by Timothy Zahn
Pellaeon felt his back stiffen. This was Thrawn’s attack force? Thrawn, the alien whose ineptitude at court politics seemed to have him permanently on the edge of being thrown out of both the fleet and the Imperial court?
And yet he had not only a Star Destroyer but an entire attack force? Who at Command would have risked giving him that?
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Odo said. “His presence is urgently needed at Poln Major in Candoras sector.”
“For what reason?” Parck asked.
“A response to possible insurrection,” Odo said. “You’ve received no transmissions concerning the threat?”
“I’ve had no recent transmissions of any sort from the Empire,” Parck said.
Odo muttered something behind his mask. “As I feared,” he said. “Even this close to Imperial territory you’re still out of HoloNet range.”
“We’re not that far out,” Parck corrected. “Full transmissions can reach us considerably farther into the Unknown Regions than this. Rest assured that if there had been any messages we would have received them.”
“Yet clearly, you have not,” Odo said. “I must therefore deliver General Ularno’s request myself. Your presence is urgently requested at Poln Major. Yours, Senior Captain Thrawn’s, and the rest of your task force.”
“And you are?”
“A representative of the Emperor himself,” Drusan put in. “I can personally confirm his credentials. I can also confirm his claim of Rebel activity in the Poln system.”
“I sympathize with the Poln system,” Parck said. “But I’m afraid I must refuse your request. We have orders of our own, and vital work to do.”
“This situation is more vital than anything you may be doing,” Odo insisted. “A few hours’ delay will surely not impact your mission.”
“If necessary, I can invoke Directive One-Oh-Three,” Drusan threatened. “In the absence of orders to the contrary, all fleet officers—”
“I’m familiar with the directive,” Parck cut in stiffly. “It doesn’t apply to us.”
“You’re part of the Imperial fleet, aren’t you?”
“Technically, we’re detached from the fleet command structure,” Parck told him. “And as I said, Senior Captain Thrawn has his own set of orders that he needs to comply with.”
Drusan took a deep breath. “Captain Parck—”
“One moment, Captain,” Parck said, his tone suddenly changed. “We’re receiving a transmission. Possibly the very one you’ve been expecting.”
Drusan turned to the portside crew pit. “Comm officer?”
“Yes, sir, we’re picking up the same transmission,” the other confirmed. “There’s been an attempted assassination on Poln Major, with a possible Rebel insurrection also involved.”
“An assassination?” Pellaeon asked, feeling his eyes widen. There hadn’t been any hint of any such trouble when they’d passed through the system a few hours earlier. “Who was the target?”
“Governor Ferrouz,” the officer said. “The message is unclear as to whether or not the attempt succeeded.”
“It was the Rebellion,” Odo said darkly. “Of course it succeeded.”
“General Ularno would seem to agree with you,” Parck came back on the speaker, his voice grim. “Even in the absence of physical proof, he’s invoked Directive Four-Seventeen, requesting the support of all nearby Imperial forces.”
“And your response?” Odo asked.
“This directive is, unfortunately, quite clear,” Parck said reluctantly. “Very well, Captain Drusan. We’ll make ready immediately to head to the Poln system.”
“And the rest of your force?” Odo asked. “You stated you had reinforcements in the area.”
“A few,” Parck said. “At their current positions, assuming we leave within the next half hour, we should all arrive at Poln Major at roughly the same time.”
“Excellent,” Drusan said. “Whatever resources the Rebels have brought in, a full Imperial task force ought to be more than enough to take them down.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Parck promised. “If you can give us a few minutes to assess our damage and begin some running repairs, we can head back together. Otherwise, you can leave now and we’ll follow.”
Drusan looked at Odo, and Pellaeon spotted the latter’s microscopic nod. “We’ll wait,” the captain told Parck. “It would be best if we all arrive together. Besides, Nuso Esva’s ships might come back while we were gone.”
“There’s that,” Parck conceded. “Thank you.”
