by Timothy Zahn
But there were the darkened windows of one of the Tower’s five tapcafes gazing down on them from the fourth floor, not to mention all the windows of the apartments stretching up into the night sky. If one of those windows concealed someone with a set of macrobinoculars …
Han clearly had already had the same thought. “We’d better get inside,” he muttered, taking her arm. “Come on, Threepio, move it.”
“Yes, sir,” the golden-skinned droid said hastily, levering himself awkwardly out of the back of the airspeeder and shuffling quickly behind them. That was the first time Threepio had said anything, Leia realized suddenly, since they’d left the Imperial Palace. Had he picked up on Han’s mood, and was trying to make himself inconspicuous? Or had he been brooding on his own memories of Thrawn’s last bid for power?
Lando emerged from his half concealment as they approached. “Han; Leia,” he nodded to them. His usual smile of greeting, Leia noted, was conspicuously absent. “Where’s Karrde?”
“He’s already here,” Leia told him as Han keyed the entryway lock. “The Noghri let him in.”
“Good.” Hunching his shoulders beneath his cloak, Lando threw one last look back into the darkness as he followed Leia in.
Thirty-eight stories tall, the Orowood Tower had originally been planned to be the nucleus of an elaborate and extensive colony of Alderaanians who had been off-planet when the first Death Star destroyed their world. But though the architects had painstakingly crafted every facet of the Tower to fit the Alderaanian style, Coruscant’s crowds and near-total land development were simply too alien to their life view for most of the refugees to feel comfortable living there.
Though the rest of the project had been abandoned, there had been hopes that enough Alderaanians would remain on Coruscant to keep the Tower itself occupied, particularly given its spectacular view of the Manarai Mountains. But that final dream had been dealt its death blow by Grand Admiral Thrawn’s short-lived but terrifying siege of the planet. When the siege was finally lifted, virtually all the Alderaanians left Coruscant, going to New Alderaan or scattering out among the stars. As one of them had explained to Leia, they had been lucky enough to escape the destruction of one world, and had no desire to settle on an even more tempting target.
And so the grand experiment had settled into vague obscurity, joining the host of other residential centers clustered beneath the mountains, most of which provided secondary or vacation homes to rich industrialists and government officials. Offworlders and aliens, most of whom had never even heard of the fabled oro woods of Alderaan, let alone ever walked among them.
Over the years, the ache of that irony had mostly faded from Leia’s heart. Mostly.
The turbolift operated with the typical quiet efficiency of Alderaanian construction, depositing them into the lush garden scene that comprised the thirtieth-floor lobby. No one was visible among the fronds and rock-pile water trickles; but then, no one was supposed to be. “Barkhimkh?” Leia called softly.
“I am here, Lady Vader,” Barkhimkh’s voice mewed from across the lobby. There was a rustle from the fronds, and the Noghri warrior stepped into view beside the archway that opened into the corridor leading to their apartment. “All is quiet.”
“Thank you,” Leia said.
“Make sure you keep it that way,” Han added as they crossed the lobby.
Barkhimkh bowed his head. “I obey, Han clan Solo.”
Karrde was lounging in a Plash self-molding contour chair in the apartment’s conversation circle, a datapad in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other, as Han keyed the door open. “Ah—there you are,” the smuggler said, closing the datapad and levering himself out of the chair as they filed inside. “I was just thinking of asking Sakhisakh to try contacting you.”
“We got a later start than I’d expected,” Leia explained. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Karrde assured them. “The children aren’t with you?”
“They just left this morning with Chewie to go visit his family on Kashyyyk,” Leia told him. “With all that’s been happening lately, I thought it would be better for them to be there.”
“Between their Noghri guard and a planetful of Wookiees it’s hard to imagine anyplace safer,” Karrde agreed. “Hello, Calrissian. Nice to see you again.”
“Yes,” Lando said. “Though you may not think so when we tell you why you’re here.”
