by Timothy Zahn
For a long moment no one spoke. “I'm sorry,” Haverel said at last. “This is something I have to do.” He started to raise his hand -
“Admiral!” the sensor officer called from the crew pit. “Eight of the fighters have broken out of formation, heading off on different vectors.”
Niriz turned to look out the viewport. He got just a glimpse of the drive trails heading out from Creysis's fleet before the eight fighters jumped to lightspeed. “Do we have jump vectors for all of them?” Thrawn asked.
“Yes, sir,” the officer replied. “Specter Two signals primary target has gone on vector seventy-one mark five.”
Niriz blinked. He hadn't been aware that Thrawn had launched any of their sensor-stealthed assault shuttles. “What are the Specters doing out there?” he asked.
“Watching for precisely this moment,” Thrawn said, and there was no mistaking the grim satisfaction in his voice. “Comm officer, signal on frequency forty-six. Message: now.”
Niriz looked at Haverel, who was looking as confused as he himself felt. “Admiral, if this is some belated attempt to show a little resolve - “
“It's not belated at all, general,” Thrawn cut him off. “It's exactly the proper time. I want three platoons of your troopers in the hangar bay in ten minutes. There are two squads of stormtroopers already there - they'll get them into proper position.”
Haverel’s cheek twitched. “Yes, sir.” Turning, waving his troopers on ahead of him, he headed for the aft bridge.
“Your turn, Captain,” Thrawn continued. “Order the helm to full power and stand by battle stations.” His eyes glittered. “The charade is over. It's time to show them just who and what we really are.”
Reflexively, Niriz came to full parade attention. “Acknowledged, Admiral.” He raised his voice. “Helm: all ahead full. Sound battle alert.”
They'd been sitting on the hangar bay deck for nearly twenty minutes now, ever since the outer hatchway doors had slammed shut behind the shuttle and the aliens had unceremoniously herded them out here, and Parck's legs were starting to feel the strain. Slowly, carefully, he eased them into a different position -
The barrel of a heavy handgun slapped warningly against the side of his head. “You not move,” the alien wheezed.
One of the troopers sitting across from Parck stirred, his face darkening as he looked up at the guard. “Patience,” Parck murmured, just in case the other was thinking of trying something foolish or desperate. The time for action, Thrawn had told him, would come only after Creysis's people had had time to examine the shuttle and the damaged TIE fighter they'd brought aboard.
From the look of things, that time must be getting close. The shuttle itself had been only cursorily looked at, but the TIE had been practically disassembled. The pilot, Lieutenant Klar, had been over there with the aliens most of the time, a pair of weapons jammed into his ribs as they kept up their running interrogation. From where he sat, Parck couldn't hear either the questions or Klar's answers; he could only hope Thrawn had coached the pilot on what he was or was not to tell them.
Across the way, a door irised open and Creysis stepped into the hangar bay. Parck eyed him as he lumbered toward the group of prisoners, but the alien expression was impossible to read.
The effort turned out to be unnecessary. “Parck,” he wheezed, those repulsive mouth tentacles wiggling more than usual. “So you were telling truth. Foolish for you.”
“What do you mean?” Parck asked.
“Your spacecraft is indeed a po'dorj, ripe for harvest,” Creysis said, pointing with his elbow in the direction of the outer hatchway. “Slow and feeble and full of good things. Soon it will be in the grip of the Ebruchi.”
“Ah,” Parck nodded. “So that's what you call yourselves, is it? The Ebruchi? We'd wondered about that.”
The mouth tentacles momentarily stopped their movement. “Do you not hear me, Parck?” he demanded. “I say we will take your spacecraft and all you possess.”
“With what?” Parck snorted. “The ships you have here? Don't be ridiculous.”
“All the Ebruchi will soon be here, “ Creysis snarled, or as close as the alien voice could probably get to a snarl with that chronic wheezing. “Even now messengers have flown to summon them to the kill.”
Parck nodded, a warm glow of satisfaction filling him. Satisfaction, and the usual admiration for his commander. Once again, as he had so many times before, Thrawn had anticipated his opponent's moves down to the letter.” And what makes you think the Admonitor will still be here when they arrive?” he asked.
“Because even now it continues to chase us,” Creysis said. “Foolishly, for it is too slow to catch us. They think to rescue you from the Ebruchi victory feast. Instead, they will lose all.”
Parck swallowed. An Ebruchi victory feast. Did that mean what he was afraid it meant? “What sort of feast?”
The gloating alien never got a chance to tell him. From across the room, one of the other Ebruchi suddenly shouted.
Creysis turned and bounded over to him, moving at surprising speed for a creature of his bulk. “What's going on?” one of the troopers muttered.
“The admiral must have made his move,” Parck murmured back, watching the guards out of the corner of his eye. At the moment their attention was on the animated conversation going on across the hangar bay, but that wasn't going to last much longer. “At a guess, I'd say they suddenly found out just how fast the Admonitor can really travel.”
The trooper glanced up at the guards. “So what are we supposed to do?”
