by Timothy Zahn
“Okay, go,” Juahir ordered. “We’re on our way—we’ll try to meet you before you get there.”
Arihnda frowned. We? “Is Driller with you?”
“Just get moving,” Juahir said. “Hide your comm—it’ll tag you as top-class, and you don’t want that. And be careful.”
“I will.” Keying off, Arihnda tucked her comm back into her pocket. She took a final look around, then headed down the walkway, trying to match the not-hurrying pace of the others.
It wasn’t too bad, actually. The people were rough-edged and a little on the skittish side, and she had no doubt they were both willing and able to engage in rough stuff if the mood struck them. But back in Bash Four she’d learned tricks of expression and body language that made people think twice before engaging with her.
Luckily, the pattern here seemed to be the same as it had back there. The handful of people who got close enough to get a good look at her passed by without comment and without slowing.
She’d made it four blocks, and could finally see the turbolift indicator sign, when it all fell apart.
They came without warning: six of them, gangly youths hopped on spice or something worse, boiling out of a pair of dark doorways between two broken lights. Two of them carried long chains; the other four had short blades held casually in their hands. “Hey, sweets,” one of the chain carriers called. “Lookin’ for some fun?”
Arihnda threw a quick look over her shoulder. Two more thugs had emerged from concealment behind her.
With a sinking feeling she realized she was trapped. To her left were the windows and doorways of small businesses already shut for the night. To her right was a two-meter-high railing between the walkway and a sheer drop of at least twenty levels before she even hit anything solid.
“Not interested, thanks,” she called back, trying to keep her voice steady. She’d tussled with friends when she was growing up, and had had to deal with the occasional drunk or spicehead back on Lothal. But she’d never faced anything like this.
She could call the police. But they were spread all over the district, and the thugs were right here. Trouble would reach her long before any help could. She could turn and run and hope she could somehow get past the two men behind her. But there was nothing back there but unfamiliar walkways and a broken turbolift.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” the thug said, mock-sweetly. “You want a drink? Sure you do. So do we. You can buy us all one. You got money, right?”
Arihnda felt her stomach tighten into a knot. What the hell was she going to do?
Behind the six thugs, a man and woman had come into view, striding toward the confrontation through the shadows of another pair of broken streetlamps. Arihnda watched them, feeling a surge of hope. This was her chance. If the couple got too close before they realized what was happening, she might be able to point the thugs in that direction and get away while they were occupied with more interesting prey.
Too late. The man came to a stop ten meters behind the thugs as he apparently spotted the trouble. If he and the woman turned and ran right now, they’d probably make it back to the turbolift before the rowdies could catch them.
Except that the woman hadn’t stopped when her companion did. She was still walking toward the thugs as if she didn’t even see them. Arihnda braced herself…
The thug’s spokesman must have heard the approaching footsteps. He started to turn as the woman reached him—
Without even pausing, the woman snapped her leg up, jabbing the edge of her foot into the back of his knee.
The leg collapsed beneath him. He got one hand on the pavement, howling in rage and pain as he flailed for balance. His cursing abruptly cut off as the woman slammed the back of her fist into the side of his neck. He collapsed to the walkway and lay still.
For a single second the other thugs froze, gaping in bewilderment. The woman didn’t give them time to recover from their shock. Even as her first target fell, she snatched the chain from his nerveless fingers and threw it at the heads of the three youths on her right.
Two of them managed to dodge. The third caught the chain squarely across his throat and dropped with a tortured gurgle as the chain rattled onto the pavement beside him.
The woman spun to face the two standing on her left. But the gang had had enough. The four still on their feet took off at top speed, sprinting past Arihnda on either side without even a glance. Arihnda spun around as they passed, saw that the two who’d been behind her were already tearing into the garish lights of the night.
“You all right?”
Arihnda turned back, feeling her jaw drop. “Juahir?”
“Yeah. Hi. You okay?” Juahir gripped Arihnda’s shoulder, looking her up and down. “Did they get to you?”
“No,” Arihnda managed. The man Juahir had been walking with had finally come unglued from the walkway and was walking toward them. “I was…you surprised me.”
“I said we were coming,” Juahir reminded her, waving her companion forward. “Arihnda Pryce, meet Ottlis Dos. Ottlis is a bodyguard who’s been taking some extra hand-to-hand classes at the dojo. We’d just finished our session and were heading home when I got your call. He offered to come along in case I needed him.”
“I guess you didn’t,” Arihnda said, eyeing the man closely. He didn’t look much like a bodyguard.
“Nope,” Juahir said. “And before you ask, he let me take them on by myself because I told him to. He’s a government employee. If he beats someone down, there’s a mass of datawork he has to fill out.”
“Assuming the victims file a complaint,” Arihnda murmured.
“Well, there’s that,” Juahir conceded. “Regardless, as a private citizen all I have to do is claim self-defense or defense of others and I walk.”
“Nice when the law works on the side of the people.”
“You mean, for a change?” Ottlis asked. His voice was smooth and resonant, pleasant and almost cheerful. Again, not the kind of voice Arihnda would expect from a man who beat people bloody for a living.
