Thrawn_Alliances_Star Wars

by Timothy Zahn

  Faro made up her mind. Grand Admiral Thrawn had a passion for information, and right now there was precious little of that commodity that Faro could offer.

  Besides, Vader was down there with him. What could possibly happen that the two of them together couldn’t handle? “You’ve got ten minutes to squeeze everything you can out of those sensors,” she told Hammerly. “Once we see what you’ve got, we’ll go from there.”

  * * *

  —

  The travel corridor between the landing field and Black Spire was rough-hewn, its edges lined with small trees and bushes that marked the forest’s continual attempt to reclaim the land.

  The lack of precise edgework suggests the earlier care has diminished over the past few months. The air is rich with memory, full of the aromas of exotic plants and the sounds of distant birds.

  Three meters ahead and a meter to the right, Vader hunches over the front of his speeder bike, his long cloak rippling rhythmically in the wind of his passage. His body stance perhaps holds tension, perhaps anger.

  Black Spire comes into sight. Vader lifts a hand, signaling a halt.

  Thrawn slowed his speeder bike and stopped beside Vader’s. “Have you a plan of approach?” Vader asked. His left hand falls back from the speeder bike’s control grip to his side near his lightsaber.

  “We will begin with the cantina,” Thrawn said. “It may be that the bartender will remember me.”

  Vader’s hand moves a few centimeters closer to his lightsaber. His back stiffens slightly. “We shall see,” he said. He leans forward and again takes the control grips. His wrist twists and the bike moves forward.

  A surprisingly large number of residents were visible on Black Spire’s streets as Thrawn and Vader traveled at reduced speed along the twisting paths through the outpost. Perhaps that was due to the hour: The sun was near zenith, and for many residents this would be the time for a midday meal, business meetings, or general conversation. Four species were represented: humans, Darshi, Shistavanens, and Jablogians.

  Vader’s helmet moves a few degrees back and forth as they approach the cantina. His vision appears to linger on each Darshi that he passes. “You are not familiar with Darshi?” Thrawn asked.

  “I am not,” Vader said. “Are they from the Unknown Regions?”

  “I believe they are a border people,” Thrawn said. “I know little about them except their basic appearance. They travel both Wild Space and the Unknown Regions.”

  “I understood travel into the Unknown Regions was difficult.”

  “Indeed,” Thrawn said. “The hyperlanes are few and not easy to traverse. But system jumps are possible if a traveler has sufficient time and is content with traversing limited distances.”

  “And if one was not content with limited distances?”

  “One would need a careful study of the border,” Thrawn said. “Millennia ago a set of chained supernova explosions throughout this particular region threw planet- and moon-sized masses at high speeds across the stars. The movements of those masses continually alter the hyperlanes, changing the paths in ways that are difficult to calculate. Other phenomena in other parts of the border created similar barriers. The hyperlanes that remain largely intact are beset with other dangers.”

  “Are the Darshi one of those dangers?”

  “Their culture has not been deeply studied by the Chiss,” Thrawn said. “They are not generally believed to exhibit violence to outsiders.”

  “Yet they are built for violence,” Vader said. “Long clawed limbs are ideal for attack. Narrow heads and bodies are likewise excellent for defense.”

  “I agree,” Thrawn said. “I can only state again that the stories do not portray them as violent.”

  Vader turns his head as he passes another Darshi, keeping him in view until he is lost to sight. “Stories are not always accurate,” he said. “I also note that each carries a long knife at his side.”

  “Indeed,” Thrawn said. “From the extensive tooling on the scabbard, I surmise the weapons are largely ceremonial.”

  “They are still weapons,” Vader said. “If not against outsiders, then perhaps against their own kind.”

  “That is often the case with ceremonial weapons.”

  There were three other speeder bikes and two landspeeders drawn up in front of the cantina when they arrived. Other Black Spire residents were converging on the building on foot. Thrawn and Vader parked their bikes beside the others and dismounted. “Perhaps our timing was…inconvenient,” Vader said.

