by Timothy Zahn
Taking another sip, she resealed the flask and settled herself comfortably against one of the corners of the crate. It was a long time since she’d dealt with an opponent of this caliber, and as long as she was stuck in here anyway she might as well start working out her next move.
“It’s so good to hear your voice again, Han,” Leia’s voice came over the Lady Luck’s speaker, and there was no mistaking the relief in her tone. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Hey, hon, it was no big deal,” Han assured her, only fudging the truth a little. There would be plenty of time to tell her the whole story of their little trip to Bastion when he could hold her hand while he did it.
And besides, the last thing he wanted to put out on a HoloNet call, even an encrypted one, was the fact that Grand Admiral Thrawn was indeed still alive. “The point is that we got in and out okay and we’re heading home,” he went on.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” she said, a cautious hope creeping into her voice. “Did you—I mean—?”
“We got it,” Han told her. “At least, I think we got it.”
There was a short pause. “What does that mean?”
“It means we got what we went for,” Han said. “And it all looked all right to me. But … well, there were a couple of complications. Let’s leave it at that for now, okay?”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. Clearly not happy about letting it go like that, but as aware as he was of the limitations of HoloNet security. “But don’t go to Coruscant. I’m on my way to Bothawui.”
“Bothawui?”
“Yes,” she said. “I was heading for Coruscant when I found out President Gavrisom was there trying to mediate this whole war fleet thing.”
“Ah,” Han said, frowning at the speaker. Considering he’d left her on Pakrik Minor ten days ago, she should have already been on Coruscant, not just on her way there. Had something happened with that meeting with Bel Iblis? “Your visitor get delayed or something?” he asked obliquely.
“The visitor arrived right on schedule,” she said. “Only it wasn’t exactly who I was expecting. And I then wound up taking a little side trip.”
Han felt his hands curl into fists. “What kind of side trip?” he demanded. If someone had tried to hurt her again—“Are you all right?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she hastened to assure him. “Things just went differently than I was expecting, that’s all. It’s all tied in with why I have to talk to Gavrisom right away.”
HoloNet security. “Yeah, all right, we’ll head for Bothawui,” Han said. “It’ll be another couple of days before we can get there.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I won’t be there until tomorrow myself.”
Han grimaced. It would have been better if he could have gotten there ahead of her. From everything he was hearing, the sky over Bothawui was a flash point just begging to happen. “Well, you be careful, Leia, all right?”
“I will,” she promised. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I’ll call Gavrisom right away and give him the good news about your mission.”
“And tell him I’m not going to give it to him unless he promises you some real vacation time when this is over,” Han warned.
“Absolutely,” she agreed.
“Okay. I love you, Leia.”
He could almost hear her smile. “I know,” she said in their private joke. “I’ll see you soon.”
With a sigh, Han cut off the comm. Another two days to Bothawui, with Leia getting there a day ahead of them. Maybe Lando could get a little more speed out of this crate. He swiveled his chair around—
“So how’s Leia?” Lando said from the bridge doorway.
“She’s fine,” Han assured him, studying his friend’s face. There was something very unpleasant lurking there behind his eyes. “Sounds like she had more than just a straight run home from Pakrik Minor, though, and we have to change course for Bothawui to meet her. What’s up?”
“Trouble,” Lando said darkly, jerking his head over his shoulder. “Come on back a minute.”
Lobot and Moegid were waiting in the aft control room when he and Lando arrived, sitting on opposite sides of the computer table. Lobot just looked like Lobot, but Moegid’s antennae were twitching in a way Han had never seen a Verpine do before.
And lying on the table between them was the datacard Thrawn had given them.
“Don’t tell me,” he warned as Lando picked up the datacard and slid it into the computer reader. “You said it was clean.”
“We thought it was,” Lando said, pulling up the Caamas Document on the large plotting display. “But then Moegid thought of something else to try.” He pointed to the display. “Turns out it’s been altered.”
