by Timothy Zahn
But could he really pull this off? Could he command an entire ship, even one as small as a system patrol craft? He didn’t have the training or the experience. He certainly didn’t have the gifts of leadership or charisma.
But still. Captain of his own ship…
“I trust the location is not a problem,” Culper said into his hesitation. “To be perfectly honest, an Inner Rim assignment is more than generous.”
Eli’s thoughts froze. “What do you mean, more than generous?”
Culper’s lips compressed briefly. “I mean that for a Wild Space person like yourself, the Inner Rim is an incredible move upward.”
“I see,” Eli said, a trickle of anger tugging at him. He’d seen plenty of superiority and disdain from the Core cadets at the Royal Imperial Academy, but he’d never thought he would hear that same prejudice from a senior government official. “Tell me, Ms. Culper: Why exactly have I been singled out for this honor?”
“Because His Excellency considers you worthy of promotion.”
“So you said,” Eli agreed. “What’s the real reason?”
Culper’s lips compressed again. “If you don’t wish to avail yourself of this opportunity—”
“It’s because of Thrawn, isn’t it?” Eli cut in as he suddenly understood. “Moff Ghadi doesn’t care if I succeed. What he wants is for Thrawn to fail.”
“His Excellency has no interest in what happens to a lowly senior lieutenant.”
Eli looked at the door ahead with a sudden flash of understanding. “Only he’s not a senior lieutenant anymore, is he? He’s been promoted to captain.”
Culper’s lip twitched. Not much, but enough to show that Eli had hit the mark. “Fine,” she said, her smooth voice going dark. “Yes, he’s being promoted; and yes, there are a few of us who aren’t pleased by all the attention the alien is getting. His actions cost the Empire hundreds of thousands of credits’ worth of lost tibanna gas.”
“He saved half of it.”
“Forty percent,” Culper said frostily. “And that was Admiral Wiskovis’s doing, not his. All your alien friend cared about was showing how clever he was.”
“He also rescued the freighter crew.”
“Three of whom were aliens.”
Eli felt his skin prickle. “What difference does that make?”
“Do you really not understand?” Culper demanded. “The Empire’s priority was to retrieve the tibanna. That was what was valuable. That was what a good Imperial officer should have focused on. Instead, he risked the lives of you and the other Blood Crow crew to rescue some aliens. What do you think he’ll do the next time such a decision is required?”
“I see,” Eli said. So there it was. He wasn’t being cited for ability and groomed for a prestigious post. He was nothing more than a tool with which Ghadi and his friends hoped to topple the non-elite, nonhuman threat to their comfortable little universe. “I appreciate your honesty, Ms. Culper. Please thank His Excellency Moff Ghadi for his offer. But I’m happy right where I am.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Culper said acidly. “He will go down someday. Even with you there to smooth the political path for him, he’ll go down. He was lucky this time. But luck never lasts. And when he goes down, anyone too close will go down with him.”
“Moff Ghadi will make sure of that?”
Culper smiled. “Good day, Ensign,” she said.
She started to turn away, then paused. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d get comfortable with that title,” she added. “You’ll be holding it for quite some time.”
She turned again, swirling her cape this time, and strode toward the exit. Eli watched her go, the emotional tangle emerging again as the disgust receded.
But while his feelings were still mixed, his course was now clear. One way or another, his career was linked to Thrawn’s.
“You are disturbed.” Thrawn’s voice came from behind him.
“I’m fine,” Eli growled. Was it too much to ask that people stop sneaking up on him? “Did you get your orders?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “What did she want from you?”
“She was offering me a job,” Eli said shortly. “What’s your new assignment?”
Thrawn looked down at the datapad in his hand. “First officer aboard the Thunder Wasp. It is listed as an Arquitens-class light cruiser currently on patrol duty in the Mid Rim.”
“And you’ve been promoted to captain?”
Thrawn inclined his head, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” Eli said. “I assume you picked up my orders while you were at it?”
