by Timothy Zahn
“Again, I don’t have much sympathy for the insurgents,” Pryce said. “But I do mourn the loss of Agent Gudry. He was a good agent, and a loyal protector.”
“I trust you also mourn the troopers who died in the blast,” Yularen said. “Including those who had been sent to rescue you.”
“A mission I was unaware of,” Pryce said. Her voice holds coolness. The tightness is fading from her muscles. “As I told you earlier, I didn’t want to use my comm more than absolutely necessary.”
“Have we information as to the insurgents’ ability to tap into such communications?” Thrawn asked.
“We don’t know that they could, sir,” Vanto said. “But it is theoretically possible. And someone like Nightswan would certainly have wanted to keep tabs on who was communicating from inside his stronghold if he’d had the capability.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “Your report, Colonel, said his death was confirmed?”
“Yes, sir,” Yularen said. “His body was found and identified in one of the outer areas, where the damage was less severe. He was probably checking on the perimeter.” He hesitated. “Possibly preparing to stand alongside the defenders there.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said.
And so it was over. The path had ended. The pattern was broken.
The song of the Nightswan was silenced. The galaxy would be the worse for its loss.
“Still, the Emperor is pleased with the outcome,” Pryce said. Her voice holds pride and satisfaction as she looks at Thrawn. Her head is held high. “Very pleased indeed.”
“Is he?” Thrawn said.
Pryce’s eyes slip away from his gaze. Her throat muscles tighten, her expression holding caution and discomfort. “He is,” she said. “I expect he’ll find a tangible way to show his thanks.”
There was a signal from the conference room intercom. “Yes?” Thrawn asked.
“A message from Coruscant, Admiral,” Faro reported. Her voice holds controlled excitement. “The Emperor requests your presence at the Imperial Palace at your earliest convenience.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Thrawn said. “Transmit my acknowledgment, and inform Coruscant that we will travel there as soon as the Batonn matter has been finalized.”
“Yes, sir.” The intercom clicked off.
“You don’t want to keep the Emperor waiting, Admiral,” Pryce warned.
“Agreed,” Yularen said. “With respect, sir, we can handle things from groundside.”
“And the cruisers can follow on as soon as their repairs are complete, sir,” Vanto added. “They shouldn’t be more than a couple of days behind us. If you’d like, we can leave the frigates here with them so that they can all convoy together.”
“An excellent thought,” Thrawn said. “Very well. Inform Commander Faro to make ready. The Chimaera will leave Batonn in three hours, with the rest of the task force following as able. Colonel Yularen, if during the next three hours you find my attention here is further needed, please inform me so that I may delay our departure.”
“Yes, sir.” Yularen, Vanto, and Pryce stand up from the table.
“Governor Pryce, a word with you in private, if I may,” Thrawn said.
Vanto and Yularen exchanged glances. But they collected their data cards and left the conference room without further comment.
“A question, Admiral?” Pryce asked when the others were gone. She remains standing by her chair, her body stance holding no indication that she is preparing to sit down again.
“A statement, Governor,” Thrawn corrected.
Pryce shakes her head. Her cheek and throat muscles show fresh tension, but her back is stiff and straight and her head is held high with defiant confidence. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s not how you bring an accusation against a powerful member of the Imperial government,” she said. “For all your tactical skill, Admiral, you still don’t know the first thing about dealing with politicians.”
“Do I not?”
“You do not,” Pryce said. Her voice holds confidence. “Your entire career has been one of military triumphs and political bumps, and every one of those bumps has required someone with political skill to get you out of it.”
She leans forward and sets her hands, palms down, on the table in front of her. “Let’s lay out our cards. Or rather, I’ll lay out my cards, since you’re not the card-playing sort. You clearly suspect me of knowing more than I’ve said about what happened on Batonn. Fine. Suspect me all you want. But don’t lose track of the fact that you need me.”
“In what way?”
“To smooth out your future political bumps,” she said. “And trust me: There will be more bumps. You’re a successful admiral. That makes you a target for people who want to siphon off some of your power for themselves.”
“People such as you?”
She smiled again. Her expression holds irony. Her body stance holds a slightly grudging respect. “At least you’ve learned some political lessons. But no, I don’t want to take your power away. I merely want to direct it along a line that will do us both the most good.”
“Such as?”
“The fact is that I have something of an insurgent situation on Lothal,” she said. Her voice holds reluctance. Her facial heat increases. Her body stance holds resentment and anger, but directed elsewhere. “I wanted to make my world the Outer Rim’s best and finest source of high-grade metals, as well as the premier manufacturing and military center for the sector. In the process, I may have pushed the locals a bit too hard. Regardless of the cause, we have a problem, and Admiral Konstantine has been less than effective in dealing with it.”
“You’ve spoken to the High Command?”
“The High Command has a lot of hot spots to deal with right now.” Her voice holds impatience and scorn. “With more popping up every day, I’ve had some discussions with Grand Moff Tarkin, and he isn’t any happier about the situation than I am. He’s especially not happy that our local rebels are starting to take their brand of annoyance to other places in the region. He’s made it clear that I need to find a solution.”
“Have you?”
