouble hearing the weariness in his voice. “But I was the commander on the scene. I did what I deemed best.”
“Yes,” Parck murmured. Eli looked back over his shoulder, to see the captain shift his gaze from Barris to the transport itself. “I’m told you brought the alien settlement up with you.”
“Yes, sir,” Barris said. “Everything that was there, right down to the dirt. I can put the techs back to work on it whenever you want.”
“There’s no hurry,” Parck said. “You’ll accompany me back to my office. Everyone else is to report for debriefing.” He turned to face the line of techs and navy troopers.
And his eyes fell on Eli.
Quickly, Eli twisted his head back around. Eavesdropping on officers was very bad form. Hopefully, Parck hadn’t noticed.
Unfortunately, he had. “Cadet Vanto?”
Bracing himself, Eli stopped and turned around. “Yes, sir?”
“You’ll accompany us, as well,” Parck said. “Come.” With Parck in the lead, they left the hangar bay.
But to Eli’s surprise they didn’t go to the captain’s office. Instead, Parck led the way up to the hangar bay control tower, the lights of which had been inexplicably darkened. “Sir?” Barris asked as Parck stepped to the observation window.
“An experiment, Colonel.” Parck gestured to the man at the control board. “Everyone out? Good. Dim the lights in the bay.”
Barris stepped to Parck’s side as the lights outside the observation window faded to nighttime levels. Cautiously, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible while still getting a good look, Eli eased to a spot just behind Parck on his other side. The transport and troop carrier were prominently visible directly below; beyond them at the other end of the bay were three Zeta-class shuttles and a Harbinger courier ship. “What sort of experiment?” Barris asked.
“The testing of a theory,” Parck said. “Make yourselves comfortable, Colonel; Cadet. We may be here awhile.”
They’d been there nearly two hours when a shadowy, human-shaped figure emerged stealthily from the transport. Silently, it slipped across the darkened hangar bay toward the other ships, taking advantage of the sparse cover along the way.
“Who is that?” Barris asked, leaning a little closer to the transparisteel divider.
“Unless I’m mistaken, that’s the source of your troubles down on the surface,” Parck said with obvious satisfaction. “I believe that’s the castaway whose home you invaded.”
Eli blinked, frowned. One man? One man?
Barris apparently didn’t believe it, either. “That’s impossible, sir,” he protested. “Those attacks couldn’t have been the work of a single person. He must have had some help.”
“We’ll wait a moment and see if anyone joins him,” Parck said.
No one did. The shadowy figure moved across the floor to the other ships, where it paused for a moment as if considering. Then, deliberately, it stepped to the door of the middle Zeta shuttle and slipped inside. “It appears he was indeed alone,” Parck said, pulling out his comlink. “He’s in the middle Zeta. All weapons on stun: I want him alive and unharmed.”
—
After all the trouble the castaway had created on the planet surface, Eli had expected him to put up a terrific fight against his captors. To his surprise, he apparently surrendered to the stormtroopers without any resistance at all.
Perhaps he was taken by surprise. More likely, he knew when resistance was futile.
At least Eli understood now why Parck wanted him along. The prisoner’s cargo crates were labeled with a Sy Bisti variant. If he spoke the language itself—and if it was the only language he spoke—the Imperials would need a translator.
The group was halfway to the hatchway where Parck, Barris, Eli, and their stormtrooper escort waited when the hangar bay lights came back up.
The prisoner, as Eli had already noted, was of human shape and dimensions. But there the resemblance to normal humans ended. His skin was blue, his eyes a glowing red, and his hair a shimmering blue-black.
Eli stiffened. Back home on Lysatra, there were myths about beings like that. Proud, deadly warriors that the stories named Chiss.
With an effort, he tore his eyes away from the face and his mind away from the old myths. The prisoner was dressed in what appeared to be skins and furs, apparently sewn together from the indigenous animals of the forest where he’d been living. Even marching in the center of a rectangle of armed stormtroopers, he had an air of almost regal confidence about him.
Confidence. That was definitely part of the stories.
The stormtroopers brought him to within a few meters of Parck and nudged him to a halt. “Welcome aboard the Venator Star Destroyer Strikefast,” the captain said. “Do you speak Basic?”
For a moment the alien seemed to be studying him. “Or would Sy Bisti be better?” Eli added in that language.
Barris threw a glare at him, and Eli winced. Again, stupid. He should have waited for orders. The prisoner, too, was gazing at him, though his expression seemed more thoughtful than angry.
Captain Parck, for his part, only had eyes for the prisoner. “You asked him whether he spoke Sy Bisti, I assume?”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said. “My apologies, Captain. I just thought—the stories all say that the Chiss used Sy Bisti in their—”
“The what?” Parck asked.
“The Chiss,” Eli said, feeling his face warming. “They’re a…well, they’ve always been thought of as a Wild Space myth.”
“Have they, now,” Parck said, eying the prisoner. “It would appear they’re a bit more substantial than that. But I interrupted. You were saying?”
“Just that in the stories the Chiss used Sy Bisti in their dealings with us.”
“As you also used that language with us,” the prisoner said calmly in Sy Bisti.
Eli twitched. The prisoner had answered in Sy Bisti…but he’d responded to a comment that Eli had made in Basic. “Do you understand Basic?” he asked in Sy Bisti.
“I understand some,” the Chiss answered in the same language. “But I’m more comfortable with this one.”
Eli nodded. “He says he understands some Basic, but is more comfortable with Sy Bisti.”
“I see,” Parck said. “Very well. I’m Captain Parck, commander of this ship. What’s your name?”
Eli opened his mouth to translate—“No,” Parck stopped him with an upraised hand. “You can translate his answers, but I want to see how much Basic he understands.
Your name, please?”
For a moment the Chiss was silent, his gaze drifting around the hangar bay. Not like a primitive overwhelmed by the size and magnificence of the place, Eli thought, but like another military man sizing up his enemy’s strengths and weaknesses. “Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he said, bringing his glowing eyes back to Parck.
“But I believe it would be easier for you to call me Thrawn.”
A life path may change because of important decisions or events. Those were what drove my current path.
But sometimes the smallest event can also drive a turn. In the case of Eli Vanto, that force was a single, overheard word.
Chiss. Where had Cadet Vanto heard that name? What did it mean to him? He had already spoken one reason, but there might well be others. Indeed, the full truth might have several layers. But what were they?
On a ship as large as this, there was only one practical way to find out.
Thus did my path take yet another turn. As, certainly, did his.
—
“Thrawn,” Parck repeated, as if trying out the name. “Very well. As I said, welcome. I want you to know that we didn’t intend to intrude on your privacy. We were looking for smugglers, and happened upon your home. One of our standing orders is to study all unknown species we come across.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said in Sy Bisti. “So also said the traders who first contacted my people.”
“He understands, sir,” Eli translated. “He knows about that order from traders who’ve contacted his people.”
“Then why didn’t you come out?” Barris demanded. “Why did you harass and kill my men?”
“It was necessary—” Thrawn began in Sy Bisti.
“Enough,” Barris cut in. “He understands Basic. That means he can speak it. So speak. Why did you harass and kill my men?”
For a moment Thrawn gazed thoughtfully at him. Eli looked at Parck, but the captain also remained silent.
“Very well,” Thrawn said in Basic. The words were heavily accented, but understandable. “It was necessary.”
“Why?” Parck asked. “What did you hope to accomplish here?”