“One other thing,” Odo said. “Will Senior Captain Thrawn be arriving at Poln Major with the rest of your force?”
“I’m not sure precisely where he is at the moment,” Parck said. “However, the summons I’ve sent should reach him.”
“And?”
“I can’t speak for the senior captain,” Parck said. “But under the circumstances, I presume he’ll find a way to join us. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my ships.”
“Of course,” Drusan said. “Let us know when you’re ready to go.”
Car’das looked up from the board, wincing at the clammy feel of the dried sweat that had gathered beneath his collar. “That was close,” he commented.
“Not really,” Thrawn said, his glowing red eyes narrowed in concentration as he gazed at the Admonitor and the other ships floating in the center of the display. “Nuso Esva wants us at Poln Major, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember,” Car’das said, eyeing the other suspiciously. “You’ve never told me exactly what he’s up to.”
“He wants to eliminate me as a threat, of course,” Thrawn said calmly. “Just as I wish to do to him.”
“Yes, but how exactly is he planning to do that?” Car’das persisted.
Thrawn shrugged. “There are two ways to destroy a person, Jorj. Kill him, or ruin his reputation.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Car’das said, feeling a twinge of guilt and sadness. How long had it been, he wondered, since he’d had any kind of reputation himself that was worth guarding? “Any idea which approach Nuso Esva’s planning?”
Thrawn smiled faintly. “If I know Nuso Esva,” he said, “very likely both.”
THE SAFE ROOM ENTRANCE, MARA HAD NOTED ON HER FIRST TRIP through the escape tunnel, had been well disguised. The keypad and mike were hidden even better, and it took her nearly five minutes to locate them.
But once she did, Ferrouz’s voiceprint and key code did the trick. The thick door, another hinged type, popped open. Easing it open a crack, she looked in.
The doorway led into a guard foyer with a pair of reinforced hardpoint firing positions flanking the foyer’s only other door. The hardpoints were simple half cylinders, a meter in diameter and two meters tall, with their curved sides pointed toward the main door. Each had two slits—one at eye level for observation and one waist-high, for firing—and was big enough to provide cover for two guards at a time. A single person, crouched out of sight beneath the firing slit, would be in perfect position to launch an ambush on someone heading for the door into the safe room proper.
But Mara’s Force-enhanced hearing could detect no surreptitious breathing. The guard foyer was empty.
Pulling the door wider, she stepped inside. She went to the hardpoints first, double-checking that they were unoccupied. Then, pushing the exit door closed behind her, she crossed between the hardpoints and keyed the other door.
It slid silently open. Lightsaber in hand, she stepped inside.
Ferrouz had already said the suite was large. What he hadn’t mentioned was the fact that whoever had designed the retreat had apparently felt that, just because a governor was running for his life, there was no reason he had to put up with less-than-ideal accommodations, as well. The suite was beautifully appointed, with expensive furniture, marble and brass and cut-gem décor, thick carpets, and an extensive entertainment center. The food prep area was built along the lines of a master chef’s kitchen, well
stocked with cookware, dining settings, and food supplies. The whole apartment was spotlessly clean and meticulously cared for.
Like the guard foyer, it was also empty.
Mara went through the place twice, just to make sure there was no one hiding in a closet or beneath the hand-carved desk in the even more elaborate study. Her hopes lifted for a moment when she found a closet full of housekeeping droids, but a quick check of the settings showed that all of them had been shut down and on their chargers for the past six days. No help or information for her there.
It was on her third, more careful pass through the suite that she found a small dusting of glowglitter on one of the bedroom pillows. Glowglitter-painted ear helixes were one of the current fads among upper-class Imperial Center girls, and Mara had long ago learned that such fads propagated across the Empire with HoloNet speeds. Ferrouz’s daughter had been here, all right. Probably his wife had, too.
So where were they now?
She continued on with her examination of the rooms, finding more sprinkles of glowglitter in one of the entertainment room couches and, oddly enough, in the massive but currently empty soaking tub. Aside from the glitter, though, she could find no trace of either of the hostages.
