by Timothy Zahn
“That is indeed the ISB’s reputation,” Thrawn said. “But the interrogator may not arrive in time, or may not extract the necessary information quickly enough. Remember, we have only four days before Angel will notice his ship’s failure to reappear and become suspicious.”
“Or at least get mad.” Eli frowned sideways at Thrawn as it suddenly hit him. “You’re going to interrogate them?”
“Assuming I can persuade Admiral Wiskovis to permit me,” Thrawn said. “Tell me, what do we already know?”
Eli waved a hand. “Pretty much nothing.”
Thrawn remained silent. Eli clenched his teeth. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. Another game that Thrawn was very good at. “We know they were six days away from the rendezvous, including a stop to drop us and the other prisoners somewhere. As you said, that leaves us four days to get wherever they were going. But we don’t even know which direction to look.”
“We have the captured sensor data from the pirate ship,” Thrawn reminded him.
Eli shook his head. “You can’t tell from the departure vector where a ship is going.”
“True,” Thrawn said. “But it would have been inefficient to leave in the entirely opposite direction, especially as they know they have limited time before the Dromedar’s disappearance becomes general knowledge. We may therefore make an initial assumption that their destination is within a cone of no more than ninety degrees centered around their departure vector.”
Eli pursed his lips. And that cone covered their current location at Ansion, so at least getting to Cygni’s destination in four days wasn’t completely out of the question.
Wherever there was. On that, they still didn’t have a clue.
“What else do we know?” Thrawn pressed. “What did Angel call their rendezvous?”
Eli had to search his memory. “He called it the Trapo,” he said. “I presume you’ve already looked for a planet by that name?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “There is no planet or major city listed in the registry. But note that he called it the Trapo, not simply Trapo. That may imply a colloquial or slang term.”
“A term for what?”
“I do not yet know,” Thrawn said. “But I believe that with the right questions we may learn that. What else do we know?”
Eli shrugged. “We have the faces of our prisoners. But even if they haven’t altered or deleted their data files—and a lot of criminals do exactly that—it would take days or weeks to sort through all the planetary records and figure out who they are.”
“We may also have the pirates’ own name for themselves,” Thrawn pointed out. “Do you remember? I asked you about it at the time.”
“You mean Culoss?” Eli asked, frowning. “I thought that was just some slang word.”
“I believe it is more than that,” Thrawn said. “Angel reacted too strongly to my interest in the word for it to have been innocent or harmless.”
“I didn’t notice any reaction.”
“It was somewhat subtle.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Eli said, starting to feel some cautious excitement. A Mid Rim base like Ansion might not have complete files on the Empire’s citizens, but it should have a list of the major criminal organizations within its jurisdiction. “Have you looked them up?”
“I have,” Thrawn said. “There is nothing listed under that name.”
“Oh,” Eli said, feeling his excitement fade.
“But there are several possible connections I may be able to exploit,” Thrawn continued. “We shall see once I am able to speak with them.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Eli asked. “I assume you maneuvered Rossi into leaving me here for a reason.”
“Two reasons,” Thrawn said. “I need you to monitor my interrogation. There may be a point where you will be uniquely useful.”
“All right,” Eli said, wondering what Thrawn could possibly mean by that. Uniquely useful wasn’t a term anyone had ever applied to him. “And the second reason?”
Thrawn was silent a moment. “For what I am planning, I may need a witness,” he said quietly. “You, Ensign Vanto, will be that witness.”
—
The three pirates are expressionless as they walk into their side of the interrogation room in single file. Each looks around the room as he enters, noting the gray metal walls, ceiling, and floor. Each also quickly spots the interrogation desk beyond the transparent barrier that bisects the room.
Thrawn waited until they were seated. Then he touched the intercom control set into his desk. On both sides of the barrier, indicator lights blinked on. “Good evening,” he said, speaking toward the microphone. “I am Lieutenant Thrawn.”
None of the three speak in response. But their facial heat increases. The muscles in their cheeks and throats and around their eyes shift between sullenness and hostility. The larger body muscles beneath their prison clothing twitch and tighten in distinct patterns.
“You are no doubt wondering why you are here,” Thrawn continued. “I wish to offer you a deal.”
Their facial glows briefly intensify, then fade to their previous levels. “You don’t believe me, of course,” Thrawn said. “But it is true. We have a saying: Grasp the useful, let the useless fly. You three are the useless.”
“And you can go plop yourself straight back to Pantora,” the tallest of the three retorted. There is a distinctive twang to his voice, a twang that had become apparent during the passage to Ansion. It is not identical to Vanto’s accent but with strong similarities, likely indicating similar Wild Space roots. “If you came here to insult us, you’re wasting your time.”
“I intend no insults,” Thrawn said. “On the contrary, I am impressed that successors of the pirate queen Q’anah still operate throughout the galaxy.”
The pirates’ facial heat increases dramatically. Their eyes widen; their throat muscles stiffen. They immediately try to hide their reactions, but they are only partially successful and it is already too late.
