by Timothy Zahn
“Very well,” Thrawn said. He gestured to Yve. “Senior Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Yve said. “Special Unit One: Go.” On the tactical, six of the TIE fighters that had been moving to intercept the V-19s abruptly broke formation. Weaving easily through the defenders’ formation, they headed straight in toward the capital and the palace.
“What? No!” Quesl shouted. “Defenders—defend!”
The turbolasers opened fire, their brilliant blasts sizzling through the air toward the incoming fighters.
It was an exercise in futility. Yve had trained her TIE pilots superbly, and the starfighters themselves were fast and nimble. They evaded the blasts with ease, approaching the palace even as the defenders’ fire increased. “It is not too late to surrender, Governor,” Thrawn said.
“Never,” Quesl spat. His face was taut with expectation, his eyes focused somewhere off cam. “I will die with dignity and grace, and with the full strength and defiance of the Jefi people at my side.”
“Your spirit is admirable,” Thrawn said. “But your dramatics are quite unnecessary. Observe the power and the skill of the Imperial Navy.”
The TIEs had reached the palace, and their laser cannons opened fire.
But they weren’t targeting the palace. Even as they twisted and turned and jinked to avoid the frantic turbolaser blasts, they instead poured salvo after salvo into the weapons themselves. One of the turbolasers disintegrated in a brilliant blast of shattered metal and ceramic. The second went…then the third…
“Commander Faro?” Thrawn called.
Eli blinked. So engrossed had he become in the deadly dance at the planet’s surface that he’d forgotten to keep track of the situation in the Chimaera’s immediate vicinity. He looked at the tactical—
To discover that, while he’d been distracted, the Chimaera had somehow drifted a significant distance to starboard toward the corvette still holding position there. A blue line appeared on the tactical, marking the activation of one of the Star Destroyer’s tractor beams—
And on the comm display, Quesl gasped as his image gave a violent jerk.
Eli looked back at the tactical as it belatedly hit him. “He’s on the corvette?”
“Indeed,” Thrawn said, the faintest hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Along with the extremely valuable art collection that you see behind him. My apologies, Governor, for failing to cooperate in your hoped-for destruction of the palace. It would have rather effectively covered up your theft, as well as enraging the Jefies into launching a full attack on the Chimaera. I expect you hoped to slip away to freedom during the resulting chaos.”
On the display, Quesl was breathing heavily, his face a mask of hatred and despair. “They’ll never believe you,” he bit out. “The Jefies are loyal to me.”
“They are loyal to a respected leader,” Thrawn countered, his voice going cold. “I do not believe they will see you as such beyond this day.”
For a moment Quesl glared. Then he seemed to wilt. Offering Thrawn another mocking smile, he half turned to look at the wall behind him. “They’re worth hundreds of millions, Commodore. Maybe even billions. And all they do is sit collecting dust in a third-rate building on a fifth-rate world. Billions.”
He turned back, some of the melancholy replaced by puzzlement. “But there are two identical corvettes. How did you know I was on this one?”
“The starfighter flyby,” Thrawn said. “Your pilot twitched with reaction to what he feared would be an impending collision. Human crew. The other corvette trusted their leader implicitly, and thus showed no such fear. Jefi crew. You, of course, could not rely on Jefies to assist you in their betrayal.”
Quesl sighed. “So that’s it?”
“Hardly,” Thrawn assured him. “You and your crew must still be brought aboard the Chimaera, the artwork must be returned, the Jefies need to be enlightened, and a new leader must be chosen until Coruscant can send a new governor.” His eyes glittered. “Later, of course, there will be your trial.”
He let the last word hang in the air for a moment, perhaps inviting Quesl the chance to respond. But the governor remained silent.
Thrawn gestured for the comm display to be blanked. “So I gather there is no Clone Wars–era treaty?” Faro asked.
“No,” Thrawn said. “I merely wished to keep him in view until his movement under the tractor beam’s pull gave final confirmation of his presence.”
