by Timothy Zahn
Tierce was standing near the door as Disra burst into the situation room. “We’ve got an echo,” the former Guardsman murmured, a note of malicious satisfaction in his voice. “Once we triangulate in—”
“Zothip’s here,” Disra cut him off. “He’s in my quarters.”
Tierce’s smile vanished. “How?”
“How in blazes should I know?” Disra shot back. “But he’s there. I recognized the furnishings when he called me in my office.”
Tierce threw a look at the consoles, at Flim holding position again behind the lieutenant. “This just gets better and better,” he said darkly. “Did Pellaeon hear any of it?”
“I don’t think so,” Disra said. “That slinker of his—Dreyf—started to come around the desk, but I don’t think he could hear or see anything, either.”
Tierce hissed between his teeth. “We’ve got to get rid of him.”
“Brilliant tactical thinking,” Disra growled. “You have any suggestions as to how? He didn’t come alone, you know.”
Tierce looked over at the consoles again. “I can’t just walk out of here,” he said. “Solo and Calrissian are slippery. Until Security actually has them in their sights—”
“We can’t just leave Zothip resting his feet in there, either,” Disra cut him off. “Don’t you understand? He’s in my quarters. That means he has clear passage to my office. Where Admiral Pellaeon is.”
Tierce looked sharply at him. “You left Pellaeon alone?”
“Of course he’s alone,” Disra snapped. “What was I supposed to do, tell the outer door guards to go in and watch him?”
“That wouldn’t have been such a bad idea,” Tierce retorted. He held up a hand. “All right, all right, let’s take this in order. Pellaeon … I suppose he’ll keep. Solo and Calrissian—”
“We’ve got a second biocomm frequency echo, Admiral,” one of the troopers reported, looking up at Flim. “Security reports ready to move in as soon as we have a solid fix on the location.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said, turning those glowing eyes toward the conversation by the door. “Continue the operation. Is there a problem, Your Excellency?”
“A small problem only, Admiral Thrawn,” Tierce spoke up before Disra could answer. “But it may require a few minutes of your attention.”
“Certainly,” Flim said easily.
“What are you doing?” Disra hissed as the con man crossed the room toward them. “You aren’t suggesting—?”
“There are only two ways to deal with someone like Zothip,” Tierce said, his voice cold. “Kill him, or scare him.” He nodded toward Flim. “Can you think of anything that could possibly scare him more than a Grand Admiral?”
Flim had reached them in time to hear the last part. “Who are we trying to scare?” he asked.
“Captain Zothip,” Disra said. “He’s in my quarters.”
Flim’s eyes widened, just noticeably. He looked at Tierce—“You’ll be fine,” the Guardsman soothed him. “Zothip’s in this for the profit, and you’re our guarantee there will be profit. He’s not going to risk hurting you.”
“Unless he’s here for revenge,” Flim pointed out uneasily. “For the job Pellaeon did on him out at Pesitiin, remember?”
“He’ll forget all about that the minute he sees you,” Tierce said impatiently. “At any rate, I’ll be there with you. Whoever he’s got in there, I can handle them. You’ll be fine.”
“What about Solo?” Flim persisted, glancing back to the consoles. “What if they lose him again?”
“How?” Tierce countered. “We’ve picked up two echoes—we know what part of the city they’re in. They’ll have them in restraints by the time we get back. Now let’s go.”
Flim grimaced, but nodded. “Continue the operation, Lieutenant,” he ordered, half turning, his calm Thrawn voice betraying none of his obvious nervousness. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Tierce gestured toward the door, and together the three of them headed out. “I don’t know,” Flim muttered, just loud enough for Disra to hear. “I don’t think I’m going to like this at all.”
Their first warning was a sudden, subtle jerking motion from Lobot, “What is it?” Lando asked, peering at the other.
“What is what?” Han asked from Lobot’s other side.
