Thrawn

by Timothy Zahn

  “And if he’s still there,” Faro said, nodding understanding, “why not sabotage the station’s defenses while he’s at it?”

  Thrawn inclined his head to her. “Very good, Commander.”

  “If they’ve got a saboteur aboard, shouldn’t we warn them?” Lomar put in. “Either them or—Commander Vanto, was the commodore right about there being another station nearby?”

  “Yes,” Eli said. “Baklek Base, a twenty-minute flight away.”

  “We must maintain comm silence,” Thrawn said. “We do not wish to alert the raiders that we are in pursuit.”

  “With all due respect, sir, this still sounds like a bit of a stretch,” Faro said. “If someone sabotaged the Sempre, there’s a fair chance Lansend picked up the same distress call we did and has already figured out they have a problem. Hitting an unsuspecting transport is one thing; hitting a station that’s primed and ready is something else.”

  “Agreed,” Thrawn said. “Nevertheless, I believe they will make the attempt.”

  “Because they’re crazy idealistic meddlers and that makes them suicidal?”

  “No,” Thrawn said. “Because they told us they were.”

  Faro shot a startled look at Eli. “They what?”

  “The drawing left behind amid the bodies,” Thrawn said. “We know now that the slaves were Wookiees. The mark we found was a clan symbol, underscored by a mark indicating warning or defiance.”

  Eli winced as he saw where Thrawn was going. “And defiance results in vengeance?”

  “With tribal cultures like that of the Wookiees, very often,” Thrawn confirmed. “Even if there are no more Wookiees aboard the station to rescue, they will seek vengeance upon those who participated in the slaving. Since there is still the possibility that the station is unaware of their actions, they must attack as soon as possible.”

  “Only Lansend might be ready for them,” Eli pointed out.

  “We shall hope,” Thrawn said. “Regardless, I fully expect us to arrive in time to catch the attackers in the act.”

  —

  “Still no signals from the station,” Vanto reported. His voice is brisk with the anticipation of battle, his tone hinting of the swirl of possibilities and patterns within his mind. “Breakout in fifteen seconds.”

  “Weapons systems and crews standing ready,” Faro said. “TIE squadrons ready to launch.”

  “Signal to Baklek Base standing by,” Lomar said. “Pre-recorded message loaded and ready.”

  A flicker of starlines, and the Chimaera arrived.

  To find the battle had begun.

  “Base is under attack,” Vanto snapped. “Reading one frigate—twenty-two V-19 starfighters. Base’s starboard laser cannons slagged and silenced; portside weapons still firing.”

  “Launch TIEs,” Thrawn ordered. “Their first priority is to disable the frigate without destroying it. Signal Baklek Base, adding Commander Vanto’s details to the alert. Signal Lansend and request status.”

  In many cases an opponent’s attack strategy betrayed his origin. Here, the battle had already devolved into chaos, with each attacking starfighter effectively its own strategist and tactician.

  But even in large-scale disorder could be found local patterns and connections. Thrawn studied the V-19s’ movements, watching for repetition and predictability.

  “Chimaera, this is Colonel Zenoc.” The voice from the bridge speaker is tense but not panicked. “Welcome. Your timing is excellent.”

  “Colonel, this is Commodore Thrawn,” Thrawn said. “You have a saboteur on your station.”

  “Found her, disarmed her, and locked her up,” Zenoc said. “Unfortunately, not before she disabled the long-range comm and shut off the starboard-side defense systems. Baklek Base is supposed to be on call—can you whistle them up for us?”

  “I have already done so,” Thrawn said. “I need the schematics of your base.”

  “Right,” Zenoc said. “On their way. I’m including a real-time internal sensor feed.”

  “Very good,” Thrawn said. “Commander Vanto?”

  “Schematics and sensor feed coming up now,” Vanto said.

  The schematics appeared, with moving dots indicating the positions of the attackers and defenders.