“Yes,” she said. “You.”
“And what would my benefit be?”
“I already detailed one of those benefits,” Pryce said. “If you don’t think my political guidance of enough value, then consider the gain to your prestige from another victory or two. That’s all Coruscant values, you know: results.” She cocks her head to the side. “My sources tell me that Fleet Admiral Sartan of the Seventh Fleet is going to be replaced soon. Batonn is just the kind of victory that could put you in line for that command.”
“I am content with the Ninety-Sixth Task Force.”
“You’d be more content with the Seventh Fleet,” Pryce retorted. She pauses, her expression and body stance showing her effort to regain control. “One last card, a card I know you care about. The Seventh Fleet carries a lot of firepower. It’s sent to major conflicts, where there are powerful and desperate enemies. If you don’t command it, someone else will. Do you think there’s anyone else in the Imperial Navy who cares as much as you do about limiting casualties?”
“You make interesting points,” Thrawn said. “I will consider your proposal.”
“Do that.” Her body stance holds complete confidence. Her expression holds quiet triumph. “In the meantime, go have your meeting with the Emperor. Smile and thank him for whatever accolades or trinkets he heaps on you.” She smiles, her expression holding cynicism. “Who knows? He might even make you a grand admiral. The point is, get through it, and we’ll see each other again soon.”
“We may indeed,” Thrawn said. “Farewell, Governor. Safe journey.”
She had been gone for eighteen minutes when Vanto returned to the conference room. “Governor Pryce just left,” he reported, eyeing Thrawn closely. “What did she say?”
“She offered herself as my adviser on political matters.”
“You could
definitely use someone like that,” Vanto said doubtfully. “Not sure she’s the right one for the job, though. What did she say about Creekpath?”
“She didn’t admit to playing any part in the destruction,” Thrawn said. “But I believe she bears at least some of the blame.”
“But you have no proof?”
“None.”
“Figured as much,” Vanto said, his voice grim. “And from what Yularen said, we’re not likely to get any. So she gets away with it.”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps not. I’ve noted there is often a symmetry to such things.”
“We can hope,” Vanto said. “So. To Coruscant?”
“To Coruscant,” Thrawn said.
“I know you’re not going to like accepting the credit for the action down there,” Vanto said. “But try to smile and act grateful anyway.” He frowned. “What are you smiling about?”
“Governor Pryce had much the same advice.”
“Oh.” Vanto shrugged. “Well, it’s still a good idea. With your permission, I’d like to go see if there’s any final data from groundside before we leave.”
“Please do,” Thrawn said. “Remember, too, that others have served the Empire well. I trust the Emperor will have enough honors to award to all.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Vanto said. “Doesn’t matter. I’m quite content to be your aide, Admiral. It’s where I’m supposed to be.”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps not.”
—
The throne room was as Thrawn remembered it, though he saw it now with different eyes. The new uniform he’d been given was white, with gold shoulder bars and silver collar insignia, completely unlike anything else in the Imperial Navy. The rank insignia plaque the Emperor held in his gnarled hand was equally impressive: twelve tiles in blue, red, and gold.
The Emperor’s face was as Thrawn had never seen it. His expression holds satisfaction, with hints of both amusement and malice. “Congratulations, Grand Admiral,” he said as he held out the insignia plaque. “An excellent day for you. An excellent day for my Empire.” The amusement grows. “Though I fear many will not see it that way.”
“I will endeavor to set their hearts and minds at ease,” Thrawn said. “But I must first calm my own heart and mind.”
The smile leaves the Emperor’s face. Some of the satisfaction fades, replaced by displeasure. “Must you, now,” he said. “Very well. Speak your mind, Grand Admiral.”
“Tell me about the Death Star.”
The amusement vanishes. The malice grows. “When and how did you hear of that project?”
“I learned the name from unguarded dispatches,” Thrawn said. “I deduced the size and power from resource allocations. I now wish to learn from you its purpose.”
The amusement reappears, mixed now with understanding and triumph. “Ah,” he said, lowering his hand to his side. “Your thoughts are laid bare, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. You fear that, once I have dealt with the rebels within my borders, I will turn my unstoppable weapon against your Chiss. Is that your concern?”
“That is part of it,” Thrawn said. “I would certainly not wish to see my aid to you and your Empire subverted into conquest or destruction. But I would also warn against diverting too many of the Empire’s resources from a flexible navy of capital ships and starfighters to massive projects that can bring the Imperial presence to only one system at a time.”
“Allow me to allay your fears,” the Emperor said. “I have no designs against your people. Indeed, I have noted that despite your assistance in mapping the Unknown Region hyperspace routes you have kept the location of Chiss worlds and bases secret. That is acceptable. I don’t begrudge you the defense of your people. As to Imperial resources—”
He smiles again, the triumph growing and turning strangely brittle.
“—there will soon be no need to spread the Imperial presence across the galaxy. Once the Death Star is fully operational, its very existence will suppress all opposition. And so…?”
He raises his arm, again holding out the rank plaque.
This time, Thrawn took it.
“Good,” the Emperor said. His smile again holds satisfaction. The malice fades, but never entirely disappears.
