Specter of the Past

by Timothy Zahn

  “—understand that we have no desire to make trouble for anyone,” someone was saying. “We do not wish vengeance, and it is far too late for justice.”

  Frowning, Han crossed back to the desk. So okay. Leia wanted him to listen in on the conversation, but didn’t want him out there. Or didn’t want whoever it was knowing they were being listened to.

  And then he got his first close look at the display, and suddenly he understood her reticence. There were two Ishori out there … and two Caamasi.

  “It is not a question of vengeance,” one of the Ishori insisted. Probably a full Senator, Han decided, if the elaborate tangle of his shoulder clasp was any indication. “And it is never too late for justice.”

  “Yet what purpose would this so-named justice serve?” one of the Caamasi countered quietly. “Our world is destroyed, and we are few and scattered. Would punishing the Bothans miraculously make all right again?”

  “Perhaps it would,” the Ishori said, his voice starting to rise. Thinking hard and fast, with that trademark Ishori anger coming along with it. Han grimaced, the memory of his botched negotiation attempts at Iphigin nagging painfully at him. “If the Bothans were declared guilty and forced to make reparations—”

  At the other side of the board, the comm pinged. Leia’s private comm channel, Han noted with annoyance. Just when the conversation out there was starting to get interesting; but it was probably one of the kids, and he really ought to answer it. Flicking the intercom channel to record the rest of the conversation going on out there—which was probably illegal, but he didn’t care—he muted the speaker volume and hit the comm key.

  It wasn’t the kids, or Winter, or even one of the Noghri. “Hello, Solo,” Talon Karrde said. “I didn’t expect to find you on this channel.”

  “Likewise,” Han said, frowning at the smuggler. “How did you get this frequency?”

  “Your wife gave it to me, of course,” Karrde said, managing to look roguish and innocent at the same time. “I gave her a ride back here from Wayland in the Wild Karrde. I thought you knew.”

  “Yeah, I got a quick message from her about that,” Han said. “I didn’t know you’d conned her out of her private frequency, though.”

  Karrde smiled, then sobered. “We’re all suddenly sitting on some highly explosive matters, my friend,” he said. “Leia and I decided it might be useful for me to be able to contact her, shall we say, discreetly. Has she told you yet about the Caamas datacard we brought back from Wayland?”

  Han’s eyes flicked to the intercom display and the two Caamasi. “No, I haven’t had a chance to talk to her since I got back,” he said. “But as it happens she’s got a pair of Caamasi in the outer office right now. Along with a couple of Ishori.”

  Karrde hissed softly between his teeth. “So the Ishori are getting involved. Which means the Diamala will undoubtedly be coming in on the other side.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” Han agreed. “The other side of what?”

  “I don’t suppose it’s much of a secret anymore,” Karrde said. “At least not on the exalted levels you circle in these days. I’m sure Leia will fill you in later, but the bottom line is that we’ve discovered it was a group of so far unidentified Bothans who sabotaged Caamas’s shields on the eve of its destruction.”

  Han felt his stomach tighten. “Great,” he growled. “Just great. There aren’t enough people out there who hate the Bothans already. This is just what we need.”

  “I agree,” Karrde said. “I hope the Senate is up to the task of keeping this under some semblance of control. The main reason I called was to tell Leia that our friend Mazzic has caught Lak Jit, the Devaronian who actually found the datacard. We’ve got him locked away, and I’ll keep him there as long as she wants me to. Unfortunately, it appears he’s already spread the news as far as his little feet and the flow of credits would take it. I don’t think there’s any chance of keeping this a private matter within the New Republic hierarchy.”

  “Yeah, well, things were going along too smooth anyway,” Han said sourly. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Karrde said blandly. “You know I’m always at your service.”

  “That’s good,” Han said. “Because I’ve got another problem I’d like you to tackle.”

  “Certainly. Cash or account?”