“He seemed to hesitate right there,” Lando said, pulling back the floppy-brimmed hat that had taken over the job of camouflaging Lobot’s head implant and studying the tiny indicator lights there. The pattern wasn’t the same one that had been showing the last time he looked.
“Maybe he just stumbled,” Han said impatiently, looking around the crowds. “Come on, we’ve got to keep moving.”
“Hold on a minute,” Lando insisted, widening his examination to the suddenly introspective expression on Lobot’s face. He knew the other far better than Han did, and it was clear to him that both the jerking movement and the other’s strange look were indications that something odd was going on. Ignoring it would be just begging for trouble.
“Lando—”
“Just a minute,” Lando cut him off. Abruptly, Lobot jerked a second time, the indicator lights again changing their pattern. They held the new array a moment, then changed back—
And with a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, Lando realized what had just happened. “They’re doing a comm echo search,” he told Han. “Keyed to Verpine biocomm frequencies.”
“Terrific,” Han said, catching Lobot’s arm to steady him and frowning under the brim at the implant. “They have the right frequency yet?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Lando said, looking around for inspiration. They were still a half hour away from the spaceport if they stayed on foot. A landspeeder could get them there faster, but that would mean either hiring or stealing one. Each option carried its own set of risks.
His eyes fell on a large, glistening sign over one of the shops just down the street. A sign bragging in large print about hundreds of droids in stock, the best prices in the Empire, and everything on sale for one day only …
“Come on,” he said, taking Lobot’s other arm and pulling him toward the droid shop. “In here. I’ve got an idea.”
They made it inside before the Imperials’ frequency search hit the right one again. “What now?” Han muttered, looking around the wall-to-wall crowd of bargain-hunters.
“Over there,” Lando told him, shouldering his way toward an overhead sign marking the astromech droid section. “We need about a dozen R2 or R8 models.”
“No problem,” Han assured him, craning his neck to look over the mass of shoppers. “I see at least twenty of them. I hope you remember what our cash supply is like.”
“We’re not going to buy them,” Lando said. “All we’re going to do is talk to them.”
They pushed their way through the crowd and into the astromech droid section, which was—not surprisingly—less densely populated than the servant and chef droid areas seemed to be. “Good afternoon, worthy citizens,” a silver-colored protocol droid said, stepping up to them. “I am C-5MO, human-cyborg relations. May I assist you in your selection?”
“Yes, thank you,” Lando said. “We’re looking for a droid that can serve as a long-range comm interface on certain very select frequencies.”
“I see, sir,” the droid said, half turning to gesture toward the lines of shiny rounded cylinders behind him. “May I suggest something from either the R2 or R8 line. Both lines come with full-frequency comm systems as standard equipment.”
“Sounds good,” Lando said, stepping toward the line of R8s. “Do you mind if I give them a little test?”
“Of course not, sir,” the protocol droid said. “Feel free to administer any test you choose.”
“Thank you.” Lando gestured to the first R8. “You—first in line—I’d like you to transmit a multitonal signal on the following frequency.” He rattled off the number. “Next one: I’d like you to do different tones on a different frequency.�
� He supplied the number.
“Just a moment, sir,” the protocol droid interrupted, sounding distressed. “I’m afraid you can’t simply transmit unauthorized comm signals in the middle of the city—”
One of the R8s twittered a short message. “Oh,” the protocol droid said, somewhat taken aback. “You’re certain neither frequency is used here? By anyone?”
The R8 gave an affirmative warble. “I see,” the droid said. “My apologies, sir. Please continue.”
Lando continued down the line, giving each droid one of the major Verpine biocomm frequencies to transmit on. “All right,” he said when he had finished, turning back to the C-5MO. “Excellent. Now, if you’ll keep them transmitting, I’ll go out to my landspeeder and make sure they’re holding the frequencies properly.”