  “Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Yet a large group also increases the probability that one or more of those responsible for the Emperor’s disturbance will be present. Their reaction to our arrival may prove useful.”

  “It may,” Vader said. “I will watch. You will speak.”

  The door is tall and wide, designed to accommodate large beings or cargo pods. The texture is subtly different from the rest of the building, and appears newer. Vader pushes one door open with his left hand, leaving his right hand free. He strides in and takes a long step to the side, allowing entry behind him. The interior is dimly lit, the windows mostly closed and covered, with only small gaps allowing in light.

  The cantina was well populated, with approximately two-thirds of its tables full. Most of the patrons had turned toward the door as Vader entered, and were now gazing at the newcomers.

  With so many faces it would be impossible to fully observe the initial reactions of all of them. Fortunately, only one group was truly important.

  Two adjacent tables are attended by five Darshi each. Four of the ten exhibit enlarged eyes. Six exhibit enlarged eyes and suddenly stiffened spines. One grasps at a second’s arm. A third leans closer to a fourth, speaking inaudibly. Still, it is impossible to discern whether they are reacting to Vader or the unexpected appearance of a Chiss.

  Thrawn strode past Vader toward the bar and the large human working behind it. The patrons along the route, none of them Darshi, return to their plates and cups, their initial focus fading. The bartender finishes preparing his current drink and looks up at the newcomers. His expression holds puzzlement and a hint of returning memory.

  “Good morning,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps you remember me.”

  The bartender’s eyes widen. His expression holds sudden recognition. His lips turn downward, his eyes and expression holding unpleasant memories. “I do,” he said. His eyes change focus as Vader comes forward. “The other, from before. Is he with you?”

  “No,” Thrawn said. “I’m told he died some years ago. The fortunes of war.”

  “Good,” the bartender said. His eyes shift to Vader again. His expression holds hostility. “Does this one now stand as your bodyguard?”

  Visible in the curved metal railing of the bar, Vader’s body stance stiffens. “He is a fellow traveler, not a bodyguard,” Thrawn said. “What is your name?”

  The bartender’s expression changes, now holding wariness. “I am Nodlia. Have you come to once again deal with supposed oppression?”

  “Do you wish my help?” Thrawn asked.

  “Have I a choice?”

  “Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “You speak of oppression?”

  Nodlia hesitates. He lowers his voice and leans a few centimeters closer over the bar. “The newcomers to Batuu,” he said. “The Thinfaces.”

  “The Darshi?”

  “If that’s their name. They’ve not spoken much to me. I know only that since their arrival Batuu hasn’t been the same.”

  “When was that?”

  “The first group came one hundred seventy-four days ago,” Nodlia said. “They said they were on a pilgrimage, that their journey would require them to stay on Batuu for a time. They built houses for themselves to the east, and spent three days in the woods to the north in group meditation. At times they fill our spacefield with their s
hips, coming and going to distant places on unknown errands.”

  “That does not sound like oppression,” Thrawn said.

  “They drove away some of the traders who used to come here,” Nodlia said. “Other ships were discouraged by the lack of landing spots at the times when they filled the spacefield. Some of those traders went elsewhere on Batuu. Others abandoned our world entirely. Our people were forbidden from venturing near the Thinfaces’ houses, and they took the best food and resources for themselves.”

  “Did they not pay for it?”

  Nodlia hesitates. His expression holds embarrassment. “Yes, they paid. The proper fees and prices. Perhaps even somewhat more. Enough more, truth be told, to calm most of those dissatisfied with their other interference.”

  He leans yet closer, his eyes shifting to the Darshi at their two tables. “But I wasn’t fooled. I remember…you know of what I speak. There’s the same feel about the Thinfaces.

  “And then, eighteen days ago, a new group of them arrived.” He pauses. His expression holds a quiet horror. “With them came ten coffins.”

