Specter of the Past

by Timothy Zahn

  “That bit about why it had to be Skywalker who went charging off to rescue Mara Jade,” she said. “You weren’t really expecting them to greet that news with shouts of joy, were you?”

  Karrde shrugged. “I didn’t expect them to be quite so upset about it, either,” he said. “Of course, to be fair, I didn’t know about Thrawn until this evening.”

  Shada shook her head. “It’s hard to believe he survived.”

  “Agreed,” Karrde said. “On the other hand, it’s equally hard to believe the Empire would pull a dangerous stunt like this purely as a bluff. Either Thrawn’s really back, or somebody somewhere has a Pure 23 hidden in his vest.”

  Shada seemed to ponder that. “Suppose this Thrawn is actually just a clone,” she said. “Would it be as skilled as the original?”

  “I suppose it would depend on how much of his tactical ability was innate and how much was learned.” Karrde considered. “And whether or not they used a flash-teaching imprint taken from Thrawn’s own mind, and how good the pattern was. I just don’t know.”

  “Because if they have one clone of Thrawn, why not fifty?” Shada went on. “And if they have fifty clones of Thrawn, why not a hundred clones of that crazy Dark Jedi Joruus C’baoth, too?”

  Karrde winced. That last possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. “Why not, indeed?”

  Shada didn’t pick up on his rhetorical question, and a dark silence descended on the airspeeder. Karrde flew mechanically, not really seeing Coruscant’s magnificent horizon-to-horizon lights.

  Or rather, seeing the total destruction of those lights superimposed on his view. Thrawn had threatened such destruction the last time he attacked the planet. This time, he might actually do it.

  They were descending toward the reassuring bulk of the Wild Karrde when Shada spoke again. “So who’s this Jorj Car’das we’re looking for?”

  With an effort, Karrde shook off the vision of a circle of Star Destroyers closing in on him. “He’s someone who used to be in the same business I am,” he told her. “Probably still is, actually.”

  “But not a competitor?” she prompted.

  “You were certainly paying attention in there,” he complimented her. “Incidentally, just out of curiosity, where in the bedroom were you hiding? I didn’t notice any place where anyone bigger than a Noghri could have been tucked away.”

  “I was on the floor, between the back bed and the wall,” she said. “A gap like that always looks smaller than it really is. If Car’das wasn’t a competitor, what was he?”

  Karrde threw her a smile. “Persistent, too. I like that in my people.”

  “Delighted to hear it,” she said. “If he wasn’t a competitor, what was he?”

  Ahead, the Wild Karrde’s hangar door was sliding open to receive them. “Ask me on the way into the Exocron system,” he told her. “Assuming we make it that far.”

  Shada snorted under her breath. “So, what, you’re asking me to risk my life on nothing but your word?”

  “You don’t have to come,” Karrde said mildly. “If you want to leave right now, you’re free to do so.”

  She looked away from him. “Thanks for the permission. I’ll stay.”

  The airspeeder settled with a muffled clunk into its slot in the Wild Karrde’s hangar. “As you choose,” Karrde said as he shut down the engines. “Out of curiosity, why exactly did you leave Mazzic?”

  She twisted her shoulders out of the restraints. “Ask me on the way out of the Exocron system,” she said sardonically. “Assuming we make it that far.”

  Without waiting for a response she popped her door and dropped feetfirst onto the deck. “I’m sure some of us will,” Karrde murmured, watching as she threaded her way between the other vehicles toward the exit.

  The only question was which ones.

  CHAPTER

  23

  This time, the alarm didn’t come in the middle of dessert. It came instead in the middle of the night.

  Wedge jerked awake, hand flailing for a cutoff switch that wasn’t where it was supposed to be. His knee twitched to the side, coming up short against something solid; and as the brief stab of pain jolted him fully awake, he remembered where he was. As per orders—and one of General Bel Iblis’s hunches—he and the rest of Rogue Squadron were sleeping in their X-wings.

  From the sound of the alarm still blaring away, the general’s hunch had apparently paid off.