“You surely did not believe that you were unnoticed,” Thrawn continued. “Indeed, Grand Moff Tarkin has long noted that remnants of Q’anah’s Marauders had escaped their captain’s fate. I have been in contact with Tarkin, and he has expressed a desire to come to Ansion and deal personally with this last trace of his old enemy.”
“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” the pirate spokesman said.
“A brave but useless bluff,” Thrawn said. “However, as I stated, I would prefer to trade you for your leader. Grand Moff Tarkin might not agree. But I am here, and he is not. The true irony is that your leader Angel holds much the same philosophy as I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You surely noted which of your colleagues were selected to travel with him to Cygni’s rendezvous,” Thrawn said. “More important, you surely noted which of you were not chosen. You and the remainder, who were left to die.”
One of the pirates looks at their spokesman, his expression tense. The spokesman ignores him, but his own facial glow intensifies.
“From both short-term and long-term perspectives it was a reasonable decision,” Thrawn continued. “In the short term, Angel loses several experienced crew, but your capture and interrogation gain him additional time to remove the tibanna cylinders from the Dromedar. In the long term, he pares away those he deems no longer useful to his goals.”
“And the Marauder?” the spokesman shot back. “Sorry, Blueface, but Angel’s not stupid enough to dump a perfectly good frigate for nothing.”
“As I said: long-term perspective,” Thrawn replied. Now they had the pirate ship’s name. “Cygni has demonstrated the efficiency of his more subtle approach to ship capture. He has no doubt persuaded Angel that the Dromedar will serve him better than the Marauder. Certainly a freighter permits a more stealthy approach to its victim than an armed frigate.”
On the desk, his datapad lit up with a message: Frigate Marauder linked to five hijackings under ID code Elegin
’s Hope. “Especially one that has come under as much scrutiny as Elegin’s Hope,” he added.
“You’re talking parth spit.” The pirate spokesman’s voice is low and contemptuous.
“I applaud your tenacity,” Thrawn said. “But surely you can see it is of no value. I already know too much for you to save yourselves, and once Tarkin arrives we will know everything. Unless you choose to accept my offer, you are lost.”
The three pirates look urgently at one another. “Let’s hear the deal,” the spokesman said.
“I will give you and your fellow prisoners a civilian transport,” Thrawn said. “It is partially derelict, but it should safely convey you from this sector before requiring repairs. In return, you will identify the system where Cygni and Angel have taken the Dromedar to remove the tibanna.”
“What guarantee do we have that you won’t take the information and turn us over to Tarkin anyway?”
“I offer my word,” Thrawn said. “I also offer simple logic. You three are too young to have been any of Q’anah’s original pirates. Tarkin’s lingering vengeance will not therefore be directed specifically toward you. More important, I know Tarkin. He will take extra pleasure in the fact that Angel will know you were freed as a reward for betraying him.”
“You can’t know Tarkin very well if you think he ever shows mercy. To anyone.”
“Precisely,” Thrawn said. “His reputation does not permit such actions. That is why I will release you on my own initiative. He will thus be able to take full pleasure in delivering the news to Angel without the need to make the decision himself.”
He paused. The pirates did not speak.
“That is my offer,” Thrawn said. “I will wait while you discuss it among yourselves.”
He touched the intercom switch again, and the indicator lights went out.
The pirates weren’t fooled. They had probably been interrogated in such places before, and knew that the intercom remained live despite the evidence of the indicators.
Thrawn had played all his cards. But the pirates had a card of their own to play. Leaning close, they began speaking softly together.
In a language they would have learned growing up in Wild Space. A language that was used only there and in the Unknown Regions. A language that had never been programmed into Republic or Imperial translators or protocol droids. A language they could reasonably expect no Imperial had ever even heard of.
Sy Bisti.
“What do you think?” the spokesman asked the others. “You think we can trust him?”
“He’s an Imperial,” the second scoffed. “Of course not.”
“Who cares?” the third retorted. “You heard him. Tarkin’s coming.”
The spokesman snorts. “You listen too much to Angel’s ghost stories. Even Tarkin can’t be that bad.”
“No? Then how come Angel keeps telling the stories? I tell you, Tarkin’s pure evil.”
“Speaking of evil,” the second man said, “what do you think Angel’s going to do if he finds out we sold him to Blueface?”
“Good point,” the spokesman said. “But maybe we can have this both ways. Let’s take the offer, spin Blueface some froth, then hightail it to the Trapo and warn Angel. If we’re fast enough, we should be able to get there before Tarkin or even Blueface can chase us down.”
“Unless they’ve already cracked the static-lock,” the third man warned. “Then we’d get there just in time for our ship to fall apart and leave us stuck until Tarkin catches up with us.”
“You think they’re going to find an ub-dub squalsh who can do slice-work like that?” the spokesman countered, his voice heavy with contempt. “Not a chance. Angel’s going to have to bring in someone from outside.”
“Maybe Cygni already did.”
“Cygni was supposed to get the static-lock off before we ever came aboard,” the spokesman said. “Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time to get there.”
“Then let’s take the offer,” the second man said. “Give him—I don’t know; give him something—and get the hell out of here.”
“Before Tarkin gets here?” the spokesman suggested.