Karrde’s expression didn’t change, but Leia could feel a tightening of his emotions. “Really,” he said easily. “Let’s dispense with the formalities, then. Sit down and tell me all about it.”
“I’m sorry,” the screening system at the other end of the comm said in its maddeningly pleasant mechanical voice. “Communication with the residence you request is restricted. I cannot connect you without a proper authorization code.”
“Tell Councilor Organa Solo that it’s an emergency,” Shada said, putting the most intimidating official tone into her voice that she could as she gazed out the tapcafe window at the Solos’ Incom T-81, sitting there on the Orowood Tower’s third-floor landing pad. “I’m calling under the authorization of Admiral Drayson of New Republic Intelligence.”
The screening system remained unfazed. “I’m sorry, but I cannot connect you without a proper authorization code,” it repeated.
Grimacing, Shada keyed the comm off. That had been the last verbal gambit in her repertoire, and it had done nothing but get her the same runaround. The same thing every time she tried, and she was beginning to get very tired of it.
She’d tried the polite, official way first: calling Councilor Organa Solo’s office at the Imperial Palace and—when the screeners there wouldn’t let her through, either—trying to get into the massive governmental building itself. But with no official status or business or connections to call on, she’d hit meter-thick transparisteel walls at every turn. She’d tried calling the Solos’ main home outside the palace next, with the same results. And now she’d tried to get through to them at their Manarai Mountain retreat, again with no luck.
And with each rebuff, her obviously idealized vision of the New Republic had crumbled a little bit more. She’d hoped they would have more to offer her than the life with the Mistryl that she’d just turned her back on. It was starting to look more and more like she’d been mistaken.
But there was nothing to do now but continue what she’d started. If for no other reason than that there was nowhere left for her to go.
So all right. She’d tried it the polite way and gotten nowhere. Now she would try it the Mistryl way.
The Tower’s second-floor shopping complex was quite extensive, and it took her no more than five minutes to collect the three items she needed. One minute after that, armed with a length of brocaded white ribbon, a cheap datapad, and a bottle of equally cheap but awesomely strong dodbri whiskey, she was in the turbolift heading up.
It would be a short ride, she knew, but she already had the details mapped out in her mind and set to work with no wasted motions. Popping the cap off the whiskey, she splashed a little of the potent concoction onto the collar of her slightly bedraggled ankle-length dress and then sipped a little into her mouth. Wincing at the tingle, she swished it around while she poured the rest of the bottle into the decorative flower boxes that ran around the upper part of the car. She spat her mouthful back into the bottle, glad to be rid of it, then turned her attention to the ribbon. The traditional Coruscant wedding hairbow was tricky to tie, but she knew a variant that was quick and simple and looked enough like the real thing to fool anyone but an experienced observer.
By the time the doors opened onto the Tower’s rooftop observation deck, she was ready for her performance. Bottle clutched in one hand, datapad in the other, she stepped out of the car and threw a casual and calculatedly unsteady look around. No one was visible among the deserted tables and chairs and decorative shrubbery. But then, the group of personal guards that surrounded Councilor Organa Solo seldom were.
Getting a fresh grip on her bottle, she set off in a staggering walk for the edge of the roof.
The guard she knew had to be there hadn’t made his appearance by the time she reached the chin-high latticework guardrail set into a solid knee-high base. “So fine, Ravis,” she muttered to herself in a slurred and despondent voice as she dropped the bottle and datapad onto the roof beside the guardrail. “You don’ wanna, huh? Fine. I can get outta your lif’, if tha’s what you wan’. I can get all the way out—”
She broke off with a single underplayed sob. Digging her fingers into the holes of the lattice, she pressed herself against the barrier and twisted her head sideways to peer over and down at the ground below, her senses alert. There was a single whisper of sound from behind her, and then nothing.