  “We’ve been breached from the starboard docking hatch,” Zenoc continued. “So far we’re holding, but we’re being pushed back. It looks like they’re trying to take down our portside defenses so that they can send in another boarding party from that end and catch us in a pincer.”

  “My starfighters are engaging those attackers,” Thrawn said. “Commander Vanto?”

  “Portside V-19 force has split,” Vanto reported. “Half turning to engage TIEs, half continuing attack on station defenses. Starboard V-19s turning to defend frigate.”

  “Too late,” Faro called. Her voice holds grim satisfaction. “We’ve taken out the frigate’s hyperdrive. Our visitors aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Order the TIEs to shift focus to the V-19s,” Thrawn said. The movements of the station personnel had now revealed a pattern. “Colonel Zenoc, are any of your personnel in sections A-four, A-five, or B-five?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are any slaves in that area?”

  There was a short pause. “I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters, Commodore.”

  “If you wish to save your station, Colonel, you will answer my question.”

  Another pause. “There are some…nonmilitary personnel in section B-five,” Zenoc said.

  “Thank you,” Thrawn said. “Pull all your personnel back to B-eight and hold there.”

  “To B-eight?” Zenoc’s voice holds confusion.

  “Yes,” Thrawn said. “Commander Faro: I have marked seven target points on the starboard part of the station. I require pinpoint accuracy from the turbolasers. Can you do it?”

  “Absolutely, Commodore,” Faro confirmed. “Sending targets to gunners…gunners await your command.”

  “Colonel Zenoc?”

  “We’ve pulled back,” Zenoc said. His voice still holds confusion, and now also wariness and distrust. “But this isn’t a tenable position, sir. If we get pushed back any more, we’re going to be in trouble.”

  “You will not be pushed back,” Thrawn assured him. “Your battle is over. Turbolasers: Fire.”

  On the schematic, the seven marked points flashed as hull plates disintegrated. Behind them, the sensors painted four of the internal sections bright red as the air within them boiled into space.

  “What the hell?” Zenoc barked. “Chimaera, did you just fire on us?”

  “Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “I believe you will now find your intruders trapped in their current positions.”

  Another pause. “I’ll be roasted,” Zenoc said. The earlier wariness and confusion are gone. His voice now holds surprised understanding. “And B-five?”

  “Is intact, though it is now also isolated from the rest of the station,” Thrawn said. “We will continue the battle against the frigate and V-19s. I suggest you call on the intruders to surrender before you begin emergency access operations.”

  “Yes, of course.” Zenoc’s voice holds relief and even a small degree of humor. “Thank you, Commodore. Excellent work.”

  “You are welcome, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “We will continue operations until the Baklek reinforcements arrive. After that, we will leave you to deal with the prisoners while we retrieve the Sempre and return it here. I presume you have orders that cover such contingencies?”

  “We do,” Zenoc said. His voice sobers as the immediacy of the battle fades and he remembers the loss of the transport’s crew. “We’ll be ready when you return. And again, Commodore, thank you.”

  “Commander Faro?” Thrawn said.

  “Enemy forces are down to the crippled frigate and three functioning V-19s,” Faro reported. “I assume you’d like us to corral and capture the remaining fighters intact if possible?”

  “If possible,” Thrawn said. �
�If not, the Empire will have sufficient prisoners for interrogation among the rest of the survivors.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vanto came up beside him. “Commodore?” he asked, his voice quiet and disturbed. “What are we going to do about the Wookiees?”

  “We will leave them here.”

  Vanto is silent a moment. “I’m not completely comfortable with the idea that the Empire is using slaves, sir.”

  “Terms are not always as they seem, Commander,” Thrawn said. “They are called slaves, but they may in fact be indentured servants. They may be prisoners working off their sentence. They may have sold themselves into slavery as a means of repaying debts to others on their world. I have seen all those situations at times.”

  “You really think any of those are likely?”

  “No,” Thrawn said, his tone hardening. “But it does not matter. However these beings were pressed into service, they are now Imperial assets. They will be treated as such.”