“You wish to leave them transmitting?” the droid asked, starting to sound distressed again. “But, sir—”
“You can’t expect us to buy such a large order just on your word that they’re transmitting correctly, can you?” Han put in. “Don’t worry—one of our people will still be here.” He pointed across the way at a man in a dark green coat examining the line of servant droids.
“He’ll stay here until we get this checked out and get back to you,” Lando added. “You do extend corporate credit for orders of twenty or more, don’t you?”
“Certainly, sir,” the droid said, brightening considerably. “You’ll simply need to show your corporate authorization when you place your order.”
“Good,” Lando said, lifting his eyebrows at Han. The other took the hint, easing Lobot toward the nearest exit sign. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Two minutes later, they were out on the street again. “Nice touch, that bit about leaving someone behind,” Lando commented to Han. “Should buy us a few more minutes before they start asking themselves awkward questions.”
“As long as they don’t start a conversation with the guy, anyway,” Han grunted. “So what’s the plan? Straight back to the ship?”
“It was,” Lando said. “Unless you think it would be worth the time to be a little more devious than that.”
“I wonder,” Han said, rubbing his cheek. “Those droid transmissions ought to blanket any more echo searches, at least for now. But they did already have an idea where we were in the city. If we can hop a cargo carrier, that would let us get around the spaceport and hit it from the other side.”
“If we don’t get caught,” Lando warned. “They take a dim view around here of people riding cargo carriers.”
“It’s worth the risk,” Han said, making it clear that he’d already made up his mind. “Come on—nearest access is this way.”
CHAPTER
22
The conversation—or at least the part Karoly had been able to hear through the half-open door—had been short, sharp, and unpleasant.
And very enlightening. The Cavrilhu Pirates, allied with the Empire?
On one level, she supposed, it wasn’t that much of a revelation, particularly not after that overheard conversation between Solo and Calrissian. Imperials had been doing under-the-board business with the dregs of the fringe for years, after all, from that accursed murderer Palpatine’s cozy relationship with Prince Xizor on down. Now that the vast, star-spanning Empire had been reduced to a pitiful handful of sectors, all the more reason they would have to hire out some of their dirty work.
But on another level, this was indeed something new. Zothip hadn’t been talking to Moff Disra as a hireling would to his master, but as a full equal. A very unhappy equal, moreover, if the pirate chief’s tone and streams of invective were any indication.
Even more interesting, given Zothip’s veiled threats to go public, it would also appear that this arrangement was neither sanctioned by nor even known to the rest of the Imperial leadership.
Karoly had originally followed Zothip with the idea of exacting revenge against the pirates for their part in the Lorardian slaughter three years ago. Now, she had stumbled on something far more interesting.
“You think he’ll come?” one of the pirates’ voices intruded on Karoly’s musings.
“ ’Course he will,” Zothip grunted. “You think he wants us announcing our deal on the all-Bastion comm broadcast frequency?”
“He won’t be coming alone,” Control’s voice warned. “He’ll have guards with him.”
“Not many of them,” Zothip said. “There aren’t a lot of people that slug trusts.”
“A hidden backup might still be a good idea,” Control said, and Karoly could hear the verbal nudging in his tone. “Just in case.”
“Oh, all right,” Zothip conceded with ill grace. “Crans, Portin—go get back in the passageway. If I whistle, come out and kill everything that’s not us.”
There was a pair of acknowledgments and the sound of approaching footsteps. Moving with considerably less noise, Karoly retreated around the slight bend in the passageway. The dim light increased as the pirates pulled open the door, decreased again as they partially closed it down.
And she now had a decision to make. Back here, four meters behind the two hidden pirates and their mutterings, she wouldn’t be able to hear the upcoming conversation between Zothip and Disra the way she’d like to. Moreover, the thought of even an Imperial Moff getting ambushed by the likes of the Cavrilhu Pirates did not sit well with her.
She smiled tightly in the darkness at the irony of the situation. It was precisely the same thing Shada had objected to back on that windswept rooftop on Borcorash five weeks ago, and the reason Karoly was even here.