  “We had a little run-in with some pirates off Iphigin,” Han said, ignoring the question. “Good-sized crowd: they had a Kaloth battlecruiser, a couple of Corellian gunships, and some Corsair starfighters.”

  “Well-equipped group,” Karrde agreed. “On the other hand, you’d be a fool to hit a place like Iphigin without enough firepower to handle the job.”

  “It still surprised me a little,” Han said. “But here’s the kicker. Luke says the battlecruiser had clones aboard.”

  Karrde’s expression didn’t change, but the lines at the corners of his eyes tightened noticeably. “Does he, now,” he said. “Any idea what kind of clones?”

  “He didn’t say,” Han said. “You ever hear of a pirate gang running with cloned crewers?”

  “Not that I can recall,” Karrde said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “My guess would be that they’re leftovers from that big Imperial offensive ten years ago. Grand Admiral Thrawn had Mount Tantiss long enough to have turned out quite a lot of them.”

  “So what are they doing with a pirate gang?” Han persisted. “Don’t you think that what’s left of the Empire would want to keep them for themselves?”

  “Point,” Karrde conceded. “On the other hand, maybe they’ve decided it’s more effective to hire them out to one or more gangs as advisers or elite warriors. Perhaps in exchange for a hand in choosing their targets, or else a share of the plunder.”

  “Could be,” Han said. “It could also be that some pirate group’s found its own supply of cloning cylinders.”

  Karrde’s lip twitched. “Yes,” he agreed grimly. “That could conceivably be the case.”

  “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “I suppose I’d better look into it,” Karrde said. “See what I can find out.” He lifted an eyebrow slightly. “Cash or account?”

  Han rolled his eyes. Every time he thought Karrde might actually be on the edge of doing something noble and self-sacrificing, the other always found a way to remind Han that his relationship with the New Republic was strictly professional. “I give up,” he said. “What’s it going to take to bring you over to our side, anyway?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Karrde said consideringly. “What did it take to lure you away from the carefree life of an independent trader?”

  Han made a face. “Leia,” he said.

  “Exactly,” Karrde said dryly. “Now, if she had a sister—I don’t suppose she does?”

  “Not that I know of,” Han said. “Though with the Skywalker family you never know.”

  “I won’t hold my breath,” Karrde said. “We’ll do this on account, then. We can set the price later.”

  “You’re all heart.”

  “I know,” Karrde said. “Who shall I report to, you or Luke?”

  “Better make it me,” Han said. “Luke may be out of touch; he’s gone off on a little pirate hunt of his own.”

  “Really,” Karrde said, frowning. “Who’s he going after, if I may ask?”

  “The Cavrilhu gang. He got the location of one of their bolt-holes from New Republic Intelligence—it’s an asteroid cluster in the Kauron system—and he decided to sneak in and take a look around.”

  “I see,” Karrde said. “Too late to call him back, I suppose?”

  “Probably,” Han said. “Don’t worry, Luke can take care of himself.”

  “That wasn’t the part I was worried about,” Karrde said. “I was thinking more along the lines that his sudden appearance might chase them underground where we can’t get at them at all.”

  “Well, if they scare that easily, they can’t be much of a threat, can they?” Han suggested.

  “I su
ppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Karrde paused, and a shadow seemed to pass over his face. “Speaking of Luke, how is he doing these days?”

  Han studied the smuggler, trying to decipher his suddenly changed expression. “All right, I guess,” he said cautiously. “Why?”

  “A feeling,” Karrde said. “Mara’s been oddly restive lately, and seemed a bit touchy for a while after we ran into Leia on Wayland. I thought it might have something to do with him.”

  “Funny you should bring that up,” Han said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I got that same feeling about Luke the last time I mentioned Mara to him. Coincidence?”

  “Perhaps,” Karrde said. “On the other hand, they’re both rather strong in the Force. Maybe there’s something going on there that they’re both sensing.”

  “Could be,” Han said slowly. Though that wouldn’t explain the other stuff Luke seemed to have been going through at Iphigin. Would it? “These clones, maybe?”

