by Timothy Zahn
For another second Pellaeon looked at the other’s composed expression, a shiver running up through him. He could remember vividly the first time C’baoth had tried this kind of direct long-distance control. Could remember the pain that had been on C’baoth’s face; the pinched look of concentration and agony as he struggled to hold the mental contacts.
Barely two months ago, Thrawn had confidently said that C’baoth would never be a threat to the Empire because he lacked the ability to focus and concentrate his Jedi power on a long-term basis. Somehow, between that time and now, C’baoth had obviously succeeded in learning the necessary control.
Which left C’baoth as a threat to the Empire. A very dangerous threat indeed.
The intercom beeped. “Captain Pellaeon?”
Pellaeon reached over the display ring and touched the key, pushing away his fears about C’baoth as best he could. For the moment, at least, the Fleet needed C’baoth. Fortunately, perhaps, C’baoth also needed the Fleet. “We’re ready, Admiral,” he said.
“Stand by,” Thrawn said. “Tow cables detaching now.”
“They are free,” C’baoth said. “They are under power … moving now to their appointed positions.”
“Confirm that they’re beneath the planetary shield,” Thrawn ordered.
For the first time a hint of the old strain crossed C’baoth’s face. Hardly surprising; with the cloaking shield preventing the Chimaera from seeing the cruisers and at the same time blinding the cruisers’ own sensors, the only way to know exactly where they were was for C’baoth to do a precise location check on the minds he was touching. “All four ships are beneath the shield,” he said.
“Be absolutely certain, Jedi Master. If you’re wrong—”
“I am not wrong, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” C’baoth cut him off harshly. “I will do my part in this battle. Concern yourself with yours.”
For a moment the intercom was silent. Pellaeon winced, visualizing the Grand Admiral’s expression. “Very well, Jedi Master,” Thrawn said calmly. “Prepare to do your part.”
There was the double click of an opening comm channel. “This is the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera, calling the Overliege of Ukio,” Thrawn said. “In the name of the Empire, I declare the Ukian system to be once again under the mandate of Imperial law and the protection of Imperial forces. You will lower your shields, recall all military units to their bases, and prepare for an orderly transfer of command.”
There was no response. “I know you’re receiving this message,” Thrawn continued. “If you fail to respond, I will have to assume that you mean to resist the Empire’s offer. In that event, I would have no choice but to open hostilities.”
Again, silence. “They’re sending another transmission,” Pellaeon heard the comm officer say. “Sounds a little more panicked than the first one was.”
“I’m certain their third will be even more so,” Thrawn told him. “Prepare for firing sequence one. Master C’baoth?”
“The cruisers are ready, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” C’baoth said. “As am I.”
“Be sure that you are,” Thrawn said, quietly threatening. “Unless the timing is absolutely perfect, this entire show will be worse than useless. Turbolaser battery three: stand by firing sequence one on my mark. Three … two … one … fire.”
On the tactical hologram a double lance of green fire angled out from the Chimaera’s turbolaser batteries toward the planet below. The blasts struck the hazy blue of the planetary shield, splashed slightly as their energy was defocused and reflected back into space—
And with the desired perfect timing the two cloaked cruisers hovering on repulsorlifts beneath the shield at those two points fired in turn, their turbolaser blasts sizzling through the atmosphere into two of Ukio’s major air defense bases.
That was what Pellaeon saw. The Ukians, with no way of knowing about the cloaked cruisers, would have seen the Chimaera fire two devastating shots cleanly through an impenetrable planetary shield.
“Third transmission cut off right in the middle, sir,” the comm officer reported with a touch of dark humor. “I think we surprised them.”
“Let’s convince them it wasn’t a fluke,” Thrawn said. “Prepare firing sequence two. Master C’baoth?”
“The cruisers are ready.”
“Turbolaser battery two: stand by firing sequence two on my mark. Three … two … one … fire.”
Again the green fire lanced out, and again, with perfect timing, the cloaked cruisers created their illusion. “Well done,” Thrawn said. “Master C’baoth, move the cruisers into position for sequences three and four.”