But the deep philosophical considerations could wait till another day. In the meantime, the Cavrilhu Pirates owed a death debt to the Mistryl … and the first installment would be collected right here and now. Putting her blaster away, Karoly drew a pair of slender knives and moved silently forward.
Crans and Portin, crouched side by side behind the partially open door, whispering and chuckling to each other in grim anticipation of the carnage to come, never even heard her coming.
It was another minute’s work to quietly drag the bodies a few meters back in the passageway where they’d be out from underfoot. Then, returning to the partially open door, she crouched down and eased the tip of one of her knives along the thick carpet into the room.
The image reflected in the metal was small and somewhat distorted, but Karoly had done this a thousand times before and knew how to read it. As she’d expected, Zothip and his three remaining men were all facing the ornate door set into the right-hand wall. Zothip was seated rather arrogantly at the Moff’s computer desk, the others slouched against walls or pieces of furniture at various other places around the room. All were fingering blaster butts or rubbing gun hands in preparation; all were well clear of her line of fire and the ambush they still thought was set up.
She was just working through her likely attack plan, should it come to that, when there was the soft click of a lock from across the room. Instantly, the pirates’ muttered conversation ceased. The door swung open, and two men stepped inside.
The one on the right was Moff Disra; that much was obvious from his age and his robe of office and the arrogant hauteur with which he strode into the room. The second man, on Disra’s right, dressed in an Imperial uniform—
Karoly felt her breath catch in her throat, an unpleasant tingling on the back of her neck. The second man was a warrior.
Not a soldier: a warrior. She could see it in his stance, in his walk, in the way he held his hands, in the way his eyes took in the situation in front of him.
Control had warned that Disra would bring guards with him. Dimly, Karoly wondered if any of the pirates was capable of recognizing the warrior beneath the uniform.
Zothip himself, apparently, could not. “Took your own sweet time getting here,” he growled as the warrior swung the door closed. “Who’s the nerf?”
“Get out of my chair,” Disra growled back, ignoring the question and gesturing irritably at
the lounging pirate chief.
“I’m doing the talking here, Disra,” Zothip said, making no move to vacate the chair. “Wait a minute—I know you,” he added, leveling a finger at the warrior. “Yeah—you’re the snotter who pulled all my advisers out on me. You rotten, rark-eating sovler.”
Karoly winced, half expecting sudden death to be the warrior’s response to the insult. But he wasn’t so easily provoked. “That’s right,” he said, his voice glacially calm. “I’m Major Tierce. And as I explained at the time, the Empire had a more pressing need for their services.”
“So you just upped and pulled them, huh?” Zothip countered, his voice darkening. “Well, maybe that’s how you Imperial dreg-sifters do things. But that’s not how it’s done in the fringe. You make a deal, you stick with it.” He leveled his finger again. “Or you get to spend your last couple of minutes of life regretting it.”
“I thought that in the fringe you also didn’t lose your nerve,” Disra put in disdainfully. “Did Pellaeon scare you that badly?”
“Never mind Pellaeon,” Zothip bit out. “I’ll deal with him later. Right now you’re the one in the hot circle. Starting with full compensation for my battlecruiser and the eight hundred men who died with it.”
“Apparently, he has lost his nerve, Your Excellency,” Tierce said. “The sabacc pot’s grown too big for his taste, and he wants out.”
Zothip snorted. “Words. That’s all it is with you, Disra. Words and promises, and we end up doing all the work and all the dying. But not anymore. I figure twenty million ought to cover it—”
“Suppose we can show you we have more than words,” Tierce interrupted, an edge of challenge to his voice. “Suppose we can give you proof that the Empire is once again on the rise, and that this time there will be no stopping us. Would you still want to quit?”
Zothip laughed, a thoroughly humorless sound. “Proof, huh? If you think anything you’ve got can—”
He broke off as behind Disra and Tierce the door again swung open. One of the pirates half drew his blaster—
