by Timothy Zahn
He slipped into the doorway and vanished. “I hope letting him go was the right thing to do,” Disra muttered. Pellaeon was at the other end of that passageway, and they only had Control’s word that he wasn’t interested in revenge.
“Don’t worry,” Thrawn assured him. “As you already pointed out, he put a great deal of time and thought into maneuvering Zothip here this way. No, he’ll head directly back to his ship with his tale of woe, and that will be that.”
“What about her?” Tierce asked, nodding at the woman. He had lowered his blaster as ordered, but was still holding it ready at his side. “She did come in with them.”
“I came in behind them,” the woman corrected. “I overheard a comment about clones and pirate arrangements with the Empire and—”
“Clones?” Disra cut her off. “Who was talking about clones?”
She regarded him coolly. “A couple of New Republic agents named Han Solo and Lando Calrissian,” she said. “You may have heard of them.”
“I believe we have, yes,” Thrawn said with an easy smile. “Actually, we’re trying to make contact with them at the moment.”
Her lip twitched. “I’ll bet you are.”
“But more interesting to me,” Thrawn continued, “would be to hear your response to the offer I made to you a few minutes ago.”
She frowned. “What offer?”
“Don’t you remember?” Thrawn asked. “I pointed out that your recovery to my appearance had been a bit slow, but otherwise not bad. I then spoke of the Empire’s wish to acquire allies.”
Her forehead furrowed. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “You made that offer to Zothip, not me. You didn’t even know I was there.”
“On the contrary,” Thrawn said quietly. “I knew full well you were there. And if you’ll think back to my offer, you may notice that I never mentioned either Zothip or his pirates.”
She stared at him, her face struggling as she obviously tried to sort out whether he was being truthful or feeding her a load of lies. Flim weaving yet another of his spells … and even with the audience prejudiced against him, it appeared to be working.
But right now Disra didn’t have time to enjoy the show. “I’m sure you and the lady have a great deal to discuss, Admiral,” he murmured, taking a step back toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, though, I need to get back to Admiral Pellaeon.”
“Certainly, Your Excellency,” Thrawn said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “Perhaps we’ll move to another room to continue our discussion.” He lifted an eyebrow at the woman. “Assuming, that is, you’re interested in what my new Empire has to offer the Mistryl.”
“We’ve never worked for the Empire before,” the woman said cautiously as Disra stepped to the door and pulled it open.
“That was Palpatine’s Empire,” Thrawn reminded her. “The Empire I propose to rebuild—”
The rest of the sales pitch was lost as Disra closed the door behind him and hurried down the corridors. The secret passageway would have been faster; but Pellaeon didn’t know about that, and Disra would just as soon it be kept secret. Switching corridors, rounding the last corner, he headed down the main hallway toward the door guards. “Has Admiral Pellaeon asked about me?” he asked as the guards saluted and stepped aside.
“No, Your Excellency,” one of them said as the double doors began to swing open. “Actually, he’s already left.”
Disra came to an abrupt stop. “What do you mean, he’s left?” he echoed, peering in through the opening doors. The office was indeed empty. “Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say, Your Excellency,” the guard said.
Disra stepped into the office, frowning around the room as the doors closed behind him. This made no sense. Why would Pellaeon and that slinker Dreyf just leave? Surely they hadn’t simply decided to let him off the hook.
His eyes fell on his desk …
He was around the side of the desk in five quick strides, swearing the whole way, feeling a clammy sweat breaking out on his face. No. They couldn’t have.
But they had. The hidden desk drawer had been forced open.
And the datacards were gone.
CHAPTER
23
Disra’s groping hand found the comm switch. “Tierce, get in here,” he managed, his voice sounding odd through the pounding of his heart in his ears. “Now.”
He switched the comm to the guards outside. “When did Pellaeon leave?” he demanded.
“Five or six minutes ago, Your Excellency,” the voice came back.