  He slapped at the alarm switch, hitting it this time, and keyed the comm. “Antilles,” he snapped.

  “Full scramble,” Commander Perris’s voice snapped back. “We’ve got a panic call in from Bothawui.”

  “Terrific,” Wedge muttered, hitting his engine prestart. Trust the Bothans to ruin a good night’s sleep. “Okay, Rogues, you all heard the man. Let’s get ’em in the air.”

  There was a chorus of acknowledgments, and the whine of engine prestarts began to fill their corner of the Di’tai’ni Diplomatic Landing Circle. Someone wearing a maintenance coverall—a Trintic, probably, though it was hard to tell in the dim light—was lumbering across the field toward the X-wings, gesturing frantically at this no doubt unauthorized noise. Wedge gestured him back and keyed in his repulsorlifts. “What is it, another Clan Building riot?”

  “Get a good grip on your helmet,” Perris said grimly. “According to the Bothans, a Leresen attack force is on the way.”

  Wedge blinked. “A Leresen attack force?”

  “That’s what they say,” the fighter coordinator confirmed. “A full-class war fleet, and don’t ask me what their problem is.”

  “Pick one,” Rogue Three grumbled. “There are so many reasons nowadays to hate the Bothans.”

  “Let’s not sink to the lowest divisory here,” Wedge admonished. The X-wings were all in the air now, forming up around Wedge as they pulled for space. “Perris, where’s the general?”

  “He’s on his way up,” Perris said. “C’taunmar and her A-wings are flying escort for his shuttle, just in case. We’re going to be a few minutes behind you, though, and he said for you to go on ahead.”

  “And do what?” Rogue Five asked. “Bluff the Leresai until you get there?”

  “Sure,” Perris said dryly. “Unless, of course, the dazzling Rogue Squadron reputation routs them completely.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Rogue Five came back, just as dryly. “Isn’t it lucky for the Bothans that we and our dazzling reputation just happen to be only two systems away from them?”

  Wedge frowned. It was lucky, now that he thought about it. Suspiciously lucky, in fact. “Perris, can you pull the original order that brought us here?” he asked.

  “Already pulled,” Perris said. “According to Coruscant, the Di’tai’ni government specifically asked for General Bel Iblis to mediate this dispute with their resident non-Tai’ni workers.”

  “Any idea whether the Di’tai’ni government owes favors or large amounts of money to the Bothan government?” Rogue Nine asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Perris said thoughtfully. “A very good question, in fact.”

  “It’s my old CorSec training,” Rogue Nine said. “They taught us to always follow the money.”

  “Well, at the moment the money’s irrelevant,” Wedge said. They had reached the deeper darkness of space now, almost far enough out to make the jump to lightspeed. “We’ve been called in to defend a New Republic member from aggression, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Good luck,” Perris said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  The panel beeped: the course was set. “Okay, Rogues,” Wedge said. “Let’s go.”

  The flight to Bothawui took a little longer than that panic-call run they’d taken a week ago to bail out the Sif’kries and their pommwomm-plant shipment. Somehow, though, it felt a lot shorter. Wedge found his mind bouncing back and forth between questions of imminent Leresen aggression, possible Bothan duplicity, general galactic tension, and what in blazes his squadron was doing in t
he middle of all of it.

  And all too soon, they were there.

  “Form up,” he ordered as the rest of the X-wings came out of hyperspace around him. “Pick up your long-range scanners.”

  “I don’t think,” Rogue Two said tightly, “that that’ll be necessary.”

  Wedge grimaced. “No,” he agreed. “I guess not.”

  It was a Leresen attack force, all right. And for once it looked as if the Bothans hadn’t been exaggerating. Spread out across the sky directly ahead of the incoming X-wings were six capital ships, all of alien design and manufacture but each nearly the size of a New Republic Assault Frigate. Another twenty smaller ships filled the gaps between them, with at least five squadrons of starfighter-class ships forming a defense perimeter around the whole group.

  “Our reputation had better be really dazzling today,” Rogue Twelve muttered.