  Karrde shrugged. “I’ll try to talk to her about it. Maybe find a way to get the two of them together.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a while since they’ve talked,” Han agreed. “I’ll try to work on Luke at this end when he gets back.”

  “Good,” Karrde said. “In the meantime, I’d better get on this pirate matter. Tell Leia good-bye for me, if you would, and tell her I’ll be in touch.”

  “Sure,” Han said. “Happy hunting.”

  Karrde smiled, and the display went blank.

  Han leaned back in his chair, gazing darkly at nothing in particular. Caamas. It was, as he’d said to Karrde, all that the New Republic needed right now.

  Because it wasn’t just Caamas, though Caamas by itself was certainly bad enough. The bigger problem was that dragging Caamas back into the light again was going to dredge up memories of a thousand other atrocities that had been inflicted by one group or another over the years. Old grudges, old feuds, old conflicts—the galaxy was riddled with them. It was what had made it possible for people like Karrde—and him and Chewie, for that matter—to make a good living at smuggling. There were so many sides of so many conflicts for smugglers to sell stuff to.

  For the last couple of decades the need for a common resistance to the Empire had kept most of those resentments buried under the surface. But not anymore. The Imperial threat was so small now as to be laughable. If this Caamas thing got all those old problems boiling to the surface again …

  He started as the door to his left hissed open. “Hi,” Leia said softly as she came into the room.

  “Oh. Hi,” Han said, scrambling to his feet and throwing a belated look at the intercom display. Engrossed first with Karrde and then with his own thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed Leia’s guests departing. “Sorry—I got distracted.”

  “That’s all right,” Leia said, stepping into his arms for a quick hug.

  Or not so quick. She remained there, pressing close to him, holding him tightly. “I just talked to Karrde,” Han said, her hair tickling his lips. “He told me what you found out about Caamas.”

  “We’re in trouble, Han,” Leia said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “They don’t realize it yet, most of them. But this could be the biggest threat the New Republic has ever faced. It could literally tear us apart.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Han soothed her, feeling just a tiny bit smug despite the seriousness of the moment. Most of the Senators in there hadn’t spotted the danger of the Caamas thing, but he had. “We got through that Almania rebellion okay, didn’t we?”

  “It isn’t the same,” Leia said. “Kueller was a troubled man lashing out around him, and the New Republic was trying to stop him without looking to everyone like we were becoming a new version of the Empire. What Caamas is going to do is polarize good, honest people, all of whom genuinely want justice but differ violently as to what that justice should consist of.”

  “It’ll still be okay,” Han insisted, taking her by her upper arms and pushing her far enough away to peer sternly into her eyes. “Let’s not give up before we even get started, okay?”

  He stopped, a sudden horrible suspicion digging into him. “Unless,” he added slowly, “it’s already over. Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I don’t know,” Leia said, her eyes slipping away from his gaze. “I’m sensing something about the coming days. A—I don’t know—a crisis point, I suppose, where something vitally important could go either of two ways.”

  “About Caamas?” Han asked.

  “I don’t know,” Leia sighed. “I’ve tried meditating, but so far I haven’t been able to get anything more. All I know is that it started when I met Karrde on Wayland and we read the Caamas datacard.”

  “Mm,” Han said, wishing now that he’d tried to talk Luke out of his private pirate hunt. He might have been able to help Leia focus this feeling of hers. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll get it. A little quiet time—a little husbandly affection—and it’ll pop right out at you.”

  Leia smiled at him, some of the tension leaving her face as she did so. “Is that what you want right now? A little wifely affection?”

  “First thing I want is to get you out of here,” Han told her, taking her arm and starting her toward the door. “You need some peace and quiet; and once the kids get back from their classes, there’ll be precious little of either. Let’s grab it while we can.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Leia sighed. “I don’t imagine they’re doing anything out there right now except arguing about justice and revenge. They can do that without my help.”

  “Sure,” Han said. “Nothing important’s going to happen in the galaxy for the next hour.”