Which meant he would be out of the palace by now and headed for the spaceport, with the Capital Security forces who could have intercepted him dispersed uselessly around the city in their hunt for Solo and Calrissian. Disra ground his teeth together, a vision of the grand scheme he’d worked so hard to create collapsing in front of his eyes. Everything was on those datacards—everything. Encrypted, of course; but if Pellaeon was able to decrypt them …
And then another, even more awful thought jabbed up under his heart. Colonel Vermel, hidden away in a quiet little detention cell on Rimcee Station …
It took nearly a minute to get the long-range comm keyed through the various relays to the Rimcee system. And when he did …
Across the room, the secret door opened and Tierce stepped into the office. “We have them,” he announced with grim satisfaction. “Their ship’s in Docking Bay 155—”
“Pellaeon’s got the datacards,” Disra cut him off viciously.
“What?” Tierce demanded, picking up his pace.
“The datacards, fool,” Disra snarled. “The Vengeance scheme, our arrangement with Zothip’s pirates, names and details of the industrial/financial web I’ve been using—everything.”
Tierce hissed between his teeth, throwing a look at the empty drawer. “Incredible,” he said, almost as if talking to himself. “He actually broke into your private records. I would never have thought him capable of doing that. It must have been Dreyf’s idea.”
“We can get the details at the trial,” Disra snapped. “Forget whose idea it was. What are we going to do?”
“What do we have to do?” Tierce said with a shrug. “They’re encrypted, aren’t they? By the time Pellaeon decrypts them—”
“He already has,” Disra cut him off. “At least well enough. He knows Vermel’s at Rimcee Station.”
Tierce’s face hardened. “How do you know?”
“Because I just tried to get through to them,” Disra gritted. “Pellaeon’s had all transmissions to the entire system blocked off.”
Tierce threw a dark look at the blank comm display. “Fast work,” he murmured. “Very good, Admiral.”
“Never mind that,” Disra snapped, almost shaking with fear and rage and frustration. Didn’t Tierce understand the whole plan was about to collapse on top of them? “We’ve got to stop him. We’ve got to pull Vermel out before Pellaeon gets there—”
“No,” Tierce said, his voice suddenly decisive. “What we have to do is catch Solo and Calrissian before they get to their ship and have our Grand Admiral put on a show for them.”
“Are you insane?” Disra snarled. “To Kessel with Solo—this is my neck we’re talking about!”
“Calm down, Disra,” Tierce said, his voice like a slap of cold water in the Moff’s face. “Whatever Pellaeon’s got doesn’t matter. You understand? It doesn’t matter. We have the ultimate clear-card: Grand Admiral Thrawn. All he has to do is take command and declare everything we’ve done to have been at his direction. Now snap out of it.”
Disra took a shuddering breath, glaring at Tierce in silent, impotent fury. Silent fury that the Guardsman was dismissing so casually all the years Disra had put into this project. Impotent fury because he was right. “Fine,” he choked out.” “So we forget Pellaeon. What do we do instead?”
“You weren’t listening,” Tierce said, his eyes still narrowed as he watched Disra’s face. “We’ve got their landing bay
number—that Mistryl woman D’ulin rode in with them as a stowaway. The admiral and I have to get there before they get back. You understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” Disra growled, his brain only now starting to unfreeze from the shock and panic. “I’m not a child, you know.”
“Glad to hear it,” Tierce said coldly. “Because while we’re out there, you’re going to go talk to D’ulin. Find out what she wants and what it’ll take to bring the Mistryl onto our side.”
Disra felt his mouth drop open a centimeter. The reports he’d heard about the Mistryl—“You want to try to make allies of them? Have you lost your mind? They hate the Empire!”
“We need a new fringe group to replace the Cavrilhu Pirates,” Tierce said, his voice one of exaggerated patience. “And we do not have time to argue about it. Thrawn and D’ulin are in the library across from your quarters. Go take over so that he and I can get to the spaceport. Understand? Now move.”
The snapped command made Disra jump. “Don’t ever talk to me that way again, Major,” he warned, his voice quietly deadly. “Ever.”
