by Star Wars
“Need to know is a slippery term,” Ronan growled. “Doesn’t matter. If they want me to intervene with Director Krennic on their behalf, they’re going to have to learn they have to tell me whatever I want to know whenever I want to know it.”
“The Emperor might think otherwise.”
Ronan snorted quietly. “The Emperor,” he said scornfully. “You and Thrawn keep invoking his name as if it’s a magic spell that can be used against me. Trust me: The Emperor fully supports Director Krennic, which means he fully supports me. Furthermore, once Stardust is operational, the rest of the political structure on Imperial Center will be completely irrelevant. Director Krennic and the Emperor will be the only ones that matter.”
Eli thought back to his one and only meeting with the Emperor, when Thrawn had been brought to Coruscant from his exile near the Unknown Regions. The Emperor’s voice…his presence…his eyes…
Especially his eyes. “Or it’ll be just the Emperor,” he said.
“Trust me—the director will be there as long as Palpatine is,” Ronan said. “Right now, I’d be more concerned with your own future. I have three-quarters of a notion right now to drag you back to the Chimaera, order you locked up, and send a message for ISB to come arrest you for desertion.”
“I think Admiral Thrawn would have something to say about that,” Eli said, resisting the urge to point out that the navy, not the Imperial Security Bureau, handled desertion issues.
“You really don’t understand who I am, do you?” Ronan said. “Fine. Neither does Thrawn, really.”
Eli shifted his attention to Thrawn as the grand admiral pulled out his comlink. There was a brief, inaudible conversation, and then he half turned. “Assistant Director, Lieutenant Vanto,” he called, beckoning to them. “The operation begins. Please; join me.”
And as the death trooper guard reluctantly parted for them, Eli felt his heart pick up its pace.
Time, indeed, to see if the enemy would take the bait.
* * *
—
“Go.” Admiral Thrawn’s voice came across the bridge speakers.
Faro straightened a little. “Defenders, take up formation. Tractor control, lock on and bring it in.”
There were a pair of acknowledgments, and she felt the subtle shift of the command walkway under her feet as the Chimaera’s tractor beam lanced out, locked onto the shuttle, and began reeling it in. On the tactical display, the six TIE Defenders of Captain Dobbs’s task force had settled into position, flying close escort around the larger craft.
And everyone else aboard the Chimaera—and presumably aboard the Steadfast as well—was staring at the asteroid cluster for signs of the hidden enemy.
Faro rubbed her fingertips restlessly on the seam of her uniform trousers, painfully aware that Thrawn’s plan could fall apart in any of a dozen different ways. He was probably right about the hidden Grysks having only one shot, and knowing they had only one shot. But there was no way to truly predict where they would take it. If they decided their compatriots aboard the shuttle were as good as dead anyway, they might still decide to take out the observation post instead. If they did, and if the Chimaera couldn’t counterattack fast enough, both the Imperial and the Chiss ships might suddenly find themselves bereft of their commanders.
Faro had no idea what the Chiss authorities would say or do in such a case. She knew exactly what Imperial High Command would say and do to her.
The shuttle was picking up speed now as the tractor beam overcame the vessel’s initial inertia and as the distance between the two ships diminished. Faro watched its progress, aware of the delicate balance she needed to strike: too fast and the Grysks might not have time to take their shot, too slow and they might suspect a trap. The shuttle had covered a third of the distance now…
And abruptly a barrage of laserfire exploded from an empty spot beside one of the larger asteroids. The salvo skimmed past the top of the observation post and slammed full-power into the Defender escort—
And dissipated like ocean waves against basalt sea-stack rocks, the fury of their energy ricocheting harmlessly into space.
As Thrawn had expected, and as Faro had hoped, this particular group of enemies apparently hadn’t heard that the Empire now had TIE fighters with shields.
“Turbolasers: Lock onto target,” Faro snapped, mentally crossing her fingers. She understood that Thrawn had had to couch this part of his order in vague terms to prevent the eavesdropping Grysks from catching on, but right now the big question was whether Faro herself had correctly deciphered his wishes. “Fire low power to center, higher power to edges.”
