by Timothy Zahn
“The reappearance of Grand Admiral Thrawn is hardly a ‘supposed’ threat, Senator Dx’ono,” Miatamia countered with typical Diamalan calm. “Merely because he was stopped the last time before reaching any Ishori worlds does not guarantee your safety should he be allowed the freedom to advance again.”
“Do not accuse me of thinking only of my own worlds,” Dx’ono shot back. “The Ishori seek the safety of all peoples in the New Republic. But at the same time we also demand justice for those peoples.”
“The Diamala people support all forms of justice,” Miatamia said. “We merely do not consider blind revenge to be justice.”
“Only a blind observer would consider our demands to be revenge,” Dx’ono snarled. “But that is not the issue here,” he added quickly as the tip of Gavrisom’s wing moved toward the cutoff switch. “The issue is that you have made a statement to this chamber which conveniently adds weight and thrust to your political side, but which is unsupported by any independent sources.”
“Do you not consider former General Lando Calrissian to be an independent source?” Miatamia asked.
“By your own testimony he came to you asking for Diamalan military assistance,” Dx’ono barked. “Given that, do you really expect us to consider his words unbiased?”
“On behalf of Captain Calrissian, I resent the implications of that statement, Senator,” Leia said, finding herself on her feet. “He’s been a stalwart friend and ally, both of the New Republic and the Rebel Alliance before that. If Lando says he saw Thrawn, then he did.”
“Once he was a friend and ally,” Dx’ono retorted. “Once he was also a smuggler and gambler, experienced at cheating and lying to obtain what he wanted. Now he is a businessman, running a suboceanic mining operation whose profits depend on his obtaining Diamalan assistance. So tell us, Councilor Organa Solo: which of his two backgrounds is he drawing on?”
Leia looked over at Lando, sitting grim-faced and silent behind Gavrisom. “I’ve known Lando for sixteen years,” she said quietly. “I will vouch personally for his character.”
“Fine,” Dx’ono said with a snort. “You may vouch for him all you like, Councilor. Suppose then, for sake of argument, that he saw a person on that Star Destroyer. But was it Thrawn, or was it something else?”
Leia frowned, trying to read his thoughts across the chamber. But all she could get was the outward anger, masking everything beneath it. “Are you suggesting that the Empire faked the meeting?”
“It could well have been a fake,” the Ishori said, glaring at Miatamia. “But I do not necessarily put the blame on the Empire. We all know that there are numerous Imperial Star Destroyers within New Republic territory—some even in private hands, if rumors are to be believed. And as I have already pointed out, the message that was supposedly delivered by this supposed Thrawn conveniently supports the Diamalan stance on the Bothan issue. Coincidence? Or careful manipulation?”
“The ability to manipulate his enemies was one of Thrawn’s greatest talents,” Fey’lya put in.
“A talent not unique to him,” Dx’ono snapped. “The Bothans, for one example, are also masters of the art. So are the Diamala.”
“The man in the Grand Admiral’s uniform knew about my visit to Myrkr ten years ago,” Lando said. “The only people who were there at that time were Thrawn and his stormtrooper escort.”
“Not true,” Dx’ono shot back. “By your own statement, former General Solo was also there.”
Leia felt a sudden stirring of anger. “Are you suggesting—?”
“As was also,” Dx’ono continued, cutting Leia off with a dark look, “the smuggler Talon Karrde.”
Leia threw a glance at Lando. “Karrde wouldn’t be a part of anything like this,” she insisted.
“Wouldn’t he?” Dx’ono demanded. “Unlike Captain Calrissian, this Karrde has never even claimed any loyalty to the New Republic. He’s a smuggler and seller of information, a man whose only concern and loyalty are to profit and gain.”
The Ishori drew himself up a little taller, a finger stabbing out accusingly toward Leia. “And a man, furthermore, whose chief links to Coruscant have been to such people as Captain Calrissian and you yourself, Councilor Organa Solo. So now tell us: where exactly do you stand on the Bothan issue?”
The question took Leia completely by surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked, trying to stall for time.