A whole string of Corellian curses ran through Han’s mind. None of them was adequate for the situation. “Altered how?” he asked, just for the record.
“You have to ask?” Lando growled. “The list of the Bothans involved in the attack has been changed. The one thing we absolutely needed.”
Han stepped closer, peering at the display. “You’re sure,” he asked. Again, just for the record.
“Moegid is,” Lando said, looking down at the Verpine. “It’s a masterful job, but there are some tricks the Verpines have come up with over the years.” He pointed at the display. “Remember how surprised we were when we first looked it over and saw how many of the top Bothan families were implicated? Well, now we know why those names are there.”
“A little something to stir the pot a little more,” Han said with a grimace. “And to make the rest of the New Republic trust the Bothan leadership even less than they already do.”
“You got it, old friend.” Lando pulled out one of the other chairs and sat down. “Which means we’re right back at square one.”
Han pulled out a chair for himself. “We’re not even that lucky,” he said glumly. “I already told Leia we’ve got the document.”
“You don’t think she’ll keep that information to herself?”
“Normally, yes,” Han said heavily. “Unfortunately … she already said she was going to give Gavrisom the good news.”
“And he won’t keep it to himself?”
Han shook his head. “He’s on Bothawui, trying to keep a war from starting. And he’s not the type to not use every tool he’s got.”
“So in other words, we’re going to show up at Bothawui with everyone expecting us to be the heroes of the day.” Lando shook his head. “Where’s an Imperial ambush when you need one?”
“I wouldn’t joke about that if I were you,” Han warned him. “You can bet that Thrawn will be keeping the Empire off our backs on this one; but there are a lot of people on our side who won’t want to see the Bothans getting the chance to slip off the hook.”
Lando winced. “I hadn’t thought about that. Though come to think of it … no.”
“What?”
“I was just thinking about what Thrawn said about Fey’lya’s people stealing those Xerrol sniper blasters,” he said slowly. “But if he was lying about the Caamas Document …”
“Doesn’t necessarily mean he was lying about that, too,” Han said. “For that matter, we don’t have any proof that Thrawn was even the one who changed those names.”
Lando snorted. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Someone’s going to bring it up,” Han pointed out. “I can guarantee that one.”
Lando muttered something under his breath. “This just gets messier and messier. So what do we do?”
Han shrugged. “We go to Bothawui on schedule and pretend nothing is wrong. Maybe the Bothans really do know who was involved. If they do, maybe we can bluff them into coming clean.”
“And if they don’t, or we can’t?”
Han got to his feet. “We’ve got two days to come up with something else. Come on, let’s go turn this crate toward Bothawui.”
“That’s it,” Tierce said with grim satisfaction, waving at the display. “They’ve come.”
“I’m not convinced,” Disra growled, peering at the computer-enhanced image on the display. “Fine, so whoever they are seem to be using TIE fighter technology. That doesn’t prove a thing.”
“They flew past Bastion,” Tierce pointed out. “Clearly looking us over. And we’ve never seen anything like this anywhere else—”
“That doesn’t even prove it was from the Unknown Regions,” Disra sniffed. “Let alone that it was Parck or the Hand of Thrawn or whoever.”
“—and Bastion is where Thrawn was last reported being seen,” Tierce finished with a note of finality in his voice. “Doubt all you like, Your Excellency, but I can tell you right now that the scheme has worked. Thrawn’s old allies are finally nosing around the bait.”
“I hope you’re right,” Disra said. “With the Bothawui flash postponed, and with Pellaeon probably springing Vermel from Rimcee Station right at this moment—”
“I told you not to worry about that,” Tierce said with some asperity. “There’s no way he can hurt us.”
“Who can’t hurt us?” Flim’s voice asked from off to the left.
Disra turned to see Flim emerge from the secret door. The con man had been doing a lot of that lately, he’d noticed: skulking around quietly eavesdropping on his two partners. As if he didn’t trust them. “Admiral Pellaeon,” Tierce told him. “We were just speculating that he and Colonel Vermel will probably be coming by at some point to demand an explanation for how we’ve been mistreating them.”