“Pattern acknowledged,” Pyrondi called back. “Turbolasers firing…no hit. Repeat, no hit.”
Faro swore under her breath. Still under the protection of their cloaking device, the Grysks were running. “Hammerly, find their drive emissions. TIE patrols, move in with full saturation spread. Find them, people.”
“Drive emissions detected and plotted,” Hammerly said as a line projection appeared on the tactical. “Short burn—could have used maneuvering jets to veer off vector.”
“But they’re coasting now?”
“Yes, Commodore. No fresh emissions detected.”
Faro eyed the tactical. Most ship maneuvering jets used compressed gases, which were safer to use near docking ports and other ships, and at this range Hammerly’s sensors couldn’t detect such cold emissions.
On the plus side, maneuvering jets weren’t very powerful. If the cloaked ship had started on Hammerly’s vector, and then veered off it, there was no way it could invisibly come back around for another crack at the shuttle. “Dobbs, join the search,” she ordered. “Low-power shots—right now we just want to find them.”
“Acknowledged,” Dobbs said briskly, and a quick glance back at the shuttle showed the Defenders breaking escort formation and joining the other TIEs in their sweep.
“Tractor control, full power,” Faro ordered. With the hidden enemy flushed out, there was no longer any point in delaying the shuttle’s arrival. If Thrawn was right, the two prisoners had already ingested enough poison to ensure they wouldn’t be alive to give up any secrets. But that didn’t mean the medical team Faro had standing by in the hangar bay shouldn’t try.
“There!” Agral snapped.
“I see them,” Faro said. The Grysk ship had become visible just past the far edge of the asteroid cluster. “Helm—”
With a flicker of pseudomotion, the Grysk made the jump to lightspeed.
“Chiss ship is on the move,” Hammerly warned.
“Helm, pull aside and give them room,” Faro ordered Agral. If the Chiss had a way of tracking the Grysk ship through hyperspace, they might still pull this off. The Steadfast gave a flicker of its own—
And abruptly stopped. “What the hell?” someone said.
Faro hissed out a curse. “And they were kind enough to leave us a little farewell gift,” she said. “Admiral Thrawn?”
“I’m here, Commodore.” Thrawn’s voice again came over the speaker. “Well done.”
Faro blinked. Well done? “Sir, the Grysk ship escaped,” she said carefully. Could he have somehow missed that fact?
“I fully expected it would do that,” Thrawn assured her. “The first phase of battle is over. We now enter the next phase. Captain Dobbs?”
“Yes, sir,” Dobbs’s voice joined in.
“Would you be so good as to locate that gravity-well generator for us?”
“Yes, sir.”
As Faro watched, Dobbs broke his Defender away from the rest of the fighters that had been engaged in the pursuit. There was a flicker as he jumped to lightspeed, and Faro started a mental countdown. Five seconds to get some distance; another three to come around in a tight circle; four or five more to come back to the asteroid field…
Abruptly, a fa
t cylinder flickered into sight a kilometer in front of the Chiss ship. Even as Dobbs’s Defender popped out of hyperspace, the cylinder again vanished as the gravity-well generator turned off and the cloaking device turned back on.
“Do you have it?” Thrawn asked.
“Yes, sir,” Faro confirmed. “Looks like they’ve fine-turned the system so that the generator stays cloaked until it detects something approaching in hyperspace. Makes it a lot harder to find.”
“It also suggests the Grysks have developed a more sophisticated hyperspace sensor system,” Thrawn said.
“Or one of their clients has,” Faro said. “Do you want me to retrieve it?”
“I believe Admiral Ar’alani’s people are planning to do that,” Thrawn said. “We shall content ourselves with studying the one from the observation post that we disabled earlier.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said, wincing. She was pretty sure Coruscant would not be happy about Thrawn giving away Grysk tech. But she also had no intention of arguing with him about it.
Especially not with a Chiss warship floating off the Chimaera’s flank.