“Then don’t ever fall apart on me again, Your Excellency,” Tierce countered. If he was either impressed or intimidated by Disra’s warning, he didn’t show it. “Now get moving.”
The legion of Imperial troops Han had feared would be ringing the spaceport wasn’t there. Neither were the hard-eyed guards he’d expected at the entrypoint, the monitor droids along the access street, or the stormtroopers at the door to their docking bay. In fact, from all appearances it looked like they’d gotten completely away with it.
And that all by itself was enough to worry him. A lot.
Lando felt it, too. “I don’t like this, Han,” he muttered, glancing around the street behind them as Han unlocked the bay door. “This is way too easy.”
“Yeah, I know,” Han agreed, taking one last look around as he took Lobot’s arm and guided him through the doorway. Lando’s on-the-fly changes to his implant’s programming over the past hour may have thrown the Imperials off the scent, but they’d also left Lobot rather dazed. If it came to a fight at the Lady Luck’s ramp, he was going to be no help at all.
The dark passageway through the docking bay’s service and supply area was also deserted. “Soon as we’re aboard you get the engines fired up,” Han told Lando as they stepped out onto the permacrete beneath the open sky. The Lady Luck was still there, looking just the way they’d left her. “I’ll handle the weapons. Maybe Moegid can get into the spaceport computer and get us a quick exit slot—”
“That won’t be necessary,” a quiet voice came from behind them.
Han spun around, yanking out his appropriated blaster. Behind them on the permacrete had appeared the flickering full-sized holo of a man. A man with blue skin, wearing a white Imperial uniform …
Lando made a strange sound in the back of his throat. “It’s him,” he murmured.
Han nodded, feeling numb. It was indeed.
Grand Admiral Thrawn.
“Please lay your weapons on the ground,” Thrawn directed. “I’d prefer to speak with you face-to-face, but understandably have no desire to be shot.”
“Understandably,” Han agreed, keeping a firm grip on his blaster, his eyes darting around the landing bay. There must be some actual troops in here somewhere …
The holo smiled. “Come now, Captain Solo,” he said soothingly. “Surely you don’t think you’ll be able to simply blast your way out of Bastion as you have from so many other systems during your checkered career. Don’t you wish to see your wife and children again?”
Han adjusted his grip on his blaster, feeling sweat gathering on his forehead. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” he said.
The holo shook his head. “You misunderstand, Captain,” Thrawn said. “You have nothing to fear from me. All I want is a few words with you, and then you and your companions will be free to go your way.” He nodded toward Lando. “Ask Captain Calrissian. I allowed him to leave my Star Destroyer.”
“This isn’t exactly the same,” Lando said tightly. “This is your hidden capital. You aren’t going to want anyone knowing where it is.”
“Come now, Captain,” Thrawn said, rather scornfully. “Do you really think I would expect knowledge of Bastion’s current location to die with you? The seat of Imperial authority has been moved before, many times. It can certainly be moved again. Still, you apparently need more persuasion.”
A movement at the corner of his eye caught Han’s attention. He looked up—
To see a row of stormtroopers lined up along the rim of the landing bay’s storage area roof, blaster rifles trained on them.
He sighed. They should have made a dash for the Lady Luck when the holo first appeared instead of letting Thrawn stall them this way. Too late now. “How’d you find us?” he asked, setting the blaster’s safety and laying the weapon on the ground in front of him.
“It wasn’t difficult,” the holo said as Lando reluctantly followed suit with his slugthrower. “I knew none of you had the slicing expertise needed to invade the Special Files. I suspected you were using a Verpine for that, and so instructed my men to run a scan on those comm frequencies.”
“Looking for an echo,” Han said, nodding. “I would have sworn we cut that off before you could get a fix.”
“You misunderstand, Captain. I wasn’t looking for an echo.” Abruptly, the holo vanished—
And from around a stack of storage crates to their right Thrawn himself appeared, his white uniform dazzlingly bright in the afternoon sunlight.