“You know what I mean,” Dx’ono snarled. “Tell us where you stand, Councilor Organa Solo. Do you believe that full reparations and justice should be demanded of the Bothans? Or do you, like the Diamalan Senator, prefer to allow their horrific crime to go unpunished? Perhaps even enough to create a situation that would force this chamber to that decision?”
“We know where she stands,” another angry voice called out. “Did not her bondedmate Han Solo fire on a peaceable protest at the Clans Building on Bothawui?”
“That has not been proved, Senator Shibatthi,” Gavrisom broke in sternly, coming to Leia’s rescue. “And your accusations are likewise uncalled for, Senator Dx’ono. As I’ve already said, this is not the time nor the place for yet another debate on the Caamas issue. Both of you be seated, please.”
But the damage had already been done, Leia realized as she sat down again. In a single masterful stroke, Dx’ono had not only cast serious doubt on Miatamia’s story but also managed to undermine her own credibility as well. From now on, any attempt she made to defend either Lando or the Diamalan Senator would merely feed into the suspicions he had just planted.
Infighting, suspicions, divisiveness. Yes, it was indeed Thrawn’s style.
“This seems a good time to move on to the Admiralty’s report on the overall military situation in the New Republic,” Gavrisom continued. “Admiral Drayson?”
The admiral stepped to the podium beside Gavrisom; and as he did, a discreet flicker of light caught Leia’s eye. The small green comm indicator on her chair arm was flashing.
She frowned, throwing a surreptitious glance around the chamber. No one but her family and closest aides were supposed to have this comm frequency, and they all had strict instructions that it was to be used only in an emergency. But in that case they were also supposed to key the indicator to a three-flash pattern, and at the moment it was merely blinking steadily.
Stifling a flash of annoyance, she activated her chair’s privacy field. Drayson’s voice dropped to a tenth of its normal volume as she swiveled the comm display up from its storage position along the side of her armrest. If this was Anakin asking if he could open a new package of cookies, she promised herself darkly as she touched the switch, he was going to be grounded for a week. “Leia Organa Solo.”
But it wasn’t Anakin. “Hello, Leia,” Talon Karrde said, nodding politely. “I hope I’m not calling at too inconvenient a moment.”
Reflexively, Leia pulled the display as close to her as she could. Of all the awkward times for him to call—“As a matter of fact, it is inconvenient,” she told him shortly. “I’m in the middle of a Senate meeting.”
“Then I’ll make it short,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was too smart, and knew her too well, not to know there was more to it than just that. “I have a personal message to deliver to you, one which I’d rather not put on even an encrypted channel. Unfortunately, one of the line directors at Coruscant Space Control feels that I shouldn’t be permitted to land.”
Leia frowned, Dx’ono’s accusations echoing through her mind. But how could word have gotten out so fast? “Do you have his name?”
“Just his bureaucratic operating number: KTR-44875,” Karrde said. “He wouldn’t even give me that, incidentally; I had to pull it off his ID plate. He’s an Ishori, if that helps any.”
Leia grimaced. That explained how the word had gotten out so fast. “It does,” she told Karrde. “The Ishori Senator has just finished accusing you and Lando of conspiring with the Diamala to get the Bothans off the hook on the Caamas matter. He tried to rope me i
n on it, too, just for good measure.”
“I see,” Karrde said, pursing his lips. “And so of course here I am, calling on you for help. My apologies for the bad timing.”
“It’s not your fault,” Leia said, glaring over the top of the display at the chamber and its hundreds of human and alien faces staring down in her direction. She was not going to let them dictate who her friends and associates could be. “You tell this Ishori line director that I’m giving you permission to land—I’ll transmit the order as soon as you’re off the comm. You’re in the Wild Karrde?”
“Yes,” Karrde said. “But I could come down in a shuttle if you think that would be more politic.”
Leia snorted. “Ruffled feelings are the least of my worries at the moment. Do you know where the West Championne landing field is? It’s about two hundred kilometers south of the Imperial Palace, near the Manarai Mountains.”