“As you command, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
Unconsciously, Pellaeon braced himself. Sequence four had two of the Ukians’ thirty overlapping shield generators as its targets. Launching such an attack would mean that Thrawn had given up on his stated goal of taking Ukio with its planetary defenses intact.
“Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera, this is Tol dosLla of the Ukian Overliege,” a slightly quavering voice came from the intercom speaker. “We would ask you to cease your bombardment of Ukio while we discuss terms for surrender.”
“My terms are quite simple,” Thrawn said. “You will begin by lowering your planetary shield and allowing my forces to land. They will be given control of the shield generators themselves and of all ground-to-space weaponry. All fighting vehicles larger than command speeders will be moved to designated military bases and turned over to Imperial control. Though you will, of course, be ultimately answerable to the Empire, your political and social systems will remain under your control. Provided your people behave themselves, of course.”
“And once these changes have been implemented?”
“Then you will be part of the Empire, with all the rights and duties that implies.”
“There will be no war-level tax levies?” dosLla asked suspiciously. “No forced conscription of our young people?”
Pellaeon could imagine Thrawn’s grim smile. No, the Empire would never need to bother with forced conscription again. Not with the Emperor’s collection of Spaart cloning cylinders in their hands.
“No, to your second question; a qualified no to your first,” Thrawn told the Ukian. “As you are obviously aware, most Imperial worlds are currently under war-status taxation levels. However, there are exceptions, and it is likely that your share of the war effort will come directly from your extensive food production and processing facilities.”
There was a long pause from the other end. DosLla was no fool, Pellaeon realized—the Ukian knew full well what Thrawn had in mind for his world. First it would be direct Imperial control of the ground/space defenses, then direct control of the food distribution system, the processing facilities, and the vast farming and livestock grazing regions themselves; and in a very short time the entire planet would have become nothing more than a supply depot for the Imperial war machine.
But the alternative was for him to stand silently by and watch as his world was utterly and impossibly demolished before his eyes. And he knew that, too.
“We will lower the planetary shields, Chimaera, as a gesture of good faith,” dosLla said at last, his tone defiant but with a hint of defeat to it. “But before the generators and ground/space weaponry can be turned over to Imperial forces we shall require certain guarantees regarding the safety of the Ukian people and our land.”
“Certainly,” Thrawn said, without any trace of the gloating that most Imperial commanders would have indulged in at this point. A small act of courtesy that, Pellaeon knew, was as precisely calculated as the rest of the attack had been. Permitting the Ukian leaders to surrender with their dignity intact would slow down the inevitable resistance to Imperial rule until it was too late. “A representative will be on his way shortly to discuss the particulars with your government,” Thrawn continued. “Meanwhile, I presume you have no objection to our forces taking up preliminary defense positions?”
A sigh, more felt than really
heard. “We have no objections, Chimaera,” dosLla said reluctantly. “We are lowering the shield now.”
On the tactical display, the blue haze surrounding the planet faded away. “Master C’baoth, have the cruisers move to polar positions,” Thrawn ordered. “We don’t want any of the drop ships blundering into them. General Covell, you may begin transporting your forces to the surface. Standard defensive positions around all targets.”
“Acknowledged, Admiral,” Covell’s voice said, a little too dryly, and Pellaeon felt a tight smile twitch at his lip. It had only been two weeks since the top Fleet and army commanders had been let in on the secret of the Mount Tantiss cloning project, and Covell was one of those who still hadn’t adjusted completely to the idea.
Though the fact that three of the companies he was about to lead down to the surface were composed entirely of clones might have had something to do with his skepticism.
On the tactical hologram the first waves of drop ships and TIE fighter escorts had exited the Chimaera and Stormhawk, fanning out toward their assigned targets. Clones in drop ships, about to carry out Imperial orders. As the clone crews in the cloaked cruisers had already done so well.