  An armored finger touched Thrawn’s arm. “They prepare for combat,” Vader said quietly.

  Nodlia’s expression holds sudden fear. He takes three steps away along the bar. His body stance holds a desire to move far from the upcoming attack.

  “How soon?” Thrawn asked.

  “They are passing weapons among themselves,” Vader said. “Not their knives, but combat sticks. The newly armed are making their way in both directions, no doubt attempting to surround us and launch a coordinated attack.”

  There was a signal from the comlink on Thrawn’s belt. “Perhaps more coordinated than you know.” He pulled out the comlink and turned it on. “Speak.”

  “Large ship, heavy freighter or small warship, heading toward your position.” Faro’s voice holds tension and determination. “Second ship, plus four smaller ships, making orbit. Orders?”

  “They cannot be allowed to escape,” Vader said. “Order the Chimaera to attack.”

  “It would be unwise to reveal the Chimaera’s presence and firepower at present,” Thrawn said. “Let us first see if the survivors of the coming attack can provide us with the information we need.”

  “Unlikely they will know the incoming ships’ space combat capabilities,” Vader countered.

  “The Chimaera is even now gathering that information.”

  “Data from that distance will be insufficient,” Vader rumbled. “I have ordered Commander Kimmund to intercept, examine, and engage if necessary.”

  “I am in command, Lord Vader.”

  “You command the Chimaera,” Vader said. His voice and stance are stiff. His hand rests near his lightsaber. “I command the First Legion. You will instruct Faro to release them to the attack.”

  “Very well,” Thrawn said. “Commodore, you will permit Commander Kimmund and his men to depart. I place the Chimaera under your command. You may act on your own discretion.”

  “Acknowledged, Admiral.”

  He returned the comlink to his belt. “The warrior’s path lies before us,” he said. “Let us follow its guidance.”

  “The warrior’s path lies before us,” Thrawn said, nodding through the windscreen at the cantina looming in front of them. “Let us see where it leads.”

  Anakin suppressed a sigh. Whether a soldier called it a motto, an aphorism, or a war cry, his personal experience was that most of those who continually spouted them turned out to be not very good at their jobs once the shooting began.

  Jedi were the exception to that rule, of course. Most of the ones Anakin had met could trot out an aphorism for nearly any occasion, but despite that most of them did just fine in combat.

  Maybe Chiss were like Jedi in that respect. But he doubted it.

  The cantina itself looked equally unpromising. It was large but old, bordering on the decrepit, something that had never been all that impressive to begin with and had been going downhill ever since. The windows were shuttered, the door scarred and faded with age.

  The people moving back and forth down the streets looked equally scarred and faded, as did the whole outpost. The ruins Black Spire was built beside and into looked ancient, like something lost out of time, with the mixed sense of intrigue, desperation, and ruthlessness that he’d seen in so many similar settlements. In this kind of environment, there was no telling what sort of trouble Duja had stumbled on.

  But what level of trouble could have persuaded her to drag Padmé all the way out here with her?

  “Do you see them?” Thrawn asked.

  Anakin looked around at the people shuffling their way across the dusty streets. “See who?”

  “Two beings to our left, three to our right,” Thrawn said. “They’ve begun to slowly converge on us.”

  “Really,” Anakin said, resisting the impulse to look. Ambushes were always easier to turn when the attackers didn’t know they’d been spotted. “You think our smugglers are still unhappy with us?”

  “These aren’t the ones who tried to breach your ambassador’s ship,” Thrawn said. “Indeed, if they remained in ground vehicles they’re most likely still traversing the forest. But they certainly could have signaled ahead.”

  “Well, if they think getting us out of the way will let them go back and move the ship, they’re going to be disappointed,” Anakin said grimly. “I bounce-locked the ship’s systems before we left. Without the code, they’ll never get it to fly.”

