Treason - Timothy Zahn

by Star Wars

  Or had Thrawn already thought about it? Could he have already put Ar’alani’s presence into his calculations?

  “We should arrive soon,” Thrawn said into her thoughts. “Think about what we are likely to face, and consider the available options.”

  “Yes, sir, I will,” Faro promised.

  Which wasn’t to say, she thought darkly as she watched him return to the defense console, that she wouldn’t mind if he, too, did some thinking along those lines.

  Hopefully, a lot of thinking.

  The starlines collapsed, and Eli found himself gazing out the shuttle’s forward viewport at a half-lit planet of green and blue swirls mixed into large swaths of dark brown.

  Lots of desert. That was never good.

  “We’re here,” Pik announced in a clipped voice from the pilot’s seat. “I need a city or a port.”

  “Right,” Eli said, fighting back the reflexive urge to add a sir. Pik and Waffle might have the tone and boldness that often came with command, but as death troopers the only ones they actually could give orders to were other stormtroopers.

  He made a face. Pik and Waffle. Ridiculous names for any adults, let alone a pair of men who’d been specially trained to deal out death and destruction and to leave nothing but scorched ground behind them. His best guess was that they were nicknames like the ones TIE pilots sometimes gave each other.

  Though in the death troopers’ case, it was probably intended more as a way to obscure their true names. Either way, there were probably some interesting stories behind the nicknames.

  Eli had no intention of asking about those stories.

  “We want a place called Tiquwe,” he told Pik. “It’s in the southern hemisphere, about midway between—”

  “Understood,” Waffle interrupted, peering at the nav display. “Heading in.”

  “Thank you,” Eli murmured.

  They didn’t like him, of course. The only thing that kept them obeying him—and offering the barest level of courtesy—was their respect and loyalty to their admiral. Thrawn had ordered them to guard Eli during his mission, and that was what they were going to do.

  They could also be upset because they’d had to wear civilian clothing on this trip instead of their distinctive black armor. Whether it was the prestige or the advantages of the equipment itself, Eli had long noted the stormtrooper aversion to showing their faces in public.

  Especially when they were faces like these.

  It wasn’t that Pik and Waffle were ugly or disfigured in any way. On the contrary. There was a symmetry and chiseled dignity about their faces that Eli had rarely seen in other human beings. Add to that their bigger-than-average size, their lean but well-defined musculature, and an unusual sheen to their neatly trimmed hair and they would be ideal candidates for Imperial recruitment displays.

  But only if those displays didn’t show their eyes.

  Eli shivered as he remembered his first clear look at those eyes. Cold and piercing, seeing everything, evaluating everything, dismissing everything. They held a touch of passion, a touch of pride, and far more than a touch of muted craziness.

  Back when he’d been serving aboard the Chimaera, he’d heard whispered rumors that death troopers had been medically augmented beyond even stormtrooper training, becoming in the process something that was more, and less, than human.

  Having now seen these two, Eli would never again doubt those rumors.

  “I hope it’s a place where this wreck will fit in,” Ronan muttered from the passenger seat beside Eli.

  “It is,” Eli said, feeling the shuttle cabin shrink a little tighter around him. During the time he and Thrawn had been working their way up through the ranks of the navy, there’d been plenty of occasions when it seemed like everyone around them had nothing but distrust, hostility, or outright contempt. This shuttle, and the three other people aboard it, left all those others in the dust. “Grand Admiral Thrawn inherited it from a smuggler who wasn’t going to need it anymore. He’d use it whenever he needed to go someplace where Imperial forces or officials weren’t welcome.”

  “I’m sure he found a lot of places like that,” Ronan growled. “He could at least have upgraded the interior to something civilized.”

  “Ineffective and ill advised,” Pik said over his shoulder. “If someone saw an interior that didn’t match the exterior, the illusion would fall apart.”

  “So you don’t let anyone see it,” Ronan countered. “Easy enough. So what is this Tiquwe place that we’ll so wonderfully fit into?”

  “It’s a scum town,” Waffle said flatly. “Section of decent port, smaller section of Imperial port, larger section of smuggler and pirate port. Populace either helps out or hides, dead-end Imperial officials and troopers do likewise. There won’t be any assistance here we can trust.”

  “But we won’t need any,” Pik said. “We’ll find a ship headed for the Stardust transfer point, prove it’s been sabotaged, and we’ll be done.”

  “You make it sound simple,” Ronan said. “I assume we’ll be landing in the better part of the port instead of the smuggler section?”

  “Are you thinking of identifying yourself to a local official and asking for assistance?” Pik countered. “In that case, I assume you weren’t paying attention a moment ago. A place like this runs on bribes and extortion. Unless you know for a fact that the official you’re approaching hasn’t been corrupted, you’ll probably die.”

  “Translation: Leave your fancy whites in your carrybag and stick to not looking at strangers,” Waffle added.

  “I don’t have my uniform—” Ronan broke off.

  “Don’t lie,” Pik said sternly. “I know officials like you. You want to be ready to suit up and pull rank on someone if you think it’ll get you what you want.”

  “If you know men like me, you should also know you’re required to show deference,” Ronan countered.