“I have it on the map,” Karrde confirmed, eyeing her closely. “Is this something new, or has the Caamas debate simply taken a more vicious turn?”
“I don’t know yet,” Leia said. “It could be either, depending on who you listen to. We have a place on the thirtieth floor of Orowood Tower, about twenty kilometers east of the landing field. I’ll call the Noghri caretakers and have them let you in; we’ll be out there as soon as I can get away tonight.”
“Sounds cozy,” he said, still gazing thoughtfully at her. “Not to mention secluded.”
“It is,” Leia agreed, wincing slightly. It wasn’t hard to guess his thoughts: that despite her protestations to the contrary, she didn’t want to risk being seen with him anywhere near the Imperial Palace. “You’ll understand why I want to meet there when I tell you what’s happened.”
“Of course,” he said equably. “Would it be all right if I used the comm and data retrieval equipment at your retreat until you arrive? Just to keep myself amused, of course?”
Leia smiled. “And to see what you can dig out of the government archives?”
He shrugged. “I might learn something new. You never know.”
“I’m sure it’s harder for you to learn something you didn’t already know than it is for most of us,” Leia said dryly. “All right, I’ll clear it with the Noghri when I call them.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you later. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
With a sigh, she keyed off the comm. Infighting, suspicions, divisiveness. Yes, it was Thrawn’s style, all right. She could only wonder what he had planned for them next.
Switching the comm back on again, she keyed for Coruscant Space Control.
All in all, Carib Devist thought as he gazed across the colorful fields of tallgrain rippling across Dorchess Valley, it had been a good day.
It really had. The oppressive summer sun that blazed so steadily down onto Pakrik Minor during the growing season had been hiding coyly behind clouds for most of the day, giving relief from the usual heat. The clouds hadn’t burned off until late afternoon, just in time for the sun to disappear for an hour and a half behind Pakrik Minor’s far more densely populated sister world of Pakrik Major. By the time it had reemerged the extra heat was actually almost welcome.
There were still some problems in the fields themselves, of course, but that was all part of a farmer’s life. Carib and his brothers had had to drive out yet another colony of worms that had tried to make their home among the interlocked tallgrain roots, and had had to deal with a spot of white-blight that could have wiped out the entire crop within days if it hadn’t been caught. But it had been caught, and the worms had been rooted out, and none of the droids had broken down or even gone cranky, and the crops were actually ahead of growing schedule for a change.
No, it had been a good day; and as Carib propped his feet up to point toward the magnificent sunset and sipped at a well-earned glass of R’alla mineral water he decided that it was indeed good to be alive.
A motion to his right caught his eye: his brother Sabmin coming toward the house in that battered old landspeeder of his. Lacy had probably invited Sabmin and his family over to dinner—she was always forgetting to tell him things like that.
But no. Sabmin was alone in the vehicle … and as the landspeeder came closer Carib could make out the expression on his brother’s face …
He was waiting at the foot of the path by the time Sabmin brought the landspeeder to a dusty halt. “What’s wrong?” he asked without preamble.
“It’s happened,” Sabmin said, his voice a husky whisper. “I was up at the cave and—well, it’s happened.”
Carib glanced back up the path at the house. Lacy was visible in the kitchen window, carefully pulling the dinner roast out of the focus cooker. “Walk with me,” he said.
He led the way down the path toward the edge of the fields. “You confirmed the message was legitimate?” he asked.
“First thing,” Sabmin said soberly. “It carried all the proper Imperial codes.”
Carib winced. It had been a long time since the word “Imperial” had been used in this part of Pakrik Minor. “Then I guess it’s time,” he said, a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. After ten years of quiet waiting, they were once again being called to service. “Have you said anything to the others yet?”
“No, I came straight here,” Sabmin said. “But there’s more.” He glanced around, as if afraid someone might be listening from among the neat rows of tallgrain. “The activation order came in over the name of Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
Carib felt his jaw drop. “That’s impossible,” he hissed. “Thrawn is dead.”
“That’s what everyone said,” Sabmin agreed soberly. “All I know is that his name is on the order.”