But no more dazzling than the gleaming armor of the six stormtroopers flanking him in guard position. On second thought, Han decided, a mad dash for the Lady Luck wouldn’t have been such a clever plan after all.
“I was merely seeking confirmation that your slicer was a Verpine,” Thrawn continued as he walked up to them. “Once you supplied that confirmation by blanketing those biocomm frequencies, all I had to do was search the spaceport records for a ship that had supposedly landed here eight, twelve, or seventeen days before the drone probe you followed in from the Parshoone Ubiqtorate contact station.”
“Wait a minute, you’ve lost me,” Han said, frowning. “Eight, twelve, or seventeen days?”
Thrawn smiled. “Those are important numbers to the Verpines,” he said. “Not consciously, perhaps, but nevertheless anchored deeply within them. It was obvious that your Verpine was the master slicer of your group; therefore, he would have been the one to make any alterations in the spaceport records to hide your ship’s location. Need I go on?”
“No,” Han said, a cold chill running through him. Back at his and Leia’s Orowood Tower retreat Lando had claimed to have seen Thrawn; had claimed it, had argued it, had maintained it despite all the evidence and arguments to the contrary. Han had wondered then how his friend could have been so easily spooked.
Now, finally, he understood.
“Good,” Thrawn said, peering at him with a depth of understanding Han didn’t care for at all. “Then let us get down to business.” He raised his voice slightly. “Major?”
From behind another stack of boxes to the left a youngish man wearing major’s insignia appeared, his eyes wary on the prisoners. In his right hand he held a blaster; in his left, a datacard.
“As you may recall our last conversation, Captain Calrissian,” Thrawn went on as the major walked toward them, “you suggested that if I wanted to save the New Republic from its current crisis I should simply give you a complete copy of the Caamas Document.”
“Yes, I remember,” Lando said as the major came to a stop a meter in front of him. “You told me that would take too much time.”
“Less time than I thought, as it turned out,” Thrawn agreed. “There it is.”
The major held out the datacard. “What do you mean, there it is?” Lando asked, looking at the datacard like he expected it to explode in his face.
“The Caamas Document,” Thrawn said sim
ply. “It’s yours. Take it.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Lando took the card. “What’s the catch?” he asked as the major took a step back.
“There’s no catch,” Thrawn assured him. “As I told you before, I merely wish to help.”
“Sure you do,” Han put in, his words sounding harsh in his ears after the Grand Admiral’s more urbane tones. “Like you helped wreck the Combined Clans Building on Bothawui?”
The glowing red eyes focused on him. “Explain.”
“There was an Imperial team behind that riot,” Han said stiffly. Beside him, Lando was making shushing noises, and he had to admit that accusing Thrawn to his face like this was probably not the most politic thing he could have done. But it had been his neck on the line there, his and Leia’s, and he was not going to just stand here and let Thrawn get away with making conciliatory noises. Not after all the death and destruction that riot had caused. “We found the redirection crystal they used with their Xerrol Nightstinger sniper blaster.”
He had hoped for a flicker of guilt, or at least a twinge of recognition. But instead Thrawn merely gave him a brittle smile. “Yes, a Xerrol Nightstinger,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Apparently still a favored tool of assassins and saboteurs. But in this case, you’re looking the wrong direction. The Empire’s last five Xerrols were stolen six months ago from a Ubiqtorate cache on Marquarra.”
His eyes glittered. “If you want to find them, I suggest you search the private estate of High Councilor Borsk Fey’lya.”
Han exchanged startled glances with Lando. “Fey’lya?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “It was his private army who stole them.”
“No,” Han said, the word coming automatically. “That’s ridiculous.”
And yet …
Fey’lya had known he and Leia were going to the Combined Clans Building to check out the true state of Bothan finances, a job they’d somehow never gotten around to finishing after the riot. And it was just the sort of back-blading stunt the Bothans were famous for.
Thrawn shrugged. “I’m not going to try to convince you. The truth is there for you to find if you care to. In the meantime—” He nodded toward the datacard in Lando’s hand. “Good day, gentlemen. Have a good voyage.”