“And were you also speculating about that alien ship that buzzed past Bastion a couple of days ago?” Flim demanded. “Or were you going to wait until the Hand of Thrawn knocked on the palace gate before you mentioned it?”
“I can assure you that the first thing they do will not be to show up here in person,” Tierce said. “These are very cagey people, Admiral. Which, considering the card they’re holding, they have every right to be. No, their first contact will be a cautious transmission from somewhere in deep space where they can make a fast escape if they decide it’s necessary.”
“I fail to see how that helps us any,” Flim said icily. “One way or the other, they’re still going to want to talk to Thrawn.”
“Of course they are,” Tierce explained patiently. “But calling in from off-planet allows me to take a message for you and to shake some useful information out of them along the way. Trust me, Admiral, I’ve been planning for this moment for a long time.”
Flim grimaced. “That’s going to be very comforting if Parck sees straight through it and blasts Bastion to rubble.”
Tierce shook his head. “These people were extremely loyal to Thrawn, Admiral,” he said. “No matter how cautious and skeptical they appear on the surface, they want Thrawn to have survived Bilbringi. You’re a con man; surely you understand the effect wishful thinking has on a target.”
“Oh, it’s very useful,” Flim grumbled. “It also means they’re twice as dangerous when you finally pull the rug out from under them. Speaking of dangerous, did either of you know that General Bel Iblis has disappeared?”
Tierce and Disra exchanged glances. “What are you talking about?” Disra asked.
“We got a message from the strike team on Bothawui a couple of hours ago,” Flim said, strolling forward and tossing a datacard onto the desk. “He said a couple of Rogue Squadron pilots who’d been sniffing around had suddenly pulled out and left the system. He suggested that might mean Bel Iblis was up to something.”
“Could be.” Tierce nodded, stepping to the desk and picking up the datacard. “Let me check on it.”
“I already did,” Flim said, pulling over a chair and sitting down. “The official story is that Bel Iblis is out at Kothlis putting together a New Republic force to protect Bothawui. But if you start poking through the data, you can’t find any evidence that he’s anywhere near Bothan space.”
“How did you learn about all this?” Disra interrupted.
Flim lifted his eyebrows in polite surprise. “I’m Grand Admiral Thrawn, Your Excellency,” he reminded him. “I called Intelligence and asked.”
“Did you get a written report?” Tierce asked him. He had the datacard in his datapad now and was skimming through it.
“It’s at the end of that record,” Flim told him. “They were quite helpful, actually—asked me if I’d like someone to do a flyby around Kothlis and see what they could find out.”
“Waste of time,” Tierce said, his voice starting to sound a little odd. “If Kothlis is a cover story, Bel Iblis will have made it far too vac-tight for any casual flyby to pick up on.”
“That’s exactly what I told them,” Flim said smugly. “I’m starting to pick up a genuine feel for tactics, if I do say so myself.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Tierce said absently, gazing at the datapad. “And in the future, kindly do not interact with anyone without Moff Disra or myself present. Now be quiet and let me think.”
Disra watched the Guardsman’s face, an unpleasant sensation creeping over him. Tierce seemed to be doing more and more of this sort of thing lately, this staring off into space as if in some kind of trance as he thought. Was the pressure and strain starting to get to him? Or had he always been this way and Disra simply hadn’t noticed?
Abruptly, Tierce’s head snapped up. “Admiral, you said that the D’ulin woman had called one of the Mistryl leaders to come talk with us?”
“Yes,” Flim said. “Last I heard, she was on her way here.”
“Have D’ulin get in touch with her and tell her to change course,” Tierce instructed him. “Tell her we’ll meet with her instead at Yaga Minor.”
“Yaga Minor?” Disra repeated, frowning.