“In the meantime, Commodore,” Thrawn said, “you’re to prepare the Chimaera for flight. When I return, we shall journey to the Grysk forward base and communications center.”
Faro felt her eyes widen. But the ship that might have led them to that base had gotten away. Hadn’t it? “You know where it is, sir?”
“I will soon,” Thrawn said. “Prepare my ship, Commodore. For flight, and for combat.”
“It got away,” Ronan said. “It got away.”
It was probably not the right thing to say to a grand admiral, a small voice warned from the back of his mind. Not the proper words, and certainly not the proper tone.
But right now he didn’t care. The alien ship had come out of hiding, gotten a free and open shot at the prisoners—an attack that had failed only by the sheer luck that the TIE Defenders Thrawn had assigned to escort duty happened to have their shields up—and then escaped right from under the Chimaera’s nose.
Thrawn could pretend all he wanted that this was part of his plan. Ronan had seen any number of other people sputter that same excuse to Director Krennic. But the fact was that Thrawn’s turbolaser crews had had a clear shot at the fleeing enemy, and had failed to take it down.
Or maybe it hadn’t been the Chimaera’s crews. Maybe it had been interference from Ar’alani’s ship that had fouled things up. Ronan hadn’t had a clear view from their position on the observation post, but it was obvious that Ar’alani’s ship had been moving forward when the Grysk attacker fled into hyperspace.
If that was the case, Thrawn’s position was even more precarious. Instead of covering for a failed command crew, he was covering for people—and worse, working with people—who weren’t even part of the Empire. People who could very well be present or future enemies.
How much did the Emperor really know about Thrawn and his people? Or if he knew, how much did he actually care?
“Calm yourself, Assistant Director,” Thrawn said evenly. “Were you not listening to my conversation with Commodore Faro a moment ago? This is merely the first phase of the battle. The second phase will soon commence.”
“How?” Ronan demanded. “The ship is gone. Are you going to invoke some old Jedi magic spell to haul it back here? Or are you expecting the ship to come back on its own?”
“That particular ship?” Thrawn shook his head. “No. Others…perhaps. We shall see. Regardless, for the moment your part in this has ended. Major Carvia and his stormtroopers will escort you back to the Chimaera.”
“I don’t think so,” Ronan said evenly. “Ar’alani’s still here, and I get the feeling you and Vanto haven’t finished with her. Until she heads back to her own ship, I’m not going anywhere.”
“The admiral gave you an order,” Carvia said, taking a step toward him.
“Yes, I heard it,” Ronan said, glaring back at him. “And we’ve already been through this. I have a mandate from Director Krennic and Governor Tarkin. Admiral Thrawn cannot order me to go somewhere unless I agree to go.”
“At ease, Major,” Thrawn said, holding up a hand as Carvia took another step forward. “Assistant Director Ronan is more than welcome to stay. You and your stormtroopers may instead escort Lieutenant Vanto to the shuttle.”
“Hold it,” Ronan said, shooting a look at Vanto. The younger man was standing silently to the side. “He can’t go aboard an Imperial ship. Not with a charge of desertion hanging over him.”
“Consider him to be on loan from Admiral Ar’alani,” Thrawn said. “I need his expertise with numbers and data.”
“What numbers?”
“The ones you gave me,” Thrawn said. “I need him to sort and track through the cargoes and personnel from the missing ships.”
“Absolutely not,” Ronan said flatly, a surge of anger and betrayal flooding through him. “I categorically forbid you to allow him access.”
“I have a deadline—” Thrawn said.
“I don’t care.”
“—as do you and Director Krennic,” Thrawn continued as if Ronan hadn’t spoken. “The Emperor’s patience is not unlimited, and Stardust remains dangerously behind schedule.”
“I don’t care,” Ronan repeated. “I will not see sensitive Imperial data put into the hands of a—” He looked again at Vanto, who seemed to be making a valiant effort to stay as invisible and unobtrusive as possible. “—of a traitor.”
“Then you are a fool,” Thrawn said.
Ronan snapped his glare back to the grand admiral. “What did you call me?”