So they were going to need more from her before they made any move. Fine; she could oblige them. Extracting her fingers from the guardrail, continuing to sob softly under her breath, she retrieved the datapad and set it down on a nearby chair, propping it up to be clearly visible. With slightly fumbling fingers she pulled the wedding bow out of her hair, kissed it theatrically, and placed it down in front of the datapad. She took another moment to carefully arrange the two items together; then, squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and stepped back to the roof edge. Gripping the lattice again, she climbed up onto the base and swung one leg over the top of the guardrail.
Or rather, tried to. Even as she swung the leg up she heard another whisper of sound, and a hand suddenly grabbed her waist sash, tugging her backward and forcing her to bring her leg back down to maintain her balance. “Do not do this,” a gravelly catlike voice mewed softly from behind her.
“Le’ me go,” Shada moaned, letting go of the lattice with her left hand and slapping ineffectually at his arm. “Le’ me go. He doesn’ care ’bout me—he sai’ so. He doesn’ wan’ me anymore. Le’ me go.”
“This is not the way,” the Noghri said, pulling her gently but firmly. “Come inside and we will speak.”
“Done wi’ talking,” Shada muttered, half turning to look down at him and making sure he could smell the whiskey on her breath as she threw a quick glance over the rooftop. No one else was visible. “Please—le’ me go,” she pleaded, grabbing the lattice again with her left hand and pulling upward against his grip. “Please.”
“No,” the Noghri repeated, pulling back with more strength than she would have thought a creature that small could manage. Her fingers strained against the pull—
And without warning she let go, spinning halfway around as she fell straight at him.
The Noghri was fast, all right. By the time she’d rotated far enough around to see him he’d already moved a step to the side to get out of her way. His free arm came up, ready to catch her shoulders and break her fall—
And as she fell into that wiry grip, her hand jabbed hard into the side of his throat. Without a sound, his legs buckled beneath him and they collapsed together onto the rooftop.
For a few seconds she lay there, still sobbing drunkenly, her eyes darting around the rooftop for signs of a backup. But the Noghri was apparently up here alone.
Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t checked in before rushing off to save the despondent drunk bent on self-destruction. If he had, she didn’t have much time. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have much more.
Stripping off the dress that had concealed her combat jumpsuit, keeping one eye on the turbolift door, she set to work.
Karrde turned his glass around in his hand, his eyes on the remains of his drink as it swirled partway up the side in response to the movement. “You’re sure about all this,” he said.
“I’m sure,” Lando said positively. “I searched through what we’ve got of the old Imperial archives and found every recording they had of Thrawn. There wasn’t much, but it definitely looked and sounded like the man I saw.”
“Which doesn’t mean it couldn’t be a trick,” Han put in, throwing a surreptitious look at Leia. If Karrde’s attitude was all an act—if he was secretly behind this Thrawn sighting of Lando’s—then she ought to have pulled the proof of that from his mind by now.
But her face had the same grim expression that had been there when Lando first started his story; and even as he watched, her eyes shifted to his and she shook her head microscopically in response to his unspoken question.
Han had thought they were being subtle enough. Apparently not. “I take it I’m under some suspicion here,” Karrde continued, still studying his glass. “And not just from the Ishori and their allies. Have I passed the test?”
Han looked at Leia again in time to see her lip twitch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For whatever it’s worth, I had no doubts myself.”
“Thank you.” Karrde smiled slightly at Han and Lando. “I won’t embarrass either of you by asking if you shared the Councilor’s confidence.”
“I don’t like taking anything for granted,” Han told him. “It’s not like you’ve ever sworn allegiance to the New Republic or anything.”
Karrde inclined his head. “You’re right, of course. My apologies.”
He shifted his gaze to Lando. “All right, then. Let’s begin with the assumption we’re all hoping is true: namely, that you were the victim of a clever trick. First question: how was it done?”
“Shouldn’t be all that hard,” Han said. “Some facial surgery to make this guy look like Thrawn, then just add in some skin, hair, and eye coloring.”