“That’s not what I said,” Arihnda protested.
“It’s okay—Ottlis has no illusions as to how Imperial law is stacked,” Juahir said. “He works for—well, actually, he’s not supposed to talk about his job or employer. Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” Arihnda said, taking a second look. That kind of mandated silence usually implied someone very high up the political ladder lurking behind the curtain. This Ottlis character might be worth cultivating. “We should get moving now, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Juahir said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now,” Arihnda said. She took a step.
And found herself fighting unexpectedly for balance as one leg tried to collapse beneath her.
“Whoa,” Juahir said, catching her arm. “Let me help.”
“Thanks,” Arihnda said, her face heating with embarrassment. “I’m not scared, you know. Just…shaking.”
“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone.” Juahir said, peering closely at her. “Adrenaline and delayed shock. You ever think about taking some self-defense training?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Arihnda assured her as they started walking toward the turbolift. “Mostly in the past three minutes. How much does your dojo charge?”
“Unfortunately, we’re totally booked at the moment,” Juahir said, wrinkling her nose in thought. “We might be able to refer you to—” She broke off and looked at Ottlis, who’d taken up position on Arihnda’s other side. “What about you? Would you be willing to give Arihnda an hour’s training before or after your classes? We could work out a discount.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Arihnda protested. “Juahir, stop it—you’re embarrassing him.”
“Not at all,” Ottlis said, inclining his head to her. “I’d be delighted to give you some instruction. It’s been said that a man never truly understands a subject until he teaches it.”
“But do you even have the time?” Arihnda pressed. “Juahir said you were someone’s bodyguard.”
“Yes, but at the moment I’m just helping guard an empty office suite,” Ottlis said. “My employer won’t be arriving for his next visit for at least six more weeks. More than enough time to instruct you in the basics.” He smiled, almost shyly. “And perhaps a bit more.”
Arihnda looked back at Juahir. There was an oddly innocent expression on the other woman’s face. Was this maybe not just about self-defense training?
And suddenly Arihnda realized she didn’t care. She could really use another friend in this city. If Juahir wanted to play matchmaker, more power to her.
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. “Both of you,” she added, looking back and forth between them. “On one condition.”
“Which is?” Ottlis asked.
“I get to take you out to dinner tonight,” Arihnda said. “Both of you.”
Many of those skilled in technological warfare believe that physical training and discipline are unnecessary. With turbolasers, hyperdrives, armor plating, and the mental resources to direct them, muscular strength and agility are thought to be merely conceits.
They are wrong. The mind and body are linked together in a meshwork of oxygen, nutrients, hormones, and neuron health. Physical exercise drives that meshwork, stimulating the brain and freeing one’s intellect. Simulated combat has the additional virtue of training the eye to spot small errors and exploit them.
A change in focus can also allow the subconscious mind to focus on unresolved questions. Simulated combat often ends with the warrior discovering that one or more of those questions has been unexpectedly solved.
And occasionally, such exercise can serve other purposes.
—
“I do not understand,” Thrawn said, his usually impassive face troubled as he gazed at the datapad report. If Thrawn were a lesser being, Eli reflected, he would almost say the Chiss was confused.
“What’s there to understand?” Eli asked. “It’s the result everyone expected.”
The glowing red eyes bored into Eli’s. “Everyone?”
“Mostly,” Eli hedged. Yes, that was definitely what he might characterize as confusion. “Really, it’s just navy politics as usual.”
“But it violates all tactical reason,” Thrawn objected. “Commander Cheno acquitted himself well, and the actions of his ship won the battle and saved many lives. How does High Command conclude that he must be relieved of duty?”
“They didn’t relieve him, exactly,” Eli pointed out. “The communication stated that he’d been permitted to retire.”
“Is there a difference in the result?”
“Not really,” Eli admitted. “You’re right, letting him retire is mostly just a sweet-shell. As I say, politics. Gendling’s well connected, and his delicate little pride got bruised, so he’s taking it out on Cheno.”
Thrawn looked again at the datapad. “It is a foolish waste of resources.”
“Agreed,” Eli said. “But it could have been worse.”
“How so?”
“Really?” Eli asked, frowning. Was it really not obvious to him? “You were the one Gendling really wanted to nail to the bulkhead. Cheno might have been able to save himself if he’d told the panel you’d overreached your authority. But he didn’t. Since they had nothing on you, they threw him to the wolves instead.”
Thrawn was silent another three steps. “A foolish waste,” he murmured again.
Eli sighed. “You might as well get used to it.”
Again, the glowing red eyes turned on him. “What do you mean?”
Eli hesitated. It really wasn’t his place to say this. But if he didn’t, who else would? And for all Thrawn’s military skill and insight, he seemed incapable of seeing this one on his own. “I mean, sir, there’s a good chance that you’re going to leave a trail of damaged careers in your wake. In fact, you already have: Commander Cheno, Admiral Wiskovis, Commandant Deenlark—all of them have had official feathers ruffled in their direction.”