“I called you a fool,” Thrawn repeated. For the first time, there was a fleeting glimpse of actual anger in his voice. “A stolen ship masquerading as an accidental misfire has carried its cargo to a secret way station. Not a lost ship, as Director Krennic imagined, but a stolen one. An enemy force has attacked and destroyed that way station and intercepted that ship and its cargo. Humans are missing from the station, and those from the ship have been murdered.”
“Thieves and pirates,” Ronan said contemptuously.
But he could hear the hesitation in his own voice. Thrawn was right, curse him. Someone had found a way to steal supplies and equipment from Stardust, and these Grysk aliens had found their own way to tap into those thefts.
And if they knew about this particular supply line and transfer point, what next? Were they planning a full-fledged attack on it? The thieves or the Grysks?
Or could they even know about the other transfer points, the ones bringing in some of the more vital equipment?
Were they planning an attack on the Death Star itself?
And that was the truly terrifying possibility. Until the battle station was fully operational, it was vulnerable to attack.
No pirate gang was big enough to hit it. Not that any of them had enough time and energy to spare, not with Grand Admiral Savit systematically taking down all such criminal groups in the region. But the Grysks might conceivably be able to mount an effective attack.
So, for that matter, might Admiral Ar’alani.
Ronan didn’t trust Thrawn. Not with Ar’alani and a ship full of his own people on the scene.
The Emperor might have made him a grand admiral. He might even trust him. But that was hardly a ringing endorsement as far as Ronan was concerned. He’d also made Tarkin a grand moff, and that smooth-talking manipulator was as slippery and evil as they came.
No, Ronan didn’t trust Thrawn. But at this point, all alone on an alien observation post, his best chance was to pretend that he did.
“You make your point,” he said. “Fine. Vanto can work through the data. But only with Commodore Faro supervising.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said. As if Ronan had had any real choice. “Lieutenant Vanto, you’ll head back immediately
with Major Carvia. Assistant Director Ronan and I will join you presently.”
“Admiral Thrawn will, anyway,” Ronan said, recognizing the double ploy Thrawn had just performed. If Vanto wasn’t here, and therefore no longer available to translate, there was no point in Ronan staying, either. “I might as well return with you, too.”
“As you choose,” Thrawn said. “I’ll have Commodore Faro meet you in the hangar bay and escort Lieutenant Vanto to a place where he can work.”
“Actually, I think we’ll just set him up in the commodore’s office,” Ronan said.
For once, Thrawn seemed to actually be taken by surprise. “The commodore may have objections to that.”
“That’s too bad,” Ronan said calmly. “You’ve already agreed that the data needs to be kept secure. What better way to do that than to handle the analysis directly from Faro’s computer?”
“What better way, indeed,” Thrawn said, on balance again. “I shall inform the commodore to meet you and prepare her aft bridge office for Lieutenant Vanto’s use.”
“Good,” Ronan said. “I trust we’ll see you aboard soon?”
“You shall,” Thrawn promised.
No, there was nothing more Ronan could do here, he told himself as he, Vanto, and the stormtroopers headed toward the docking port. But there was plenty he could do aboard the Chimaera.
Specifically, he could send an urgent message to Director Krennic detailing exactly what was going on out here.
Once that was accomplished, he decided, it might be instructive for him to join Vanto in Faro’s office and watch over the traitor’s shoulder as he sifted through the transfer point ship numbers. If Vanto had his own plans for that data—or if Thrawn had given him private instructions about them—Ronan would be able to figure it out.
And if they had something treasonous up their sleeves, even invoking the Emperor’s name wouldn’t save them. Either of them.
* * *
—
Un’hee remains seated on the examination table. Vah’nya sits beside her. Both are hunched forward, as if carrying weights on their upper shoulders. Their hands are clasped together, the fingers white-edged from the strength of their mutual grip. Their facial temperature is elevated. Their eyes are tightly closed. The muscles in Vah’nya’s face are tightened, the muscles in her throat working. Her expression and body language hold severe strain and concentration. They also hold perhaps fear, perhaps reluctance.