“Yes,” Tierce said, smiling tightly. “I believe we may be able to give the Mistryl a live demonstration of Thrawn’s tactical genius. And help convince Captain Parck that Thrawn is indeed back; and deliver a humiliating blow to one of Coruscant’s best and brightest in the bargain.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Disra protested. “You’ve lost me.”
“I think he’s trying to tell us Bel Iblis is going to be insane enough to hit Yaga Minor,” Flim said, staring in obvious disbelief at Tierce.
The Guardsman inclined his head slightly. “Very good, Admiral. Only it’s not insane—it’s their very last chance to avert a civil war. Who better to send than Bel Iblis?”
“I think Flim was right the first time,” Disra said. “You’re talking about the Caamas Document; but they’ve already got the copy we gave Solo and Calrissian.”
“But Bel Iblis doesn’t know about that.” Tierce tapped the datapad. “According to the report, he vanished to this supposed Kothlis buildup eight days before that traitor Carib Devist brought his falsified data to the Parshoone Ubiqtorate station, which was how Solo found Bastion. Assuming Bel Iblis has been basically out of contact with Coruscant—and that’s the likely situation—he won’t know anything about Solo’s Bastion trip.”
“And what if he checks in before he leaves for the attack and they tell him to stand down?” Disra countered.
“Then we simply impress the Mistryl with the size and power of an Imperial Ubiqtorate base,” Tierce said. “They don’t need to know we’re expecting an attack until it actually happens.”
He looked at Flim. “It’s a classic con technique,” he added. “If the target doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen, he can’t be disappointed if it doesn’t.”
“He’s right about that,” Flim agreed.
“All right, fine,” Disra said. “And what if Coruscant changes its mind and sends Bel Iblis to attack Bastion instead?”
Tierce shrugged. “On what grounds? We’ve given them the Caamas Document—”
“Altered.”
“Which they don’t know about and have no way of proving,” Tierce reminded him. “The point is that if Bel Iblis so much as pokes his nose into this system they’ll be handing us a propaganda weapon they’ll regret for years to come. Give me some
holos of an unprovoked New Republic attack on Bastion, and I’ll have a thousand systems seceding from Coruscant in the first month alone.”
“Besides, Your Excellency,” Flim said with a casual wave of his hand, “even if Bel Iblis did hit Bastion, the three of us will still be safe at Yaga Minor. Unless you’re so attached to your comforts here you couldn’t bear to give them up.”
“I was merely pointing out,” Disra said stiffly, “that it would look bad for Thrawn to be somewhere else when the Imperial capital was under attack.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tierce said with a tone of finality in his voice. “Bel Iblis won’t hit Bastion; and he will hit Yaga Minor. And once we’ve defeated him, we’ll see the Empire’s prestige rise considerably.”
“We might also finally push Coruscant into launching a full-scale attack at us,” Disra warned.
Tierce shook his head. “In five days Coruscant will have a civil war on its hands,” he said. “And long before they’re ready to turn any attention this direction, we’ll have Parck and the Hand of Thrawn.”
His eyes glittered. “And this time, there will be nothing that can stop us. Nothing at all.”
The corridor was long and drab and gray, lined with equally drab doors. Locked doors, of course—this was a prison, after all. The walls and ceiling were solid metal, the floor a metal grating that gave off a pair of hollow-sounding clinks with every footstep.
They were certainly making a lot of those clinks at the moment, Pellaeon thought, listening to the sound echo off the walls as he strode down the corridor toward the secondary security post just around the corner at the far end. It sounded like a parade, in fact, or a sudden burst of rain on a thin metal roof.
And those ahead had taken notice of the commotion. Already four of the guards had poked black-helmeted heads around the corner to see what all the commotion was about. Two of those guards were still visible; the others had ducked back out of sight, presumably to report to whoever was manning the security post.
The other two guards had reappeared by the time Pellaeon reached the corner, all four of them now standing stiffly at full military attention. Without a word or glance Pellaeon passed through the group and rounded the corner.