Parck smiled. “Just get ready to duck.”
And with a highly gratifying punctuality, the side of the Zeta shuttle directly over the starboard fuel tank blew off.
And into the alien hangar bay swarmed a dozen stormtroopers. The first synchronized blaze of blaster fire took out the guards standing over the seated troopers.
“Klar!” Parck shouted, pointing across the room to where the TIE pilot stood beside his disassembled fighter. But Klar had already hit the deck, and the stormtroopers' second volley cleared away the aliens standing dumbfounded over him.
“Commander Parck?” one of the storm troopers called.
“We're all here,” Parck confirmed, jumping to his feet and nearly falling back down again as fatigued leg muscles tried to cramp up on him. “That doorway's the only exit from the hangar bay.”
“Right,” the storm trooper said. Six of his men were already moving to take up defense positions at the door, while two others were busily setting explosives to blow the outer hatchway. “Get your men aboard the shuttle.”
“You heard him, troopers,” Parck called. “Get moving.”
“They're coming around, Admiral,” Niriz called, peering out the viewport. “ All thirty of their remaining fighters. Definitely an attack formation.”
“Acknowledged, Captain,” Thrawn said, coming back forward down the command walkway from his brief private conversation with the comm officer in his crew pit. “Launch one squadron of TIE fighters to intercept.”
“Yes, sir,” Niriz said, gesturing confirmation of the order to the fighter control officer. “Do you think one squadron will be enough?”
“More than enough,” Thrawn assured him. “With those kind of numbers, it's more important for our pilots to be able to keep out of each other's way.”
“Even with the aliens fully aware of TIE fighter capabilities?”
Thrawn smiled. “They're not aware of TIE fighter capabilities, Captain. They're aware of Lieutenant Klar's TIE fighter's capabilities. There's a considerable difference.”
“Ah,” Niriz said, understanding at last. So that was what that mysterious three-hour delay had been about. Rather than loading extra technology aboard Lieutenant Klar's TIE as part of a secret deal with Creysis, as Haverel had feared, Thrawn had instead been removing the critical parts of what was already there.
The TIE formation was nearly to the cloud of incoming enemy fighters, outnumbered thr
ee to one by ships four times their size. Unconsciously, Niriz held his breath.
And then the two forces collided, and the TIEs cut through the leading edge of the enemy shock force like a drive exhaust through spun snow. Eleven of the twelve targeted alien fighters were turned to instant fireballs by the Imperials' first salvo, the twelfth lasting just long enough to crab sideways into one of his comrades with a violent crash that took out both ships. The alien attack faltered, their arrogant confidence breaking visibly into sudden confusion. Taking advantage of the hesitation, the TIEs doubled back with review-stand precision, carving an equally devastating slash through the rear of the enemy formation.
“Excellent,” Thrawn said approvingly. “My compliments, Captain - your work with the pilots these past few days has been well worthwhile.”
“Admiral, we have a Zeta shuttle registering now,” the sensor officer called. “Bearing away from the command ship.”
“Have the TIE fighters clear an escape path for them,” Thrawn ordered. “All turbolaser batteries, engage enemy fighters at will, but leave the command ship untouched. Helm, prepare to jump to lightspeed; target is the first system along course vector seventy-one mark five. Tractor stations, lock on enemy command ship. I want it taken intact.”
The sky outside the viewport began to light up with the blaze of the Admonitor's heavy turbolasers, and the already one-sided battle collapsed completely into a rout. Creysis's command ship was trying desperately to escape, zigzagging like a wounded fish as its fighter screen literally disintegrated around and behind it. But it didn't have anywhere near the Admonitor's speed, and within seconds the Star Destroyer had closed to capture range. “ Activate tractor beams,” Thrawn instructed.
“Activated,” the tractor officer reported, gazing at the display over his subordinates' shoulders. “Connection... is good. We have them, sir.”
“Reel it in, lieutenant,” Thrawn ordered. “Order the troopers in the hangar bay to stand by for boarding. All TIE fighters are to break off and return.”
Three tense minutes later, it was done. “Hangar bay reports positive docking lock on the ship, Admiral,” the comm officer said. “Stormtroopers have burned through in three places; boarding has begun. All TIE fighters have returned with no casualties.”
“Helm?”
“Jump calculated and laid in, sir,” the officer replied briskly. “Estimated time to target system is two point five minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” Thrawn said. “Helm: jump to lightspeed. Fighter control - “
There was the distant rising hum of the hyperdrive, and the stars outside did their familiar surrealistic explosion into starlines. “Fighter control, confirm all TIE wings are ready to launch,” Thrawn continued. “Turbolaser crews, double-check battle readiness.”
Niriz nodded toward the mottled sky of hyperspace outside. “What are you expecting to find out there?” he asked.
“Whoever Creysis answers to, of course,” Thrawn said. “Despite his earlier bluster, he's not the ruler of anything. Far less the lord of all he surveys.”