  “We show deference to our Primary, and to others who’ve earned it,” Pik said. “We have a mission, and we’ll fulfill it. Don’t expect any more.”

  “Or any less,” Waffle said. “Vanto: I trust you have no problem landing in the bad part of the port if that’s where Control sends us?”

  “None at all,” Eli assured him, shivering a little. Deference to those who’ve earned it. That wasn’t the way the Imperial hierarchy normally worked, and he couldn’t decide whether the death troopers’ attitude toward Ronan was refreshing or frightening. “I assume you have weapons that will also fit into the location?”

  “Yes,” Pik said. “Just remember that if there’s killing to be done, we’ll do it. You just stay out of the way.”

  “Understood,” Eli said. Frightening, he decided. “We will.”

  * * *

  —

  Eli had wondered if there would be any trouble landing in the smuggler section of the port. Not that he was worried about codes and clearances, but the locals might require something along the line of passwords or trusted names.

  But there were no such requirements or associated complications. Maybe names changed so frequently around here that no one cared about them as long as the visitor had money.

  “Wonderful,” Ronan said under his breath as Pik locked down the ship and the four of them headed out into a winding street crowded with vendor carts, small shopping kiosks, faded storefront businesses, and a steady stream of shady-looking pedestrians and the occasional small vehicle all jostling one another as they made their individual ways through it all. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that requesting a docking bay closer to the main port would have cut down considerably on the amount of time we’re going to waste getting through this mess.”

  “You don’t make requests in a place like this,” Pik said. “You go where they send you, or eyebrows get raised.”

  “Eyebrows and blasters,” Waffle said. “If
there’s any talking to be done, you let us do it.”

  “Unless it’s with spaceport officials,” Ronan said. “In that case—”

  “You let us do it,” Pik repeated. “You don’t know how to talk to people like this.”

  “Listen—” Ronan began.

  “No, you listen,” Eli cut him off, suddenly tired of the man. Ronan reminded him of some of the officials he’d met when he was in the Imperial Navy, and not in a good way. “This is their element. Not yours, not mine; theirs. They were sent along to watch over us, so let them do their job.”

  Ronan was probably coming up with a withering retort when Pik abruptly lunged to the side. Eli jerked reflexively, twisting around to see what was going on.

  He was just in time to see the death trooper pluck a credit stick from a young man’s hand and give the boy a contemptuous shove back into the milling crowd. “Pickpockets,” he growled, holding the stick up for Eli’s view before sliding it back into his pocket.

  The hand was still in his pocket when two more men jumped him, grabbing his arms and twisting him around to try to break his balance and bring him to the ground.

  As a military man, Eli found himself impressed by the layered diversion/attack strategy of pickpocket and muggers. As a potential victim, he found himself flinching back from the sudden flurry of activity, feeling helpless without a weapon or the warning deterrent of a uniform.

  As a bystander, he found himself oddly entertained.

  Instead of fighting against his attackers, Pik went along with their motion, letting himself be swung around. The two men, clearly expecting resistance instead of cooperation from their victim, fumbled briefly with their own balance as they tried to keep their feet under them. At the moment of greatest speed and greatest distraction Pik lifted his feet, and as all three men started to tumble together to the ground he set his feet back down and shoved upward, only then twisting his shoulders back in the opposite direction.

  The combination worked. With his assailants’ grips on his arms already weakened, Pik was able to break completely free. One of the men almost regained his balance before a pair of quick punches to neck and stomach sent him back to the ground. The other never even rose again to punching position before slamming into the pavement. He was trying to get his hands under him when a deceptively gentle-looking kick dropped him back flat again.

  Someone nearby swore, and suddenly there was a blaster pointed at Pik’s face. “Freeze, you son of—”

  The rest of the warning turned into a yelp as Pik’s hands moved in a blur to snatch the blaster out of the man’s hand and deliver two gut punches that sent him to join his friends on the ground.

  “He told you to freeze, gutterspawn.”

  Eli turned to look. A dirty-faced woman was behind him, standing well back from Pik, pointing a blaster at him. “I guess the lesson is not to get too close, huh?” she said. “All of you, back up—”

  That was all she got out before a small object shot across Eli’s view from Waffle’s direction. It slammed into the back of her gun hand, shoving the weapon aside. Even as she tried to bring it back onto target, a similar object, this one coming from Pik, smashed into her forehead, snapping her head back and sending her staggering a couple of steps. Before she could recover Pik was on top of her, twisting the blaster out of her hand and sweeping his foot across her ankles to knock her legs out from under her and drop her to join the increasing number of people on the ground.

  “Interesting,” Ronan said calmly from Eli’s side. “Not something I’ve seen done with comms before.”

  “Probably not on the manufacturers’ recommended usage lists, either,” Eli said as Pik, tucking one of his two captured blasters under his arm, picked up the two objects he and Waffle had used against the woman.

  “Specially reinforced,” Waffle explained as Pik handed him back his comm.

  “I guess the real lesson is not to go in one at a time,” a new voice came from behind Eli. “Turn around, please. Slowly, of course.”

  Making sure to keep his hands visible, Eli obeyed.