“Yes.” Thrawn held out a data card. “Also the Thunder Wasp, as my aide-de-camp.”
“With no promotion.”
“No,” Thrawn said. “My apologies, Ensign. I had recommended you for both promotion and for a combat station.”
“Which I’m not really trained for,” Eli pointed out. “Where I should be is in supply.”
Thrawn was silent a moment. “This job you were offered. Was it better than the one the navy has assigned you?”
Eli looked over just in time to see Culper leave the room. Captain of his own ship…“No,” he said. “Not really.”
—
It took Arihnda four tries to find what she was looking for.
But it was time well spent.
The place she was now in was without a doubt the most poorly staffed citizen assistance office she’d ever seen. Only four of the twelve desks were occupied, two by humans, one each by a Rodian and a Duros. There was a light coming from the supervisor’s office door, so apparently there was at least one other person here.
The lack of personnel was likely an artifact of the timing, with the Ascension Week festivities having taken their toll on the office’s staff. The obvious corollary was that the ones who were here would be the ones who couldn’t get time off, which likely meant the newest and least competent.
Of course, since ordinary citizens didn’t get weeklong holidays off, either, the line was just as long as usual. Longer, really, since only a third of the staff was there to handle their problems.
Arihnda smiled to herself. Perfect.
She had plenty of time during her wait in line to evaluate the workers. She finally settled on one of the humans, a squat woman whose face and body language silently proclaimed the fact that she didn’t want to be there. Arihnda deftly tweaked her position in line just enough to make sure that Grouchy’s desk was the one she finally sat down at.
“Welcome to Proam Avenue Citizen Assistance,” the woman said in a voice that was more mechanical than that of some droids Arihnda had worked with. “My name is Nariba. How can I help you?”
“I’m Arihnda,” Arihnda said. “I recently lost my job, and I need another one. Something interesting and fun would be the best. Oh, and I also need a place to stay.”
“Is that all?” Nariba said with a grunt, peering down at her computer. “References? Qualifications? Job history? Come on, come on—I don’t have all day.”
“I used to work for a senator,” Arihnda said brightly. “But all I’ve been offered since then was a waitress job.”
“And you didn’t take it?” Nariba growled. “Not smart. You’re not going to get anything better around here.”
“But I used to work for a senator.”
“Hey, honey, look around you,” Nariba said in a voice of strained patience. “Half the people in Core Square used to work for a senator. You’re lucky you didn’t have to work under a senator, if you know what I mean.” She peered a little more closely. “Or maybe you did. You’re the type a lot of them would like.”
“Are you suggesting my senator would act immorally?” Arihnda asked, a small part of her appreciating the irony of the question.
“What, you just fall off the Rimma transport?” Nariba puckered her lips in a condescending smile. “Of course you did. Worked on your accent, I see. Need to work a little harder.”
“I will,” Arihn
da promised. “But about my job and an apartment…?”
Nariba rolled her eyes. “Sure, why not? There are still people who believe in miracles. Give me your comm number and I’ll put you on the list.”
Arihnda did so. Thanking Nariba, she stood up and waved over the next person in line.
And then headed straight to the supervisor’s office.
There was a buzzer by the door. Arihnda tapped it and waited a moment. She tapped it again, and again. On the fourth buzz, the door slid open.
The office was smaller than Arihnda would have guessed, not much bigger than the medium-sized desk and full-wall data card shelves filling most of the space. Behind the desk sat a harried-looking middle-aged man. “Who are you, and what do you want?” he growled.
“My name is Arihnda Pryce,” Arihnda said, stepping inside and glancing at the name plaque on the desk. Alistar Sinclar. “You have a problem, Mr. Sinclar, and I have the solution.”
Sinclar blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I just spoke with Nariba,” Arihnda said. “Your employee at desk three. She’s not very good at her job. She’s rude and insulting; and worst of all, she isn’t helpful. Between you and me, she needs to be fired.”
“Does she, now?” Sinclar said. “I hardly think you’re in a position to make that kind of judgment.”