Pellaeon frowned, an odd and uncomfortable thought suddenly striking him. Had C’baoth been able to guide the cruisers so well because each of their thousand-man crews were composed of variants on just twenty or so different minds? Or—even more disturbing—could part of the Jedi Master’s split-second control have been due to the fact that C’baoth was himself a clone?
And either way, did that mean that the Mount Tantiss project was playing directly into C’baoth’s hands in his bid for power? Perhaps. One more question he would have to bring to Thrawn’s attention.
Pellaeon looked down at C’baoth, belatedly remembering that in the Jedi Master’s presence such thoughts were not his private property. But C’baoth wasn’t looking at him, knowingly or otherwise. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, the skin of his face taut. A faint smile just beginning to crease his lips. “Master C’baoth?”
“They’re there,” C’baoth whispered, his voice deep and husky. “They’re there,” he repeated, louder this time.
Pellaeon frowned back at the tactical hologram. “Who’s where?” he asked.
“They’re at Filve,” C’baoth said. Abruptly, he looked up at Pellaeon, his eyes bright and insane. “My Jedi are at Filve.”
“Master C’baoth, confirm that the cruisers have moved to polar positions,” Thrawn’s voice came sharply. “Then report on the feint battles—”
“My Jedi are at Filve,” C’baoth cut him off. “What do I care about your battles?”
“C’baoth—”
With a wave of his hand, C’baoth shut off the intercom. “Now, Leia Organa Solo,” he murmured softly, “you are mine.”
The Millennium Falcon twisted hard to starboard as a TIE fighter shot past overhead, lasers blazing away madly as it tried unsuccessfully to track the freighter’s maneuver. Clenching her teeth firmly against the movement, Leia Organa Solo watched as one of their escort X-wings blew the Imperial starfighter into a cloud of flaming dust. The sky spun around the Falcon’s canopy as the ship rolled back toward its original heading—
“Look out!” Threepio wailed from the seat behind Leia as another TIE fighter roared in toward them from the side. The warning was unnecessary; with deceptive ungainliness the Falcon was already corkscrewing back the other direction to bring its ventral quad laser battery to bear. Faintly audible even through the cockpit door, Leia heard the sound of a Wookiee battle roar, and the TIE fighter went the way of its late partner.
“Good shot, Chewie,” Han Solo called into the intercom as he got the Falcon leveled again. “Wedge?”
“Still with you, Falcon,” Wedge Antilles’ voice came promptly. “We’re clear for now, but there’s another wave of TIE fighters on the way.”
“Yeah.” Han glanced at Leia. “It’s your call, sweetheart. You still want to try and reach ground?”
Threepio gave a little electronic gasp. “Surely, Captain Solo, you aren’t suggesting—”
“Put a choke valve on it, Goldenrod,” Han cut him off. “Leia?”
Leia looked out the cockpit canopy at the Imperial Star Destroyer and eight Dreadnaughts arrayed against the beleaguered planet ahead. Clustering around it like mynocks around an unshielded power generator. It was to have been her last diplomatic mission before settling in to await the birth of her twins: a quick trip to calm a nervous Filvian government and demonstrate the New Republic’s determination to protect the systems in this sector.
Some demonstration.
“There’s no way we can make it through all that,” she told Han reluctantly. “Even if we could, I doubt the Filvians would risk opening the shield to let us in. We’d better make a run for it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Han grunted. “Wedge? We’re pulling out. Stay with us.”
“Copy, Falcon” Wedge said. “You’ll have to give us a few minutes to calculate the jump back.”
“Don’t bother,” Han said, swiveling around in his seat to key in the nav computer. “We’ll feed you the numbers from here.”
“Copy. Rogue Squadron: screen formation.”
“You know, I’m starting to get tired of this,” Han told Leia, swiveling back to face front. “I thought you said your Noghri pals were going to leave you alone.”
“This has nothing to do with the Noghri.” Leia shook her head, an odd half-felt tension stretching at her forehead. Was it her imagination, or were the Imperial ships surrounding Filve starting to break formation? “This is Grand Admiral Thrawn playing with his new Dark Force Dreadnaughts.”