  This man, at least, had taken his own advice. The crowd that had been back there a minute ago, moving along on errands or else watching the brief fight, had magically pulled back to both sides. In the newly formed gap, standing in a line across the middle of the street, were four hard-looking men and an equally hard-looking woman, their hands resting on holstered blasters.

  “Five at a time works, too, if you want to give it a go,” Pik offered.

  “Easy, stranger,” the man in the middle cautioned. “Another demonstration like that, and you’ll have gone a long way toward proving you’re exactly the kind of people we don’t like around here.”

  “Which are?” Pik asked.

  “The kind that are bad for business,” the man said.

  “You mean the Imperials?” Ronan asked.

  “The Imperials? The Imperials?” The man spat. “The Imperials aren’t the problem, fancy man. The Imperials take their money and scamper off someplace to spend it. It’s Grand Admiral Spit-Face Savit who’s the problem.”

  “You really think a grand admiral would take the slightest interest in this dirtball?” Waffle scoffed.

  “Do these look like our joking faces?” the woman countered.

  “What’s Admiral Savit doing?” Ronan asked.

  “Like he said, being bad for business,” the woman said. “Sending in agents. Spying on everything we’re doing. Shutting us down.” Her voice dropped ominously. “Killing us.”

  “And we’re looking for a chance to return the favor,” the man said. “You four, f’rinstance. You got the clothes and the ship fine, but you don’t have the faces.”

  “Or the attitude,” the woman added. “Arrogant. Not furtive enough.”

  “Or frosty enough,” the man said.

  “Try drawing those blasters and see how frosty we can be,” Waffle challenged.

  “See, that’s kind of the right attitude,” the man said. “Usually don’t see an Imperial with a blaster bother getting his hands dirty. They usually just shoot everything in sight.”

  “That is a point in your favor,” the woman added. “Actually, it’s probably the only point still keeping you alive.”

  “So here’s what’s going to happen,” the man said. “Sisay and I are going to take you inside and have a little chat. She’s really good at that sort of thing.”

  “We’re going to ask you a few things,” the woman—Sisay—said. “Like who you work with, who you might have met along the way here, what your business is on Aloxor, why you’re in Tiquwe—well, you get the idea.”

  “If we don’t like what we hear—if we think you’re not our kind of people…well, you get the idea there, too,” the man said. “We’ll also go through your clothes, gear, and carrybags.”

  Eli felt a fist close around his heart. Despite Pik’s warning, Ronan had stubbornly insisted on bringing his assistant director’s uniform with him in the carrybag slung over his shoulder.

  “You’d be surprised how many ISB agents are careless enough to stash Imperial-issue weapons in their bags,” Sisay said.

  “How about we instead say that our business is none of yours and that we’re moving on?” Waffle suggested. “It’ll be simpler and won’t leave so many bodies lying around.”

  “You assume it’ll be our bodies and not yours littering the streets,” Sisay said, drawing her blaster. “Maybe Skulk wasn’t completely clear that it won’t be just the two of us doing the interrogating. Or even just the five of us.”

  Eli looked sideways at the crowd gathered around them. Most of them were simply watching, but there were a handful who also had their hands on their blasters. Too many, and too far away, even for a pair of death troopers.

  Unfortunately, the death troopers didn’t seem to have done the same math. Eli could se
e them starting to subtly change positions, easing toward a back-to-back combat stance.

  And if Eli didn’t do something fast, they were going to get all of them killed.

  He lifted a hand as if giving a silent order. “Fine,” he said, biting out the word like it was coming out under duress and only because a group of idiots had pushed him into it. “Let’s have that talk, right now, before you do something you’ll regret. But in private. You five; no one else.”

  Skulk and Sisay exchanged looks. Waffle threw a frown at Eli that was half annoyance, half thoughtful speculation. Eli kept his eyes on Skulk, trying to look as dead-faced as the two death troopers beside him.

  “Fine,” Sisay said at last. “You don’t mind if we put binders on you, do you?”

  “Actually, we mind a lot,” Eli said. “We also aren’t being traipsed around the whole town.” He looked at the shop beside them. “This looks like a good place. You seem to know the people in this neighborhood. Invite the owner to take a walk.”

  Again, Sisay and Skulk exchanged looks. “All right, we’ll play along,” Sisay said. “Skulk, you heard the man. Go tell Jeffrie he could use some exercise.”

  With a final look at Eli, Skulk walked through the crowd and disappeared into the shop.

  Ronan took a step closer to Eli. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “Hopefully, saving our necks,” Eli whispered back. “If not, lowering the odds.”

  Skulk reappeared in the doorway. “Come on,” he called.

  “After you,” Sisay added.

  Eli nodded to her and walked through the crowd. Skulk moved aside to let him through, drawing his blaster as he did so.

  Sisay, in contrast, holstered her weapon as Eli and the others passed and held out her hands in silent command. Glowering and clearly reluctant, Pik nevertheless obeyed and handed over his captured blasters.

  A minute later they were all inside. It was a chocolate shop, Eli noted distantly, heavy with an aroma he would have found pleasantly enticing under other circumstances. “Let’s hear it,” Sisay said.