  “Cut the chatter,” Wedge told him, studying the group. They were well outside Bothawui’s planetary shield, beyond the range of any ground-based weapons the defenders were likely to have. He couldn’t remember whether or not the Bothans had any orbital battle platforms circling their homeworld, but if they did none of them were on this side of the planet at the moment.

  Which pretty much left Rogue Squadron all by itself out here. Twelve X-wings and a reputation.

  He cleared his throat and keyed the comm for a broadband common frequency. “This is General Wedge Antilles and the New Republic unit Rogue Squadron calling the Leresen task force,” he announced. “You’re encroaching without permission on Bothan space. Please state your intentions.”

  “This matter is none of your concern, Rogue Squadron,” a startlingly melodious voice responded. “It is a private dispute between the Leresen and Bothan governments.”

  Wedge glanced at his scanners. No sign yet of Bel Iblis and the Peregrine. “May I ask the nature of this dispute?”

  “Death and resolution,” the melodious voice said. “The death of two Leresai at the hands of the Bothans, and the Bothan refusal to resolve them.”

  Wedge grimaced, keying to the Rogues’ private frequency. Clearly, there was a terminology problem here, some Leresen concept or phrase that wasn’t translating properly to Basic. But even so, there was something else he wasn’t getting here. “Any idea what he’s talking about?” he asked.

  “Hang on—I’m checking the records,” Rogue Eleven said. “I’ve got a hunch … yep, here it is. There were two Leresai killed in that riot at the Combined Clans Building. Both shot, one of them before the mob broke into the building.”

  “Thanks,” Wedge said, switching back. “Leresen commander, I understand your anger over your loss. What is it you want the Bothans to do in restitution?”

  “Leresen law is very precise,” the alien said. “Claw for claw, horn for horn, life for life. One guilty for himself, or ten innocent of his tribe.”

  A cold chill ran down Wedge’s back. “What do you mean, ten innocent?” he asked carefully.

  “The Bothans have refused to turn over to us members of the clans who killed two unarmed Leresai,” the voice said evenly. “Two lives will thus be paid by twenty.”

  So mathematically precise. Wedge thought. But how exactly they thought they were going to pull off such a trick with all the Bothans huddling safe behind their planetary shield …

  “Uh-oh,” Rogue Four said quietly. “Vector three-six by four-one.”

  Wedge looked. Just coming into view around the planetary horizon behind and beneath them was a small space station.

  “It’s a low-orbit, zero-gee-crystal manufacturing plant,” Rogue Four continued grimly. “Mon Cal design. If I recall correctly, the normal worker complement is fifteen to twenty-two.”

  Wedge bit back a curse, keying for private frequency. “Intercept course,” he ordered. “I want us between the station and the Leresai.”

  He switched the comm back as he threw power to the drive. “I understand your anger and frustration with the Bothan government,” he told the alien commander. “But you must understand that we can’t simply stand by and permit you to kill innocent people. General Garm Bel Iblis will be here soon; perhaps he can mediate—”

  “There can be no mediation,” the Leresai said with a note of finality in his voice. “The law is the law, and its demands must be fulfilled. Neither you nor any others will stop us.”

  There was a click, and the conversation was over. “Maybe not,” Wedge muttered under his breath as he keyed back to the Rogues’ frequency. “But we can sure give it a good try. All right, Rogues, time to get serious. Lock S-foils into attack position.” He reached for the control—

  “No!” Rogue Nine snapped suddenly. “Don’t lock S-foils.”

  Wedge paused, his hand hovering over the switch. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” Rogue Nine said, his voice tight with strain. “There’s something wrong. I can’t quite … but there’s definitely something wrong.”

  “Rogue Leader?” Rogue Eight asked.

  “Stand by,” Wedge said, switching his comm to Rogue Nine’s personal frequency. “Corran? What’s up?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know,” Rogue Nine repeated. “All I know is that I sensed danger when you ordered the S-foil lock. I’m running a diagnostic now, but so far I haven’t found anything.”

  “Is this one of your—?” Wedge hesitated, not wanting to ask about the other’s Jedi skills even on a secure channel.