He took a deep breath. “Senior Lieutenant Lomar, contact the chief of the Botajef Defense Force and explain the situation. I’m sure he’ll want proof; you may invite him aboard at his convenience. Commander Faro, bring the governor’s corvette into the hangar bay. Major Ayer, your stormtroopers will board as soon as the vessel is secure. Take care with the prisoners; take even better care with the artwork. Senior Lieutenant Yve, bring Special Unit One back to screen position with the other TIEs. Inform all pilots they are to remain alert, but that no further combat is anticipated.”
He looked at Eli, and Eli thought he could detect a small smile on the Chiss’s lips. “Commander Vanto, you will contact the High Command on Coruscant. Inform them that the situation on Botajef has been resolved.”
It is believed by many that the military life is one of adventure and excitement. In truth, that life more often consists of long periods of routine, even boredom, with only brief intervals of challenge and danger.
Enemies seldom seek out their opponents. The warrior must become a hunter, searching and stalking with craft and patience. Successes are often achieved by a confluence of small things: stray facts, unwary or overheard conversations, logistical vectors. If the hunter is persistent, the pattern will become visible, and the enemy will be found. Only then will the routine be broken by combat.
It’s not surprising, therefore, that those seeking excitement sometimes weary of long and arduous pursuits. They are relieved when the enemy appears of his own accord, standing firm and issuing a challenge.
But the wise warrior is especially wary at those times. He knows there are few things more dangerous than a skilled enemy on his own carefully chosen ground.
—
“Code cylinders, please,” the door warden said. Her voice is brisk and formal, but her face shows suspicion.
“Here,” Vanto said, handing over both his cylinder and Thrawn’s.
The warden takes the first and slips it into the ID reader. The confirmation procedure takes longer than usual. Perhaps she doesn’t believe that the IDs are genuine.
Vanto notices the delay, as well. “Is there a problem, Warrant Officer?”
“No problem, Commander.” Her face still holds suspicion as she returns the cylinders. But she does not hold enough doubt to summon assistance. “You’re cleared to enter, Commander Vanto.” Another brief but noticeable hesitation. “As are you, Admiral Thrawn.”
They passed through the doorway into the High Command headquarters. “I wonder what it is this time,” Vanto murmured as they made their way among the other navy personnel hurrying about their appointed tasks.
“The pattern of communications during the past four days indicates that the One Oh Third and One Twenty-Fifth task forces have also been summoned,” Thrawn said. “I conclude a major mission is being planned.”
“Interesting,” Vanto said. “How much sifting through the chatter did it take to dig out those bits of information?”
“Not much,” Thrawn assured him. “There are patterns in Imperial communications, as there are in everything else. Once the pattern is known, knowledge is easier to obtain.”
“That’s quite a skill,” Vanto said. “It would take me hours with a computer and matrix sheet to get anywhere.”
The rest of the group was waiting, seated in a half circle in front of a holoprojector with their backs to the newcomers as Thrawn and Vanto arrived. Four of those in attendance were navy officers and four were civilians, the latter dressed in upper-class governmental style. There were two empty seats between the officer
s and the civilians.
Standing at one side of the projector was Fleet Admiral Donassius. His expression is controlled, but his body stance holds tension. Standing at the opposite side was Colonel Yularen. His face and stance also hold tension, though he conceals it better than Donassius.
“Admiral Thrawn,” Donassius said, nodding gravely in greeting as Thrawn and Vanto approached the ring of seats. “May I introduce Admiral Durril of the ISD Judicator and the One Oh Third Task Force; Admiral Kinshara of the ISD Stalwart and the One Twenty-Fifth. Admiral Thrawn of the ISD Chimaera, recently assigned the Ninety-Sixth.”
“Honored,” Thrawn said, nodding greetings as he and Vanto passed the end of the row. Kinshara returns the greeting politely, his expression holding no rancor or ill will. Durril’s expression and body stance hold displeasure at the presence of a nonhuman. The other two officers, one a captain, the other a commander, hold the normal courtesy and wariness of aides meeting an unknown flag officer for the first time.