“Go ahead and laugh,” the third man growled. “I’m not.”
“Fine.” The spokesman looked up at Thrawn and lifted his hand. “Hey,” he called in Basic. “You—Imperial.”
Thrawn tapped the intercom switch. “Have you made a decision?”
“We’ll take your offer,” the spokesman said. “Angel and Cygni went to Cartherston on a planet named Keitum. You need coordinates?”
“Thank you, we can find it,” Thrawn assured him. “Anything else?”
“Just that you’d better hurry if you’re going to catch them,” the spokesman warned. “They won’t be there any longer than they have to.”
“I agree,” Thrawn said. “Thank you for your cooperation. The guards waiting outside will escort you to your new transport.”
“And the rest of the crew?” the spokesman asked.
“Your companions are already on their way,” Thrawn said. “One more thing. You have been given a second chance. I suggest you use it to remake your lives for the better.”
“No need to preach, brother,” the spokesman said as they rose from their chairs. “Trust me—you’ll never hear from us again.”
They filed out. Thrawn watched them leave, and as the door closed behind them he stood and faced the door exiting his side of the room. It slid open to reveal Vanto and Admiral Wiskovis. “Admiral.”
“Lieutenant,” Wiskovis nodded in return. “That was about as impressive a performance as I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thrawn said. “Do we have it?”
“We do,” Vanto said with satisfaction. “Uba, in Barsa sector. It’s a nice quiet place to park a freighter for a while, it’s the right distance from where they nabbed the Dromedar, and the insulting slang term for it is ub-dub. Squalsh is also the local slang term for the inhabitants, who are not generally considered technological geniuses.” He smiled tightly. “And there are a bunch of major merchant centers on the northern continent, which local slang refers to as trading posts. Or, for short, trapos.”
“We have it, all right,” Wiskovis agreed. “Not that I have the slightest idea why we have it. How did you know this group used to work with Q’anah?”
“I did not know for certain,” Thrawn said. “It was only a guess, based on their name.”
“What name?” Vanto asked. He frowns in confusion. “Angel?”
“Culoss,” Thrawn said. “The name Angel gave their group. I heard that as Q-less, or a group without a Q. After we arrived, while we were waiting for Captain Rossi to return, I did a search of known criminal groups. There were a number that included a Q reference, but Q’anah’s Marauders seemed the most likely to have the resources, the history, and the contacts to deal with stolen tibanna gas.”
“Seems like kind of a long shot.”
“It was,” Thrawn agreed. “But Q’anah used to sign her thefts with a coded reference to her name. It seemed reasonable that the remnant of her gang would also enjoy leaving such clues.”
“Still a long shot.” Wiskovis shakes his head. “What if you’d been wrong?”
“There would have been no loss,” Thrawn said. “The ISB interrogator would have arrived, and the questioning would have proceeded on schedule. All would have been as if I had not made an attempt.”
“Except you wouldn’t have left yourself wide open to a court-martial,” Wiskovis said. His voice is grim. “I should at least release the transport myself.”
“I cannot allow you to do that,” Thrawn said.
“Excuse me?” Wiskovis draws himself up stiffly. His expression hardens, his throat muscles tightening. Vanto’s expression holds sudden discomfort. “You can’t let me do that?”
“I think what Lieutenant Thrawn meant, sir, is that he strongly urges you to remain as far outside the situation as possible,” Vanto put in quickly. “I believe his goal
is to bring any blowback on himself, leaving everyone else out of it.”
“Very noble,” Wiskovis said. His expression is still stiff and angry. “And if I choose to do otherwise? This is my base, Lieutenant. What happens here is ultimately my responsibility.”
“True,” Thrawn acknowledged. “But there is still much that can go wrong, and the balance of success and failure is still undetermined. I would not wish you to bear any blame for my plan and actions.”
“Or accept any acclaim for its success?”
Vanto winces. “I don’t think that’s what Lieutenant Thrawn meant, sir,” he said.
“Well, then, maybe I should hear that from the lieutenant himself,” Wiskovis said.
“If this succeeds, I would of course freely acknowledge your support,” Thrawn said. “But if it fails, be advised that when I am brought before court-martial, Ensign Vanto will testify that I acted alone.”
“Excuse me?” Wiskovis said again. His eyes widen as he looks at Vanto. His facial heat increases, and the muscles in his cheeks tighten. “Did he just say you were prepared to commit perjury, Ensign?”
“Yes, sir, he did,” Vanto said. The tension in his voice increases, his expression showing extreme discomfort. “As I said, his goal is to protect you and your career from whatever comes of this.”
For three seconds, Wiskovis remains silent. There is no easing of his tension and anger. “This discussion is not over,” he said at last. “But right now we have work to do. When do you want me to send a force to Uba?”
“You should wait until the released prisoners have made the jump to lightspeed,” Thrawn said. “We do not want them noting the preparations and becoming suspicious. You should also contact the ISB agent and alert him to reroute his ship to Uba.”
“And then?”
“Lieutenant Thrawn only promised to let them go,” Vanto said. His tension also has not eased. “He never said we wouldn’t recapture them if they went to Uba.”