“There was no such intent on my part.”
“I know that,” Eli said. “It’s not because of anything you’ve done. It’s just the political reaction to—well, to you.”
“That was never my intent in accepting the Emperor’s service.”
“Intent isn’t the point,” Eli said patiently. “The problem is that you don’t fit into the neat little box navy officers are supposed to fill. You’re not human; worse, you’re not from the Core Worlds.”
“Neither are you or many others.”
“But the rest of us Wild Space yokels aren’t flying rings around all the politically connected elite who think they’re such flaming-hot stuff,” Eli pointed out. “You’re showing them up, and they resent you for it. And if they can’t take you down, they’ll go after the people they think helped make you who you are.”
“People like you?”
Eli let his gaze drift away. Yes, people like him. People who still had the lowly rank they’d graduated the Academy with while everyone else was energetically climbing the ladder.
But this conversation wasn’t about him. This conversation and warning were about Thrawn. “They’d probably come after me if they thought I was worth the effort,” he said, sidestepping the question.
“Do you suggest I try to be less capable?”
“Of course not,” Eli said firmly. “You do that and more people will die and more bad guys get away. I’m just pointing out that you need to be aware that you’re in the political crosshairs.”
“I understand,” Thrawn said. “I will endeavor to learn the rules and tactics of this form of warfare. In the meantime, is there anything we can do for Commander Cheno?”
“Just wish him well, I guess,” Eli said. “Even if you could persuade someone to listen to an appeal, he’d never command a ship again. This way, at least he got to go out on a high note.”
“Except that we know it was only a partial victory.”
“We suspect,” Eli corrected, lowering his voice. “We don’t know that’s what Nightswan was going for.” He pointed to the door ahead, the door with the simple gold IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU plaque above the smaller COLONEL WULLF YULAREN nameplate. “Maybe this is where we’ll get those answers.”
Colonel Yularen was waiting behind his desk when they arrived. “Welcome, Captain Thrawn; Ensign Vanto,” he greeted them. “Sit down.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “I trust you have news for us?”
“Yes, but not the news you want,” Yularen said sourly. “Speaking of news, I just heard that your Commander Cheno got stabbed in the back by the court-martial panel. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “He was a good officer.”
“So I’ve heard,” Yularen said. “Not great, but he didn’t deserve to get bounced out that way.” His eyes narrowed. “Any blowback toward you? Either of you?” he added, looking at Eli.
“Not that we’ve heard, sir,” Eli said.
“Good,” Yularen said. “They may not especially like you at High Command, Thrawn, but they can’t ignore the fact that you get results.” He scowled. “Unfortunately, our results aren’t quite up to your standards. We’ve done a complete search of every document ISB can get its hands on. The name Nightswan has cropped up on everything from metal smuggling to antiques purchases to the organization of protests and unrest. But we still don’t have the slightest idea who he really is.”
“Interesting,” Thrawn said. “You said he organized protests. Protests against whom?”
“Pretty much everyone,” Yularen said. “Mostly government—local and Imperial both—but also corporations, manufacturing interests, even shipping companies.” His eyes flicked back and forth as he read from his computer display. “We haven’t found anything in common among his various targets, either. Maybe he just likes making trouble.”
“May I have a list of all activities he is associa
ted with?” Thrawn asked.
“Of course.” Yularen picked up a data card and handed it across the desk. “What are you hoping to find?”
“A pattern,” Thrawn said. “You say his targets appear random, but I believe we will find something connecting the locations, timing, or personnel involved. Many of his schemes involve the theft of doonium or other precious metals. Is there a chance he is driven by what he considers theft or—” He looked at Eli. “Gubudalu?”
Eli frowned. Gubudalu? What in the world was that one? Quickly, he ran the Sy Bisti root and modifiers—
Ah. “Usurpation,” he said.
“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “Could he be driven by the theft or usurpation of some personal or family mining interests?”
“Interesting thought,” Yularen said. “Your typical smugglers, pirates, and thieves don’t like to draw attention to themselves. But Nightswan slaps his name all over the place.” He pursed his lips. “Could be he’s planning some major operation and wants to get everyone looking somewhere else. I remember a group of arms smugglers during the Clone Wars who liked to set fires on one side of a city to draw the police and firefighters there, then hit a weapons depot on the other side.”
“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “What about Coruscant? Is there unrest here?”
“You must be joking,” Yularen said with a snort. “Go down two thousand levels and you’ll find all the unrest you could ever want. Go down four thousand and you might as well be in Wild Space.”
“So this would be a fertile ground for anti-Imperial protests?”
“It would,” Yularen agreed. “Except that all the centers of power are up here, and we’ve got the best police, military, and private defense forces anywhere in the galaxy. Hell, we’ve got combat dojos that do nothing but train Senate and ministry bodyguards. Nightswan could agitate from here until Ascension Week without making a single dent in anything that matters.”
“One would think Nubia equally immune to such threats.” Thrawn indicated an entry on his datapad. “Yet this protest at the Circle Bay mayor’s office seems to have been quite effective.”