“And these are the governors of the relevant systems,” Donassius continued. “Governor Restos of Batonn; Governor Wistran of Denash; Governor Estorn of Sammun—”
The fourth governor in the line is unexpected.
“—and Governor Pryce of Lothal.”
“Honored,” Thrawn repeated. “It is good to see you again, Governor Pryce.”
“Likewise,” Pryce said. Her expression is cool, her voice professional. But her body stance holds a hidden tension. “I wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Circumstances you’ve been called upon to deal with,” Donassius said. His voice holds grim concern. “Sit down, please, and we’ll get right to it. Colonel Yularen?”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Yularen said. He tapped a key on his remote, and a holo of a section of the Outer Rim appeared. “Batonn sector,” he identified. “We’ve been noting a rise in criminal and insurgent activities here for the past several months. Up until now it was assumed to be the usual random flailings by malcontents. However, we now have indications that some of these groups may be starting to work together, or at least to share information and coordinate plans. None of them is much above nuisance level, but we feel this is a trend we need to stamp out before it spreads.”
“How deep is this cooperation?” Thrawn asked.
“Not very at the moment,” Yularen said. “Insurgent groups are paranoid, practically by definition, and they typically don’t trust one another any more than they trust their own governments. But as I say, they’re starting to talk.”
“So we need to shut them up,” Pryce said.
“A question, Colonel,” Governor Restos put in. “There are four governors here, representing four affected systems. Yet I see the commanders of only three task forces. May I ask which of our systems you’re planning to ignore?”
“The insurgents of Lothal are already being dealt with by Admiral Konstantine,” Donassius said. “Governor Pryce requested to be here as an observer, since her system is close to the area of concern and is experiencing much of the same trouble.”
“I see,” Restos said, eyeing Pryce with a look of suspicion. “As long as Batonn will be getting sufficient attention.”
“Absolutely, Governor,” Yularen said. “In fact, we’re going to start with your world, since it seems to be the focal point for activity in the sector. If we can push back the insurgents there, the other groups should wither away.”
“What do you mean, push back?” Wistran asked. “Where are you pushing back from?”
“At the moment, from a place called Scrim Island, three hundred kilometers west of Batonn’s main continent,” Yularen said. “Five days ago, a group of insurgents overran and took command of the Imperial garrison there. They’re holding at least a hundred hostages, mostly navy troopers and techs, but also some civilian workers. They have full control of the island’s energy shield, its shoreline defenses, and three of its ion cannons. Admiral Thrawn, this one will be yours.”
“Have you a schematic of the facility?” Thrawn asked.
“Certainly.” The holo changed to an aerial view of Scrim Island.
“You said there were three ion cannons,” Thrawn said. “Yet I see eight fortified emplacements along the shoreline.”
“The last status report, about six weeks ago, stated that five of the cannons were awaiting replacement cathtron tubes,” Yularen said.
“Which five?”
“Irrelevant, I’m afraid,” Yularen said. “The insurgents have had enough time to switch out the three functioning tubes, so we don’t know which three cannons are operational.”
“Shouldn’t matter,” Admiral Durril said. He waves a hand in casual dismissal. “You’re not going to breach from above anyway. Best approach is by low-altitude incursion.”
“The shoreline defenses are more than adequate to repel even a sizable attack,” Thrawn pointed out.
“You haven’t been with the navy long, have you?” Durril asked. His tone holds condescension. His gaze drops to the new admiral’s insignia plaque, his expression holding disapproval and resentment. “If you had, you’d know that if more than half the island’s ion cannons are down, then at least half the shore defenses are, too. A few assault boats’ worth of stormtroopers, and it’ll be over.”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “I will need more time to study the situation.”
“There is no time,” Donassius said. “Every hour the garrison is held, the reputation of the Empire is tarnished a little more. Your orders are to proceed at once to Batonn and release the insurgents’ hold on Scrim.” His lip twists. “Destroy the island if you have to, but remove the rebels.”