  “I think so, yes,” Rogue Nine answered the question anyway.

  Wedge glanced over at the Leresen task force. They hadn’t moved from their position. Waiting patiently for their target to orbit over to them.

  And clearly not expecting any trouble at all from Rogue Squadron …

  He keyed back to the main Rogue frequency. “Everyone hold course,” he ordered, turning his X-wing toward Rogue Nine. “You especially, Rogue Nine. I’m coming in close.”

  A minute later they were flying in tight parade-flight formation, the twin lasers on Wedge’s starboard wingtips nearly brushing the underside of Rogue Nine’s fuselage. “All right,” he said, easing in another couple of centimeters. “You’ve got my starboard flank; I’ve got your portside. Give it a fast look and see if you can spot anything that shouldn’t be there. If you don’t, we’ll switch sides.”

  “No need,” Rogue Nine said, his voice taut. “There it is: a thin cylinder running vertically between the S-foils, just forward of the laser power line.”

  “You’ve got one, too,” Wedge growled. Now that he knew where to look, the add-on was obvious. “Ten to one the whole squadron’s been booby-trapped.”

  “All right, so we don’t lock S-foils,” Rogue Two said. “We can still fire, can’t we?”

  “I don’t think we should try it,” Wedge warned, frowning hard at the innocent-looking cylinder. “In fact—Corran, roll starboard a couple of degrees, will you?”

  Rogue Nine’s fuselage rolled away slowly from him. “I was right,” Wedge bit out, thoroughly disgusted now. “The top of the cylinder’s got two branches. One runs into the wing’s servo line, the other looks like it feeds right into the laser power line. My guess is that either locking or firing will knock out the lasers. Or worse.”

  Rogue Twelve cursed feelingly. “Has to have been those two Leresai in the Di’tai’ni maintenance crew who were always hanging around,” he said. “So what do we do, try to bluff them?”

  Wedge looked out at the Leresen ships. They were on the move now, starting to form up around the manufacturing station speeding helplessly toward them. “No point,” he said quietly. “They already know we’re out of it.”

  And so they watched helplessly as the Leresai set about quickly, efficiently, and systematically demolishing the station. Taking their toll of twenty innocent lives in payment for the guilty.

  By the time the rest of the Peregrine task force arrived, it was all over.

  Or, perhaps more accurately, it had just begun.

  “It’s finally
started,” Leia announced bleakly as she locked the apartment door behind her and sank down onto the couch next to Han. “The shooting has finally started.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Han said grimly, radiating concern as he slipped his arm around her. “What’s the Senate doing about it?”

  “Mostly trying to figure out what they can do,” Leia told him.

  “What’s to figure?” Han asked. “The Leresai slaughtered twenty-one Bothans, not to mention shredding a perfectly good space station. Can’t Gavrisom just order the Leresen government brought up on charges?”

  “I wish it were that easy,” Leia said. “Unfortunately, it’s not. Three of the High Councilors have already stated they’ll vote against any such resolution, on the grounds that we haven’t made similar reparation demands on the Bothan government over the destruction of Caamas.”

  “But they’re not the same thing,” Han insisted. “In fact, they’re exactly opposite. The Leresai killed innocent people; the Caamas thing is about not punishing innocent people.”

  “We didn’t demand that the Bothans punish the surviving guards who fired on the rioters, either,” Leia reminded him.

  She sensed his flash of gruff embarrassment. “Yeah,” he growled. “Because of me.”

  Leia squeezed his knee reassuringly. “Not just because of you, dear,” she said. “The Council’s position is that the guards’ action qualified as self-defense. Unfortunately, not everyone sees it that way.”

  Han sniffed. “Clan thinking.”

  “Yes, I know,” Leia said. “It doesn’t make sense to me, either, to hold a relative or clansman responsible for someone else’s actions. But the reality is that family or clan accountability is a central tenet of a lot of cultures out there.”

  “Maybe,” Han conceded. “But you still have to slap down the Leresai. If you don’t, it’ll just encourage everyone else who has a grudge against the Bothans.”