They had reached the first row of stalks now. “It could be a lie,” Carib said, turning sideways to ease between the rows, sniffing the familiar sour-musky aroma rising around him as his tanned leatheris vest brushed across the leaves. “Or else a trick.”
“Hardly a trick they could keep up,” Sabmin pointed out. “Even using old holo-recordings of him in transmissions wouldn’t fool anyone for long.”
“True,” Carib said, stopping beside a nearly ripe stalk and touching a finger to the tallgrain string peeking coyly from a gap in its sheath. Grand Admiral Thrawn, who had turned around five years of steady decline and brought the Empire to within sight of total victory. “You realize, of course, that this could change everything.”
“I don’t see how,” Sabmin said. “The fact still remains that we were planted here for the express purpose of being ready to cause havoc if and when we were called to do so.” He stroked the tallgrain string. “Well, the planting took root, the crop has ripened … and now they’re calling for the harvest.”
“Yes,” Carib said, dropping his hand back to his side. A harvest of terror and sudden death and destruction, almost certainly directed at the ripe fruit that was Pakrik Major hanging overhead. Pakrik Major, and the annual sector-wide conference that had just gotten under way in the capital. A long-delayed strike against the traitors of the Rebellion, courtesy of the Empire. “But that’s not my point,” he told Sabmin. “My point is that if Thrawn is really back in command, then whatever we’re ordered to do won’t be simply a grand but meaningless gesture of suicidal defiance. If Thrawn is back, then the Empire might just win.”
Sabmin whistled softly. “You’re right,” he murmured. “I hadn’t even thought about it that way.”
“Well, you’d better start thinking about it that way,” Carib warned. “And we’d better make sure the others do, too. Any idea when the last maintenance check was done on the TIEs?”
“Not more than a month ago,” Sabmin said. “I think it was Dobrow who ran it. You want to talk with him tonight?”
“I want to talk with everyone tonight,” Carib said, sidling out of the tallgrain rows and starting back up toward the house. “My place, in two hours.”
“We can try,” Sabmin said, falling into a probably unconscious military step beside him.
“Tabric and Hovarb may not be able to make it, though—three of their gornts went into labor this afternoon.”
“The gornts can have their litters by themselves,” Carib said shortly. “This is important.”
Sabmin threw him a frown. “Oh, come on, Carib, aren’t you overreacting just a little? It’s an activation order, not a full-blown attack plan.”
“If Thrawn is in charge, there won’t be a lot of time between the two,” Carib growled. “Whatever he’s up to, he’ll have his timetable shaved down to the half second.”
They walked the rest of the way to Sabmin’s vehicle in silence. “All right, I’ll tell them,” Sabmin said as he climbed in. “They’ll be here.”
Carib sighed. “Let’s make it your place instead,” he suggested. “It’s only three minutes by landspeeder from there to their barn. They can get back in plenty of time if anything goes wrong with the labor.”
Sabmin smiled tightly. “Thanks, Carib. We’ll see you there.”
CHAPTER
21
“There’s Lando,” Leia said, pointing out the canopy as Han set their Incom T-81 down on the Orowood Tower’s third-level airspeeder pad. “Over there, by the entryway, behind that red cloud car.”
“Yeah, I see him,” Han grunted, shutting down the repulsorlifts. “I still think this is a bad idea, Leia.”
“I know you do,” Leia said, taking a moment to look past the lighted landing area at the darkened shrubbery perimeter beyond it. There was no one visible, either to her eyes or her Jedi senses. “And I can’t say I completely disagree with you. But he insisted on coming.”
“You’d just better hope Dx’ono didn’t get wind of it and have someone follow him here,” Han growled, popping the canopy. “You get someone yelling ‘secret meeting’ and we’ll all have had it.”
“I know,” Leia said, climbing out of the airspeeder and looking around. There were some airspeeder running lights visible in the sky around them, and the various roads crisscrossing the area around the Tower were carrying their usual quota of landspeeders. None of the vehicles seemed to be particularly heading their direction.