“Yeah,” Han agreed quietly, and Leia winced at the momentary flash of bitterness in his sense. Despite everyone’s best efforts to persuade him otherwise, Han still considered it his own personal fault that Thrawn had gotten to the derelict Katana fleet ships—the so-called Dark Force—ahead of the New Republic. “I wouldn’t have thought he could get them reconditioned this fast,” Han added as he twisted the Falcon’s nose away from Filve and back toward deep space.
Leia swallowed. The strange tension was still there, like a distant malevolence pressing against the edges of her mind. “Maybe he has enough Spaarti cylinders to clone some engineers and techs as well as soldiers.”
“That’s sure a fun thought,” Han said; and through her tension Leia could sense his sudden change in mood as he tapped the comm switch. “Wedge, take a look back at Filve and tell me if I’m seeing things.”
Over the comm, Leia could hear Wedge’s thoughtful intake of air. “You mean like the whole Imperial force breaking off their attack and coming after us?”
“Yeah. That.”
“Looks real enough to me,” Wedge said. “Could be a good time to get out of here.”
“Yeah,” Han said slowly. “Maybe.”
Leia frowned at her husband. There’d been something in his voice.… “Han?”
“The Filvians would’ve called for help before they put up their shield, right?” Han asked her, forehead furrowed with thought.
“Right,” Leia agreed cautiously.
“And the nearest New Republic base is Ord Pardron, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay. Rogue Squadron, we’re changing course to starboard. Stay with me.”
He keyed his board, and the Falcon started a sharp curve to the right. “Watch it, Falcon—this is taking us back toward that TIE fighter group,” Wedge warned.
“We’re not going that far,” Han assured him. “Here’s our vector.”
He straightened out the ship onto their new course heading and threw a look at the rear display. “Good—they’re still chasing us.”
Behind him, the nav computer beeped its notification that the jump coordinates were ready. “Wedge, we’ve got your coordinates,” Leia said, reaching for the data transmission key.
“Hold it, Falcon,” Wedge cut her off. “We’ve go
t company to starboard.”
Leia looked that direction, her throat tightening as she saw what Wedge meant. The approaching TIE fighters were coming up fast, and already were close enough to eavesdrop on any transmission the Falcon tried to make to its escort. Sending Wedge the jump coordinates now would be an open invitation for the Imperials to have a reception committee waiting at the other end.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance, Your Highness,” Threepio offered brightly. “As you know, I am fluent in over six million forms of communication. I could transmit the coordinates to Commander Antilles in Boordist or Vaathkree trade language, for example—”
“And then you’d send them the translation?” Han put in dryly.
“Of course—” The droid broke off. “Oh, dear,” he said, sounding embarrassed.
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” Han said. “Wedge, you were at Xyquine two years ago, weren’t you?”
“Yes. Ah. A Cracken Twist?”
“Right. On two: one, two.”
Outside the canopy, Leia caught a glimpse of the X-wings swinging into a complicated new escort formation around the Falcon. “What does this buy us?” she asked.
“Our way out,” Han told her, checking the rear display again. “Pull the coordinates, add a two to the second number of each one, and then send the whole package to the X-wings.”
“I see,” Leia nodded her understanding as she got to work. Altering the second digit wouldn’t change the appearance of their exit vector enough for the Imperials to catch on to the trick, but it would be more than enough to put any chase force a couple of light-years off target. “Clever. And that little flight maneuver they did just now was just window dressing?”
“Right. Makes anyone watching think that’s all there is to it. A little something Pash Cracken came up with at that fiasco off Xyquine.” Han glanced at the rear display again. “I think we’ve got enough lead to outrun them,” he said. “Let’s try.”
“We’re not jumping to lightspeed?” Leia frowned, an old and rather painful memory floating up from the back of her mind. That mad scramble away from Hoth, with Darth Vader’s whole fleet breathing down their necks and a hyperdrive that turned out to be broken …