At the side of the throne room a door slid open and a tall, black-clad figure appeared, a long black cloak swirling behind him. “Ah—Lord Vader,” the Emperor called a greeting. He beckons to the figure. His body stance holds a sense of mastery and domination. “Come; join us. I don’t believe you have met Darth Vader, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
Vader approaches, his pace measured but confident. His face is hidden, his muscle movements muted and unreadable beneath his armored clothing. But his stance holds power and authority.
It also holds confidence. More than anything else, it holds confidence.
“You are correct, Your Excellency,” Thrawn said. “I greet you, Lord Vader.”
“Grand Admiral,” Vader said, inclining his helmeted head. His voice is deep and partially mechanical. It, too, holds power and confidence.
“I have heard a great deal about you,” Thrawn said. “I am pleased we have finally met.”
“Yes,” Vader said. “As am I.”
It is said that one should keep one’s allies within view, and one’s enemies within reach.
A valid statement. One must be able to read an ally’s strengths, so as to determine how best to use him. One must similarly be able to read an enemy’s weaknesses, so as to determine how best to defeat him.
But what of friends?
There is no accepted answer, perhaps because true friendship is so exceedingly rare. But I have formulated my own.
A friend need not be kept either within sight or within reach. A friend must be allowed the freedom to find and follow his own path.
If one is fortunate, those paths will for a time join. But if the paths separate, it is comforting to know that a friend still graces the universe with his skills, and his viewpoint, and his presence.
For if one is remembered by a friend, one is never truly gone.
—
Eli read the entry a second time. Then, with a sigh, he shut down his datapad.
He still didn’t know why Thrawn had left him his journal. Perhaps he’d seen it simply as history. Perhaps he’d seen it as one final opportunity for training and instruction.
Or perhaps the reason was encompassed somehow in that final entry.
Distantly, Eli wondered if there had been any more to the journal. And, if so, if he would ever find the other entries.
He doubted it. But it didn’t really matter. The galaxy had Thrawn’s legacy and his accomplishments. Those who could learn from that legacy had presumably already done so. Those who couldn’t never would.
Eli hoped he was part of the first group.
Setting aside the datapad, he gazed again at the pattern of numbers flowing across his display. For most people, he knew, numbers were next to meaningless. For Eli, by life and by training a supply specialist, they were like music. Whether they formed themselves into inventory lists, targeting calculations, or hyperspace course and position data, numbers were at the heart of everything that made the universe function. They spoke to a grand symphony of people, humans and nonhumans alike; of worlds and trade routes; of the lifeblood of good and evil alike.
Perhaps that was why he and Thrawn had worked so well together. Eli had his numbers, Thrawn had his art, and neither skill could be fully understood by anyone else.
He smiled at the thought, and at his own conceit. No, he had never fully understood Thrawn. He doubted anyone ever had.
But that was Eli’s past. This was Eli’s present. His present, and hopefully his future.
The flowing course numbers reached their end, and Eli threw the hyperdrive levers. The view through the cockpit canopy changed from mottled sky to starlines to the cold beauty of unfamiliar stars.
And in the center of the grandeur, a single ship. A large ship,
shimmering with muted running lights, bristling with weaponry, crewed by men and women whom Eli had never met.
He had arrived.
The comm screen lit up with a face: regal and blue-skinned, with glowing red eyes. Her blue-black hair was tied in a tight knot at the back of her head; her collar insignia those of an admiral. “I am Admiral Ar’alani of the Chiss Defense Fleet,” she said in a clear voice, her Sy Bisti heavily accented. “Are you he?”
“I am he.” Eli took a deep breath. “I am Eli Vanto. I bring greetings to you from Mitth’raw’nuruodo. He believes I can be of some use to the Chiss Ascendancy.”
“Welcome, Eli Vanto,” Ar’alani said, inclining her head in greeting. “Let us learn together if he was correct.”
For all those who have wished for more stories of Grand Admiral Thrawn
And to all those at Lucasfilm and Del Rey who made it happen
Thank you
STAR WARS BOOKS BY TIMOTHY ZAHN
STAR WARS: Heir to the Empire
STAR WARS: Dark Force Rising
STAR WARS: The Last Command
STAR WARS: The Hand of Thrawn, Book 1: Specter of the Past
STAR WARS: The Hand of Thrawn, Book 2: Vision of the Future
STAR WARS: Survivor’s Quest
STAR WARS: Outbound Flight
STAR WARS: Allegiance
STAR WARS: Choices of One
STAR WARS: Scoundrels
STAR WARS: Thrawn
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TIMOTHY ZAHN is the author of more than forty novels, nearly ninety short stories and novelettes, and four short-fiction collections. In 1984, he won the Hugo Award for Best Novella. Zahn is best known for his Star Wars novels (Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, Specter of the Past, Vision of the Future, Survivor’s Quest, Outbound Flight, Allegiance, Choices of One, and Scoundrels), with more than eight million copies of his books in print. Other books include StarCraft: Evolution, the Cobra series, the Quadrail series, and the young adult Dragonback series. Zahn has a BS in physics from Michigan State University and an MS from the University of Illinois. He lives with his family on the Oregon coast.