  “Understood, Commodore.”

  Each culture is different. Each species is unique. That presents challenges to the warrior, who often must ascertain from limited clues the strategy, goals, and tactics of an opponent.

  But the danger of misreading an opponent is sometimes even greater in politics. There, one seldom has the clearness of weapons activation or troop movement to warn of impending danger. Often, the only indication of conflict is when the battle has already begun.

  —

  The shuttle hatch opened, letting in the warm afternoon air.

  After all these years, Arihnda had come home.

  She paused at the top of the ramp, taking a moment to let her gaze drift across the buildings of Capital City before turning to the more rustic Lothal landscape surrounding it. After the massive cityscape of Coruscant, the sight of wild vegetation was almost a shock.

  “Welcome home, Governor,” a voice called from the bottom of the ramp.

  Arihnda looked down. Maketh Tua stood there, dressed in the blue and gray of an Imperial minister, a hint of her blond hair glinting from beneath her close-fitting conical helmet. Her hand held a datapad; her smile held a hint of nervousness.

  “Thank you,” Arihnda said, walking down the ramp and stopping in front of her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Governor,” the woman confirmed. “Over a year since you succeeded to the governorship, in fact.”

  Arihnda felt her lip twitch. And in that year she’d spent less than a week here, usually only a few hours at a time, ruling by proxy the world she’d worked so hard to get. Most of her time had been spent on Coruscant, making friends, bolstering Lothal’s standing among the Empire’s thousands of worlds, and chasing down incriminating bits of information for Grand Moff Tarkin.

  But finally, finally, she was here to stay.

  After the glittering lights of Coruscant, she still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

  “Which also makes it over a year since you were appointed overseer of industrial production,” she said. “So tell me: How is Lothal’s industrial production getting along?”

  “Quite well, Your Excellency, quite well,” Tua said. “I have all the relevant data whenever you’re settled in and ready to examine it.”

  Silently, Arihnda held out her hand. Tua’s cheerful expression slipped, just a bit, and she hastily handed Arihnda the datapad. “It’s the file on top, Your Excellency.”

  “Thank you.” Arihnda keyed to the file, watching Tua out of the corner of her eye. The woman had been an assistant minister during the last couple of months of Governor Azadi’s administration. Azadi’s sudden removal and arrest on charges of treason had been a traumatic event for the entire governmental staff, and even after all this time it was clear that Tua wasn’t completely over it.

  Hopefully the others were feeling likewise. Nervous subordinates worked extra hard, and kept their noses very clean. Until they had a better feel for their newly returned boss, they would be polite, energetic, and easy to control or intimidate.

  Which was just as well, because the intimidation was about to start in earnest. “What’s this decline in refinery output?” she asked, turning the datapad around. “Twenty percent in the past four months?”

  “It’s the mines, Your Excellency,” Tua said. “They’ve been worked so hard over the past few years that they’re running out of quality ore.”

  “Really,” Arihnda said, letting her voice cool a bit.

  Tua’s throat tightened. “They’ve been worked very hard,” she repeated. “It’s also more and more difficult to find qualified miners. A lot of young people go into the Academy—Commandant Aresko has set up a whole string of incentives for them. They just don’t want to work the mines anymore like they used to. With the Empire running them instead of the old mining families—”

  “Then you bring in miners from offworld,” Arihnda cut in. She’d already noted that the Imperial-run mines had logged the quickest decline in workers. “My parents—” She broke off as a number on the list caught her attention. “That doonium vein is tapped out already? That’s impossible.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but it’s true,” Tua said. “I’ve been down the mine myself. All the doonium has been extracted.”

  “I see,” Arihnda said, pulling up the full data spread on Pryce Mining. The fact that Renking had blatantly kept the name was just one additional irritation. “In that case, Pryce Mining isn’t worth the effort being put into it. Shut it down.”