“Facial surgery usually leaves distinctive marks,” Lando pointed out. “I know what to look for, and they weren’t there. Besides, what about the voice?”
“What about the voice?” Han asked. “Voices can be faked, too, you know. We did it ourselves with Threepio once, remember?”
“If the voice was really that accurate, it could have been a human replica droid,” Karrde suggested. “Like the one Prince Xizor of Black Sun used to have.”
Lando shook his head. “It wasn’t just the voice, Karrde. Or the face, or anything else you could look at. It was—I don’t know. There was a presence there, a hidden power and confidence I don’t think any droid could fake. It was him. It had to be.”
“Could it have been a clone, then?” Karrde persisted. “Thrawn could easily have taken one or more of the cloning tanks out of Mount Tantiss before it was destroyed.”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too,” Leia said. “It could also explain where the clones Luke sensed at Iphigin came from.”
“A clone of Thrawn would be dangerous enough,” Lando agreed tightly. “But turn it around a minute. Couldn’t it just as easily have been a clone sitting on the Chimaera’s bridge at Bilbringi? What if Thrawn had anticipated everything that was going to happen—everything—and made the necessary arrangements?”
Karrde swished his drink around a little more in his glass. “Then why did he sit back and let the Empire collapse when his leadership could very likely have saved it?” he asked. “No. If he really was alive, he must have been incapacitated by his wound and gone off somewhere to heal.”
“That’s pretty much what he implied to Miatamia and me,” Lando agreed. “He implied he’d been off recovering.”
“Unless that’s just what he wanted you to think,” Leia warned. “Maybe he was simply off doing something else instead.”
“Instead of protecting the Empire?” Han objected. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Abruptly Karrde set his glass down on the low table beside his chair. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s assume the worst case: that that really was Thrawn you saw, and that he’s back and out for blood. Why suddenly make an appearance now? And why just to you and Senator Miatamia instead of all of Coruscant?”
“Probably to create exactly the situation we’re now in,” Leia said. “The tension level in the Senate has jumped straight to the ceiling, with a tremendous amount of animosity and suspicion being focused on the Diamala. And, by extension, to everyone on that side of the Caamas issue.”
&nbs
p; “With a hint that Gavrisom might not want to resolve the crisis thrown in just to stir things up a little more,” Lando added. “I hear some of the Senators are already complaining that he’s been dragging his hooves on the whole question of reparations for the Caamasi.”
Han grimaced. The Bothans’ financial crisis … “He’s doing the best he can,” he told Lando.
“Maybe,” Lando said darkly. “But it strikes me that there are a lot of other ways Thrawn could have stirred up the government if that was all he wanted.”
“What else could he want?” Karrde asked. “He surely wouldn’t be foolish enough to take on the entire New Republic. Not with only eight sectors’ worth of resources at his disposal.”
“Maybe he’s found a new superweapon the Emperor had stashed away somewhere,” Lando suggested ominously. “Another Death Star—a completed one this time—or maybe another Sun Crusher. Or something even more dangerous.”
Karrde shook his head. “Farfetched. If there was something like that out there, we surely would have heard of it by now.”
“There’s another point that needs to be made here,” Leia said. “You talked about him taking on the entire New Republic; but that’s only if we could get the entire New Republic together to fight him. With the Caamas issue dividing us so strongly—and with the Empire so weak that most people don’t even think of it as a threat—that’s not a given anymore.”
“If it ever was,” Han said sourly. “There was never more than a small fraction of the galaxy actually fighting against the Empire.”
“And never more than a small fraction of the Empire fighting against us,” Lando pointed out, his eyes on Karrde. “I don’t think we realized back then just how much of their energy was going to keeping all these little planetary vendettas and rivalries from blowing up in their faces. Now we’re in that same situation; and in my opinion, we simply don’t have the resources available to take on whatever Thrawn has planned.”