  “Perhaps they’ve already investigated and know that,” Thrawn said as he pulled to a stop by the cantina. “These five may be hoping to extract the release code from you.”

  Anakin shrugged as he got a hand on the windscreen and hopped over the landspeeder’s side. “Like I said. They’re going to be disappointed.”

  The cantina’s interior was as depressing as the exterior. There were barely a handful of patrons seated at various tables, a few talking together in low voices but most sitting solitary vigil over their drinks. The bartender was standing behind a wraparound wooden bar, gazing dully at the patrons as he absently polished a small obsidian mug from a line of similar vessels lined up in front of him. Behind him, the wall was covered with a tangle of pipes, filters, bubblers, and other less identifiable devices. Briefly, Anakin wondered if the place was happier, or at least busier, at mealtimes.

  He put the thought behind him. They were here for information, not companionship.

  The bartender shifted his gaze to the door as the two newcomers walked in, his eyes following them as they made their way through the maze of tables. “Afternoon, visitors,” he said in accented Basic as they reached the bar. “What drinks do you choose?”

  “We choose the cool quaff of information,” Thrawn said in Meese Caulf.

  A look flashed across the bartender’s face, as if he was mentally shifting gears. “Information, you say,” he said in the same language.

  “Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “And we’re prepared to pay for it,” he added, setting a golden coin on the bar beside the row of mugs.

  The bartender looked down at the coin, but made no move to pick it up. “Information on Batuu is of two types,” he said. “The useless, and the very costly.”

  “Perhaps we shall find a central ground.” Thrawn gestured to Anakin.

  “We seek information on these human females,” Anakin said, switching on his holoprojector. The ghostly images of Padmé and Duja appeared above the disk. “Have you seen either of them?”

  Reluctantly, the bartender lifted his eyes from the coin. Anakin reached out with the Force, caught the flicker of recognition—

  “No,” the man said, lowering his eyes again. “Neither has been seen here.”

  “Really,” Thrawn said, his voice taking on a smooth coolness that suggested he didn’t believe the man, either. “Please take a secon
d look, for this is important. Their father is dying, and would like to see his daughters one last time before the end.”

  Again with clear reluctance, the bartender lifted his gaze. “I haven’t seen them,” he said, lowering his eyes back to the mugs and the coin. “They’re sisters, then?”

  “Yes,” Thrawn said. He pulled out a second coin and placed it beside the first. “Their entire family is assembled at his bedside”—he added a third coin—“with these two sisters the only ones unaware of their coming loss”—a fourth coin joined the growing pile—“and who will be heartbroken if their beloved father passes on without their farewells.”

  The bartender had missed none of the action. “And you were sent to retrieve them?” he asked.

  “He carries the burden of that task,” Thrawn said, nodding to Anakin. “I was merely hired as guide and translator.”

  “Yes.” The bartender took one last, long look at the pile of coins. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped resolutely back from the bar. “I’m sorry, gentlebeings. I truly am.”

  And without warning, the line of mugs on the bar exploded into a cloud of thick white smoke.

  Instantly Anakin clamped his nose and mouth shut to keep out the gas. Snatching up his lightsaber, he started to leap back from the cloud—

  And staggered sideways off balance as Thrawn grabbed his shoulder and shoved hard against it. Through the smoke he caught an unclear image of the Chiss now standing on top of the bar, turning to face the doorway with drawn blaster. Again, Anakin started to step back from the bar.

  But instead found himself swaying further to the side, his balance gone, his knees buckling beneath him. That momentary jolt when Thrawn used his shoulder as an assist for his leap onto the bar had let in enough of the gas to affect him. He managed to get turned toward the door, then found himself toppling to the floor.

  As he hit the rough wood, the room erupted with blasterfire.

  His vision was starting to fade. But he was a Jedi, and there were ways to fight back against drug attacks. Drawing energy from the Force, concentrating on not losing consciousness, he peered through the smoke.