“No, but you are,” Arihnda said. “That’s where my solution comes in. Hire me to replace her.”
Sinclar raised his eyebrows. “Your credentials?”
“I worked for the past two years in Senator Renking’s assistance office in Bash Four,” Arihnda said. “And I was very good at my job.”
Sinclar pursed his lips. “Working for a senator is a bit insular—”
“I’ve dealt with angry landlords, angry tenants, reluctant employers, and panicky job-seekers,” Arihnda continued. “Also union bosses, would-be union bosses, striking miners, strike-breaking miners, angry men and women who wanted to tear up my office, low-level criminals, high-level criminals, and politicians from the rawest hack to the most entrenched fossil.”
She stopped for air. From the look on Sinclar’s face, he probably hadn’t heard anyone throw quite this depth of a list at him before. “Really,” he said, a bit lamely.
“Really,” she assured him. “But don’t take my word for it.” She nodded toward the main office behind her. “You have eight empty desks out there. Let me work the rest of Ascension Week for free. After that, you can decide for yourself which of us you want to keep.”
Sinclar smiled. “You are brash, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Arihnda agreed. “But I’ve been told that it isn’t brashness if you succeed.”
“Interesting point.” Sinclar stood up and offered his hand across the desk. “You’re on, Ms. Pryce. Take desk eight. Let’s see if you’re as good as you think.”
No one can say where his path will take him, even for the duration of a single day. More difficult still is to see where one’s path will intersect that of another warrior.
A warrior must always be alert for such meetings. Some are generated by happenstance, and those may be benign. But others are arranged with purpose. Those must never be underestimated.
Fortunately, there are always signs. Before any trap is sprung, it must be prepared and primed and armed. If one reads the signs properly, the pattern of the attack will be clear.
But one must always remember that launching a trap is easier than defeating it.
—
The smugglers had been escorted aboard, scowling or cursing, and sent one by one into the brig. Commander Alfren Cheno stood by the brig’s outer hatch, fingering a large grist mollusk shell. “Shells,” he said flatly. “They were smuggling iridium inside shells.”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said. Cheno was an old-school type, having risen to the peak of his ability as captain of the Thunder Wasp. He was probably destined to end his career aboard it, or another ship just like it.
Given the captain’s age and upbringing, Eli had feared that he would show either the prejudices of Moff Ghadi’s patronizing mouthpiece Culper or the disdain of the Blood Crow’s Captain Rossi. Instead, Cheno had taken Thrawn’s assignment in stride, though with a certain degree of quiet yet unmistakable misgiving. But over time the Chiss had slowly won him over with his ability to see through the clutter to the heart of whatever matter they were dealing with.
Still, the commander had never lost his ability to be dumbfounded. Which was what made moments like this so entertaining.
“They were taking the stolen iridium from the mines to an old surplus underwater transport, sir,” Eli explained. “Possibly Gungan; we still haven’t positively identified the vehicle. They then transported it to a group of fishing boats where they formed it into small disks and hid them inside the shells for shipment offplanet.”
“The discrepancy in weight didn’t give the show away?”
“There wasn’t any, sir,” Eli said. “The disks were small, and grist mollusk meat is unusually dense. They had the whole thing down to a science.”
“Mm.” Cheno puckered his lips. “Dare I ask who tumbled the scheme?
“Do you really need to, sir?”
“I suppose not,” Cheno said. “Fine. How did he do it?”
As recently as a year ago, Eli mused, when he and Thrawn had first come aboard the Thunder Wasp, it had hurt a little to have to explain how Thrawn had pulled off the most recent of his long string of miracles. Now Eli was so used to it that it was almost fun. Rather like being the assistant of an illusionist who knew the secrets of how the tricks worked.
Which wasn’t to say that he would ever be able to pull off the tricks himself. But he was becoming surprisingly okay with that. “It was the makorr, sir,” he said. “One of the local water predator species. Captain Thrawn noticed that they were unusually active near these particular boats. Something seemed to be drawing them.”