She ended her search in the office, sitting at the desk, glaring at the computer.
Ferrouz was safe, but only for the moment, with a guard that had started out marginal and was now down to little more than half its strength. Ferrouz’s family was presumably also alive, but their safety was even more tenuous than the governor’s, and she had no clue as to their whereabouts. The Poln system was overrun with Rebels, and there was an alien warlord and would-be conqueror lurking somewhere in the shadows calmly pulling strings within both the Rebel Alliance and the Empire.
For the first time in years, Mara was at a complete loss as to what to do.
Settling herself into the comfortable chair, she closed her eyes. What she would not do, she told herself firmly, was contact the Emperor and ask for help. She was the Emperor’s Hand. She was supposed to be able to handle this sort of thing on her own.
But maybe there was another way to get the assistance she needed. Taking a deep breath, willing calmness into her thoughts, she stretched out to the Force.
For a moment nothing happened. Then her mind cleared, and she felt the Force flowing through her, twisting and rippling like a mountain brook, drawing her up and out and into itself.
She seemed to be floating outside the palace, rising above the ground, soaring through and then over the clouds. She saw Poln Major beneath her, and Poln Minor floating against the starry blackness in the distance. Multiple lines of ship traffic cut across her view, some of the vessels traveling between the two worlds, the rest incoming or outgoing from the system. The big Golan I defense platform orbited silently past her, and she could see the much smaller shape of the Dreadnought Sarissa holding similar guard over Poln Minor. Both of them guarding the Emperor’s worlds with their turbolasers and missiles and—
Their missiles.
Mara shook her head, snapping back to herself and the safe room around her. She took a moment to blink away the rest of the vision, then leaned forward and keyed the computer. LaRone had said Nuso Esva’s agents had gotten hold of some Caldorf missiles … and as she thought about it, she seemed to remember that Caldorfs were precisely the sort of missile being deployed on Dreadnoughts these days.
It was a crazy thought. An insanely outrageous thought. But Nuso Esva had made the necessary contacts, and he’d already demonstrated the icy nerve necessary to kidnap an Imperial governor’s family.
Two minutes later she leaned back from the computer again, a prickly sensation creeping up her back. He’d done it. He’d really and truly done it. Grimacing, she pulled out her comlink and keyed for General Ularno.
“This is Jade,” she identified herself when he answered. “Are you alone?”
“Yes,” he said. “You have news?”
“Yes, of the bad to worse variety,” she told him. “Are you aware that all fifty of the Sarissa’s Caldorf VII interceptor missiles were removed four days ago?”
“Yes, of course,” Ularno said. “The notice came through last week—some possible malfunction in the guidance systems, I’m told. They’re at the Spillwater Fleet base being recalibrated.”
“Not anymore they’re not,” Mara said. “Nuso Esva is currently loading them aboard his own ships somewhere on Poln Minor.”
There was a brief silence. “I see,” Ularno said, his voice almost calm. “He seems to have his fingers in a great number of soup bowls, hasn’t he?”
“Having a top security officer like Pakrie in his pocket will go a long way toward doing that for him,” Mara said. “Speaking of Pakrie, has there been any sign of him?”
“Not yet, no,” Ularno said. “But Major Pakrie couldn’t have done this for Nuso Esva or anyone else. The memo and order came from outside the Poln system.”
“My point is that all such information would be on the military system, using military codes and encryptions,” Mara said. “Yet Nuso Esva knew about the missiles and where they were going. Ergo, Pakrie must have had access to the messages.”
“He shouldn’t have,” Ularno said. “Military and administrative encrypts are supposed to be strictly separate.”
“But he obviously does,” Mara said, punching out a quick message on the computer. “So if we can’t find him, let’s see if we can get him to find us. I’m sending you a note in military encrypt, signed by Governor Ferrouz, saying that he’s managed to get to the safe room. I want you to pull it up and read it, then make a big show of calling off the search parties you have out looking for him. With luck, Pakrie will get wind of the change in orders, slice into your messages, and find the note.”