  Tua’s eyes widened in shock. “Excuse me, Your Excellency?”

  “Was the order unclear?”

  “No, Your Excellency,” Tua said hastily. “Do you want it…is it to be closed right now?”

  “Right now,” Arihnda confirmed. “At the end of the current shift. See to it personally, Minister.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.” She turned and started to go—

  “Minister?”

  Tua turned back. “Yes, Your Excellency?”

  Arihnda held out the woman’s datapad. “I understand Senator Renking is on Lothal at the moment,” she said as Tua hastily retrieved the device. “Have someone inform him that I want to see him in my office at his earliest convenience.”

  Her office in the government building was just as she’d left it: neat, but only sparsely decorated. Azadi’s supporters had looted the room of all his personal effects after his arrest, and Arihnda hadn’t bothered to replace any of them.

  Nor did she intend to. She was here to work, not relax among trinkets and sentiment.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening reading through the data that had accumulated since Azadi’s last report to Coruscant. Lothal’s industrialization was proceeding at a gratifying pace, but there were still some serious deficiencies that needed to be addressed.

  It was almost sundown when the droid in the outer office announced that Renking had arrived.

  To Arihnda’s complete lack of surprise, the senator barged through the door without waiting for permission to enter. “Welcome back, Your Excellency,” he said, without a shred of actual welcome in his voice. “How long are you here for this time?”

  “Hopefully, I’m going to be here permanently,” Arihnda said.

  “Wonderful.” He stopped at the edge of the desk, his face darkening. “Now what the hell is this about closing my mine?”

  “Your mine,” Arihnda countered calmly. “Forgive me, but I didn’t realize you had a mine. I thought all mines on Lothal were owned or overseen by the Empire.”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Renking ground out. “Your old mine—Pryce Mining. My agreement with the Empire was for ten percent of the profits.”

  “That would have been reason enough right there to shut it down,” Arihnda said. “But don’t flatter yourself. Closing it was a strictly business decision. The doonium vein has tapped out, and there aren’t enough experienced miners left to waste them on underperforming rock. Hence, Pryce Mining will be shut down
and its employees transferred elsewhere.”

  “And I suppose you’ll decide which people go where?” Renking asked suspiciously.

  “I’ll leave that up to Minister Tua,” Arihnda said. “But it seems only fair that the employees with the highest seniority be offered the best positions.”

  “Those being the ones left over from when you ran the mine, I suppose?”

  “That is how seniority works.”

  Renking hissed between his teeth. “I don’t have to just sit here and take this, you know,” he said. “I can bring in my own experts and show you that the mine’s production is at least on a par with every other mine on Lothal.”

  “You could,” Arihnda agreed. “But you won’t. Would you like to know why?”

  “I’m dying to find out,” he bit out sarcastically.

  “One: Because Pryce Mining is too small to be worth a fight,” she said, counting off fingers. “You have other interests that pay much better, especially now that the doonium is gone. Two: Because every favor you burn on a worthless mine is a favor you can’t call in for something else. I know how you work. You can’t afford to waste favors on pride.”

  She let her expression harden. “And three: The only way I could have obtained this governorship so young is if I have powerful friends and patrons. Very powerful friends…and after all your digging I dare say you still have no idea who they are. Until you do, you don’t dare raise a finger against me.”

  For a long moment they stared at each other across the desk. Then, with another soft hiss, Renking inclined his head. “In that case, Governor, I believe our conversation is over.”

  “I believe it is, Senator,” Arihnda agreed. “Good evening.”

  She waited until he was gone from her office, and the doorwatch droids reported that he’d left the building. Then, keying the holo on her desk, she punched in a familiar number.

  The display lit up with the triangular face, bright eyes, and lumpy headcrest of a female Anx. “Hello, Eccos,” Arihnda said. “This is Arihnda Pryce. How have you been?”

  For a moment the eyes goggled. Then, abruptly, the Anx mining boss let loose a stream of Shusugaunt.