“That mysterious lure being free food,” Cheno said, nodding understanding. “The smugglers had to get rid of the mollusk meat to make room for the iridium, and they simply dumped it overboard.” He shook his head. “It’s really quite simple once you see it.”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said. Illusionist’s assistant…“Most things are.”
The hatch slid open, and Thrawn appeared. “Captain,” Cheno greeted him. “Our guests all packed away for the night?”
“Yes, sir,” Thrawn said. “They seem somewhat bewildered, though.”
“Good,” Cheno said. “I like bewildered prisoners. Gives them something to think about besides escape. Speaking of packing, I understand we have more antiques on their way?”
“Yes, sir,” Thrawn said. “My apologies for not informing you sooner.”
“No problem,” Cheno said. “What is it this time? Another piece of hyperdrive ring?”
“No, sir. A piece of a buzz droid and a section of an attack weapon I believe was called a vulture droid.”
Cheno grunted. “Clone Wars matériel again,” he said, eyeing Thrawn closely. “Something about that era that interests you?”
“In point of fact, sir, everything about that era interests me,” Thrawn said. “May I continue to store the items in the aft hangar bay?”
“Absolutely,” Cheno said. “Mind you, if we ever get those new TIE fighters they keep promising us, we’ll need to come to some other arrangement. But until then, I see no reason why the space can’t be yours.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thrawn said. “With your permission, I will go and see about getting them properly stowed.”
“Of course,” Cheno said. “Carry on, Captain. Ensign.” With a nod to each of them, he turned and headed toward the bridge.
“Would you walk with me, Ensign?” Thrawn invited, gesturing in the direction of the unused hangar bay.
“Certainly, sir,” Eli said as they headed out. “Bewildered, you say?”
“They are angry at the manner in which they were captured.”
“I’ll bet they are,” Eli said
. “Maybe the next group will be smart enough to save up the mollusk meat and dump it in bits and pieces the whole length of the way back to port. That way they won’t draw a crowd.”
“Excellent,” Thrawn said.
Eli frowned. “What’s excellent?”
“Your growing aptitude for the art of tactics.” Thrawn handed him his datapad. “What do you make of this?”
“What is it?” Eli asked as he took the device. It was hardly tactics to see the stupid moves a group of overconfident smugglers had made. As Cheno had said, everything was obvious in hindsight.
“A listing of the prices of various Clone War artifacts in various antiques shops, surplus stores, and salvage yards over the past three years.”
Eli frowned. “You mean all the way back to when you started collecting them on the Blood Crow?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “The oldest numbers are at the top. Study them, and tell me what you see.”
Eli peered at the list. It was an impressive document, long and detailed. It wasn’t just the items Thrawn had bought, either, but an entire spectrum of Clone Wars weaponry and equipment. He gazed at the list, his mind slipping automatically into the supply and shipping mode that he hadn’t had much opportunity to use since graduating from the Academy. “Well, the Mark One buzz droids are through the roof,” he said. “But with the price of doonium still going up, that one was inevitable.”
“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “Continue scrolling down the list, if you would. Search for a pattern.”
Eli nodded absently, already ahead of the suggestion. Items, prices, dates…
And there it was. “The vulture droids,” he said, tapping the datapad. “The prices have been stable until five months ago.”
“When they suddenly began moving upward,” Thrawn said, nodding. “What do you conclude from that?”
“Obviously, someone’s buying them. Someone’s buying a lot of them.” Eli raised his eyebrows. “More doonium?”
“Not with these droids,” Thrawn said. “But you remind me. Have you made any progress in your analysis of the navy’s warship program?”
“Some,” Eli said cautiously. In truth, they’d been so busy over the past few months that he’d only had occasional moments to devote to that project. “There are a lot of nooks and crannies in that kind of matrix sheet, so I can’t say for certain. But right now, I can’t find any building project that could be absorbing anywhere near the amount of doonium that’s been disappearing from the markets.”