Niriz frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Very much so,” Thrawn assured him. “A genuine commander would never accept an invitation to board an unknown and possibly dangerous ship. Nor would he stay in the vicinity so long after imprisoning our vehicles and men, running from us instead of jumping to lightspeed. He was deliberately presenting himself as a target, hoping to force us to reveal the Admonitor's full capabilities.”
“Which you of course were clever enough not to give him,” Niriz said, grimacing with embarrassment at how badly he'd misread the entire situation.
“Yes,” Thrawn said. A simple fact, with no undertone of pride or reproof in his voice. “Creysis is a subordinate. But he's an ambitious subordinate, willing to risk his own life and those of his troops in order to gather as much information as possible before calling the rest of the pack in for the kill.”
“All right,” Niriz said, forehead wrinkling with concentration. “I understand that. I also understand that it makes sense tactically for us to take the battle directly to their headquarters instead of waiting for them to gather their entire force against us. But Creysis sent out eight fighters, on eight different vectors. How do you know this is the way to their headquarters?”
“It comes down to information again, Captain,” Thrawn said, his tone that of an Academy instructor trying to elicit the correct response from a student. “We've established that Creysis is the sort to send all the information his commander will want or need. Not only that he's found a weak and promising target...” He lifted one eyebrow.
And suddenly Niriz got it. “Not only that he's found a promising target,” he said, “but hard evidence of just how promising that target is. That sculpture you gave him had a transponder built into it, didn't it?”
“Very good, Captain,” Thrawn said, and there was indeed a note of approval in his tone. “Helm?”
“Ninety seconds, Admiral,” the officer said.
“Have all stations report in,” Thrawn ordered. “Whoever we find here will be in the process of mobilizing to go to Creysis's aid. When we come out of hyperspace, we'll come out fighting.”
Ninety seconds later, they did.
The door to his quarters slid open, and Niriz looked up, expecting to see Admiral Thrawn step inside.
It was, instead, Commander Parck. “Do you have a moment, Captain?” he asked.
“I'm likely to have a great many moments,” Niriz said, suppressing a sigh as he waved the other inside. “Is that what you've come to tell me?”
“Not exactly,” Parck said. “Actually, I'm here to tell you that the admiral's turned you down. May I sit down?”
Niriz frowned. “What do you mean, he's turned me down?”
“Exactly that,” Parck said, pulling over a chair and sitting down. “He's not accepting your resignation as captain of the Admonitor.”
“That's ridiculous,” Niriz growled, not sure whether to be relieved or outraged. “I discussed mutiny with another senior officer - that's a court-martial offense. If he's not going to send me back to Coruscant with Haverel, he has to at the very least demote me.”
“As you may have noticed, Thrawn doesn't always consider himself bound by the manual,” Parck said dryly. “Besides, all you did was talk about it. When the crunch came, you made the command decision to side with him. That's what counts.”
“Is it?” Niriz demanded. “Fine - so I sided with him this once. What about the next time he pulls one of these stunts? How does he know he'll be able to trust me then?”
Parck favored him with an odd look. “You've got it backwards, Captain,” he said. “You're an honorable officer, from a proud Core World family. There's never been any question in Thrawn's mind that he can trust you.”
“You could have fooled me,” Niriz growled, thinking back to his conversation with Thrawn on the bridge. “If he trusts me so much, why didn't he let me in on what he was doing?”
“Oh, you were proving you were trustworthy, all right,” Parck assured him. “But you weren't proving it to Thrawn. You were proving it to yourself.”
He turned to gaze in the direction of the Admonitor's bow. “There are tremendous things out there waiting to be discovered, Captain. New species, rich worlds ripe for the taking, and any number of potential threats to the Empire. Our job is to find those threats, identify them... and eliminate them.”
He looked back at Niriz. “And that's why we're here. Because Thrawn is the best.”
Niriz eyed him. “So you're saying this whole thing really wasn't just the fallout from a political battle.”
Parck snorted. “Hardly. I'm sure Thrawn's enemies thought so, but as usual they were at least three steps behind him and the Emperor. No, Thrawn's been wanting to bring the Imperial presence to the Unknown Regions for a long time. His enemies merely provided a convenient excuse for the Emperor to send him here without anyone knowing the real reason behind it. Eventually, dependin
g on how quickly the Emperor can put down all these brush-fire revolts, we'll be getting more ships and men to assist us. Planting bases and garrisons; maybe even a few full-range colonies.”
He smiled dreamily, his eyes taking on a distant look. “The Empire is on the move, Captain. And we're the ones who are taking it there.”
For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Then, hunching his shoulders briefly as if shaking himself out of a pleasant daydream, Parck stood up. “I suppose we'd best get back to the bridge,” he said. “The interrogations of the surviving pirates should be finished soon, and we'll want to be available when the admiral's ready to discuss where we go next.”
“Yes,” Niriz agreed, getting to his feet with an inner enthusiasm he hadn't felt in years. Yes, his career undoubtedly lay in official ruins back on Coruscant. But that was all right. What faced him now was likely to be considerably more interesting. “After you, Commander.”