“Destroying the island would also kill the hostages,” Thrawn said. “There are better ways. But they require more reconnaissance and planning.”
The room is silent. The others’ body stances hold disapproval and discomfort. “Very well,” Donassius said. His voice is stiff. “If you don’t think you can handle it, the Ninety-Sixth can go to Sammun instead. Will that assignment be more to your liking?”
“I will go wherever the navy wishes,” Thrawn said.
“You’ve had enough time with the Ninety-Sixth to operate smoothly together?”
“I have, Admiral.”
“Very well. Admiral Durril, you seem confident that the rebels on Scrim can be easily neutralized. Your One Oh Third will deal with them.”
“With pleasure,” Durril said. His voice holds eagerness and gloating.
“Good.” Donassius gestures to Yularen, his expression holding disappointment. “Colonel Yularen, you may continue your briefing.”
—
“You disapprove of my decision,” Thrawn said as he and Eli walked down the outer steps toward the landing pad where their transport waited.
“I think everyone disapproved of your decision, sir,” Eli said sourly. “Whatever capital you might have had with the High Command, I think you’ve just burned it.”
“For the moment,” Thrawn said calmly, pulling out his datapad and keying it on. “That will change.”
“I don’t see how,” Eli said, trying to see what Thrawn was doing. Images were flashing across the datapad’s display, but from Eli’s angle he couldn’t get any details. “Admiral Durril seemed awfully certain he could take back the island.”
“Admiral Durril is always certain of himself,” Thrawn said. “But he has a tendency to value speed over precision. Sometimes that serves him well. More often, it leads to miscalculation.”
“You think this is one of those miscalculations?”
“I am certain of it,” Thrawn said. “And that failure will be costly, both to his task force and to him personally.”
“Wonderful,” Eli muttered. More men and women hurt or killed because of the arrogance of their superiors. “Should we say something?”
“I did say something,” Thrawn reminded him. “I said the situation required more study.”
“So we just let him and the One Oh
Third walk into the wall?”
“Admiral Durril has taken a stand,” Thrawn said. “We have offered advice. He has not taken it. We must now stand aside and allow him to test his confidence.”
“I suppose,” Eli said, craning his neck. The images were still flowing across Thrawn’s datapad. “May I ask what you’re doing, sir?”
“Studying Sammuni art,” Thrawn told him. “I need a better sense of the culture.”
They were in sight of the landing platform by the time Thrawn finally put the datapad away. They walked toward their shuttle, and Eli winced with fresh embarrassment at how pathetic their nondescript light freighter looked tucked in among the more impressive Lambda shuttles of the other admirals. He still didn’t know why Thrawn had chosen that particular craft, one they’d taken from their most recently defeated smuggler gang, instead of bringing his own Lambda. Eli’s best guess had been that he’d hoped to show it off as a trophy to the other admirals. Somehow, he’d never gotten around to that.
“You disapprove of my choice of transport, as well.”
Eli glared sideways at him. “Do you have to do that?”
“I find it tends to bypass unnecessary conversation,” Thrawn said, pulling out his comlink. “Admiral Thrawn for Commander Faro.”
“Yes, Admiral,” the Chimaera’s new captain said briskly. “Have we orders, sir?”
“We do, Commander,” Thrawn said. “You are to take the task force to Sammun. There is insurgent activity there that we are tasked with eliminating.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said, a hint of uncharacteristic uncertainty in her voice. “You say I’m to take the force? You won’t be with us?”
“That is correct,” Thrawn confirmed. “Commander Vanto and I have an errand elsewhere.”
“I see,” Faro said. She was still getting used to being the Chimaera’s captain, Eli knew, and he could tell she wasn’t entirely happy about being thrown into a mission this soon without her admiral there to watch over her shoulder. But her usual self-confidence was already starting to reassert itself. “Very well, Admiral. Any specific instructions?”