“Yes, I see,” Ularno said slowly. “I trust you realize that if he comes, he won’t come alone.”
“He can bring as many friends as he likes,” Mara assured him. “I’ll be ready for them.”
“Understood,” Ularno said. “I’ll get on this right away. Good luck.”
Mara keyed off her comlink, then took a final walk through the suite. Turning off all the glowplates, she returned to the guard foyer. The glowplates there couldn’t be completely shut off, so she merely lowered them to their minimum, dusk-level settings. Folding the right-hand hardpoint’s seat out of the way, she sat down cross-legged on the floor behind the curved metal, out of sight of either the main door or the one leading into the suite. She checked her hold-out blaster, then returned it to its sleeve holster and pulled out her lightsaber. Setting it on her lap, she settled against the cold hull metal to wait.
The agreed-upon signal came from across the room: three dull thuds on the top of the supply lift. Proper signal or not, though, LaRone made sure he and Marcross were crouched behind more of the metal kegs, their E-11s aimed at the lower open door, before he signaled Quiller to send up the lift. There was a brief clanking and banging, and then the three-thud signal came again. LaRone nodded to Quiller, and again hunched ready over his blaster rifle.
And as the lift started down, and he got his first look at the newcomer’s big clawed feet and hairy legs, he raised his blaster, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. In a day filled with errors and near-fatal mistakes, one thing at least had gone right.
For the moment, at least, that welcome trend continued. Chewbacca lugged the Suwantek’s bacta tank into the cellar, growling away LaRone’s and Marcross’s offers of help. He set up the device against the wall near the lift door where it would be out of the way and wired it to pair of standard-current lines that together gave the tank the necessary power. Then, still refusing any assistance from the others, he affixed the breath mask to Grave’s face, carefully lifted the injured stormtrooper, and laid him out in the tank. He peered for a moment at the readouts, then lowered the hinged lid down and filled the tank the rest of the way up.
Apart from the big Wookiee’s muttered growlings, the whole thing was carried out
in complete silence.
“Thank you,” LaRone said when it was done. “We owe you.”
Chewbacca rumbled something, gave Ferrouz a single, unreadable look, then gathered up Axlon’s bloody body and returned to the lift.
A minute later, he was gone.
LaRone took a deep breath. “Marcross?”
“Looks good,” Marcross confirmed as he crouched by the tank’s readouts. “He’s stabilized, and his blood count is rising nicely. Assuming he’s given enough time in there, he should be fine.”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” LaRone agreed. “Time, and how much of it we have.” He turned to Ferrouz. “Your first Wookiee, Governor?”
“Certainly the first one I’ve seen up close,” Ferrouz said, sounding a little shaken. “I’ll be honest—for a minute I thought he was going to rip me apart right here.”
“Chewbacca wouldn’t do that,” LaRone assured him. “But you have to understand he’s had some pretty unpleasant treatment under the Empire’s rule, including torture and a stint or two as a slave. Some of his people have suffered even more. He doesn’t like Imperials.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ferrouz said in a low voice. “I know Kashyyyk is on the Empire’s unfriendly-system list, but I always assumed there was a good reason for that.”
“Like you probably assumed Alderaan was full of Rebel sympathizers?” Quiller asked, an edge of challenge in his voice.
“I don’t know what happened there,” Ferrouz said evenly. “All I know is that I swore an oath to uphold the Empire and its laws. I intend to carry out that oath.” His throat worked. “Until my death.”
“Hopefully, that’ll be a long time coming,” LaRone said, giving Quiller a warning look. This was no time to get into politics.
“Maybe,” Ferrouz said heavily. “Jade did come to Poln Major to execute me.”
“You may find she’s more reasonable than you think,” Marcross assured him. “She knows you were coerced into dealing with the Rebels.”
“Which doesn’t alter the fact that it was treason,” Ferrouz pointed out. “As far as the letter of the law is concerned—”