  “You sure?”

  Han squeezed her arm reassuringly. “I absolutely guarantee it.”

  There was a flicker from the bridge lights, and through the viewports the mottled sky of hyperspace faded away.

  But not into the usual pattern of starlines. This time when the mottled sky vanished, it vanished into total blackness.

  And into total blindness.

  For a long moment Captain Nalgol gazed out the Tyrannic’s viewport at the emptiness, fighting against the queasy feeling of vulnerability. True, jumping his Imperial Star Destroyer while cloaked had brought them into the Bothawui system completely blind and deaf, which was a potentially disastrous position for a combat ship to be in. But in this case, of course, the cloaking shield also worked the other way, concealing them from their enemies. Still, all other things being equal, it wasn’t a trade-off he would have voluntarily chosen to make.

  “Report from the hangar bay,” the fighter control officer called. “Scout ships are away.”

  “Acknowledged,” Nalgol said, scanning as much of the blackness out there as he could see without moving his head—it wouldn’t look good for the bridge crew to see him looking back and forth at nothing. He caught a glimpse of one of the drive flares coming out from beneath the hull; and then the scout crossed the cloaking shield boundary and vanished.

  He took a deep breath, wondering yet again what in the Empire he and the others were doing here. Sitting there in Moff Disra’s office with Trazzen and Argona and Dorja, it had all sounded reasonable enough. Out here in the wilds of the Bothawui system, millions of kilometers from anywhere, it didn’t seem nearly as clever anymore.

  On the other hand, how many of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s schemes had ever looked even vaguely reasonable until they were sprung on the enemy?

  Nalgol snorted under his breath. He’d never served directly beneath Thrawn, or any of the Emperor’s other Grand Admirals for that matter, so he’d never been able to form a personal opinion of their skills. Still, even viewed from the edges of Thrawn’s war machine where the Tyrannic’s duty had taken it most of that time, Nalgol had to admit the Empire had been doing pretty well while the Grand Admiral was in command. Before he’d been murdered by that Noghri traitor Rukh.

  Or had apparently been murdered. That had been a nifty little sleight of hand. How had he pulled i
t off, anyway?

  More to the point, why had he been lying low all these years, letting incompetent megalomaniacal fools like Admiral Daala bleed the Empire of resources without gaining anything to show for it?

  And why, now that he was back, had he linked up with Moff Disra, of all people?

  Nalgol grimaced to himself. He’d never liked Disra. Had never really trusted the man, for one thing—he’d always struck Nalgol as the type who would fight viciously to keep his share of the scraps of the Empire rather than watch it grow to someone else’s advantage. If Thrawn had thrown in with him, maybe he wasn’t as smart as legend had it.

  Of course, Dorja had vouched firmly for the Grand Admiral, both for his character and his military genius. But then, Argona just as firmly vouched for the competence of Disra himself. So what did any of them know?

  But at least it was Thrawn back there. The genetic analysis he’d done had confirmed that beyond the whisper of a doubt. It was Thrawn, and everyone said he was a genius. He would just have to hope they were right.

  A movement to the left caught his attention, and he turned to see one of the scout ships cut across the edge of the cloaking shield, changing course to stay inside it. “Well?” Nalgol demanded.

  “We’re nearly on top of it, sir,” the comm officer reported. “A small course change and we’ll be there.”

  “Feed the course to the helm,” Nalgol ordered, though if that hadn’t already been done he was going to be angry. “Helm, get us moving. Comm, what about the Obliterator and Ironhand?”

  “Our scouts have made contact with theirs, sir,” the fighter control officer said. “They’re coordinating our courses to make sure we don’t bump into each other.”

  “They had better,” Nalgol warned icily. Skulking around out here blind and deaf was bad enough; it would be the height of professional humiliation if the three Star Destroyers managed to fumble their sightless way into collisions with each other. All the more so if the cloaking shields went down and the spectacle was laid bare right out in the open for all of Bothawui system to see.