by Timothy Zahn
"And were you also speculating about that alien ship that buzzed past Bastion a couple of days ago?" Flim demanded. "Or were you going to wait until the Hand of Thrawn knocked on the palace gate before you mentioned it?"
"I can assure you that the first thing they do will not be to show up here in person," Tierce said.
"These are very cagey people, Admiral. Which, considering the card they're holding, they have every right to be. No, their first contact will be a cautious transmission from somewhere in deep space where they can make a fast escape if they decide it's necessary."
"I fail to see how that helps us any," Flim said icily. "One way or the other, they're still going to want to talk to Thrawn."
"Of course they are," Tierce explained patiently. "But calling in from off-planet allows me to take a message for you and to shake some useful information out of them along the way. Trust me, Admiral, I've been planning for this moment for a long time."
Flim grimaced. "That's going to be very comforting if Parck sees straight through it and blasts Bastion to rubble."
Tierce shook his head. "These people were extremely loyal to Thrawn, Admiral," he said. "No matter how cautious and skeptical they appear on the surface, they want Thrawn to have survived Bilbringi. You're a con man; surely you understand the effect wishful thinking has on a target."
"Oh, it's very useful," Flim grumbled. "It also means they're twice as dangerous when you finally pull the rug out from under them. Speaking of dangerous, did either of you know that General Bel Iblis has disappeared?"
Tierce and Disra exchanged glances. "What are you talking about?" Disra asked.
"We got a message from the strike team on Bothawui a couple of hours ago," Flim said, strolling forward and tossing a datacard onto the desk. "He said a couple of Rogue Squadron pilots who'd been sniffing around had suddenly pulled out and left the system. He suggested that might mean Bel Iblis was up to something."
"Could be." Tierce nodded, stepping to the desk and picking up the datacard. "Let me check on it."
"I already did," Flim said, pulling over a chair and sitting down. "The official story is that Bel Iblis is out at Kothlis putting together a New Republic force to protect Bothawui. But if you start poking through the data, you can't find any evidence that he's anywhere near Bothan space."
"How did you learn about all this?" Disra interrupted.
Flim lifted his eyebrows in polite surprise. "I'm Grand Admiral Thrawn, Your Excellency," he reminded him. "I called Intelligence and asked."
"Did you get a written report?" Tierce asked him. He had the datacard in his datapad now and was skimming through it.
"It's at the end of that record," Flim told him. "They were quite helpful, actually—asked me if I'd like someone to do a flyby around Kothlis and see what they could find out."
"Waste of time," Tierce said, his voice starting to sound a little odd. "If Kothlis is a cover story, Bel Iblis will have made it far too vac-tight for any casual flyby to pick up on."
"That's exactly what I told them," Flim said smugly. "I'm starting to pick up a genuine feel for tactics, if I do say so myself."
"Don't flatter yourself," Tierce said absently, gazing at the datapad. "And in the future, kindly do not interact with anyone without Moff Disra or myself present. Now be quiet and let me think." Disra watched the Guardsman's face, an unpleasant sensation creeping over him. Tierce seemed to be doing more and more of this sort of thing lately, this staring off into space as if in some kind of trance as he thought. Was the pressure and strain starting to get to him? Or had he always been this way and Disra simply hadn't noticed?
Abruptly, Tierce's head snapped up. "Admiral, you said that the D'ulin woman had called one of the Mistryl leaders to come talk with us?"
"Yes," Flim said. "Last I heard, she was on her way here."
"Have D'ulin get in touch with her and tell her to change course," Tierce instructed him. "Tell her we'll meet with her instead at Yaga Minor."
"Yaga Minor?" Disra repeated, frowning.
"Yes," Tierce said, smiling tightly. "I believe we may be able to give the Mistryl a live demonstration of Thrawn's tactical genius. And help convince Captain Parck that Thrawn is indeed back; and deliver a humiliating blow to one of Coruscant's best and brightest in the bargain."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Disra protested. "You've lost me."
"I think he's trying to tell us Bel Iblis is going to be insane enough to hit Yaga Minor," Flim said, staring in obvious disbelief at Tierce.
The Guardsman inclined his head slightly. "Very good, Admiral. Only it's not insane—it's their very last chance to avert a civil war. Who better to send than Bel Iblis?"
"I think Flim was right the first time," Disra said. "You're talking about the Caamas Document; but they've already got the copy we gave Solo and Calrissian."
"But Bel Iblis doesn't know about that." Tierce tapped the datapad. "According to the report, he vanished to this supposed Kothlis buildup eight days before that traitor Carib Devist brought his falsified data to the Parshoone Ubiqtorate station, which was how Solo found Bastion. Assuming Bel Iblis has been basically out of contact with Coruscant—and that's the likely situation—he won't know anything about Solo's Bastion trip."
"And what if he checks in before he leaves for the attack and they tell him to stand down?" Disra countered.
"Then we simply impress the Mistryl with the size and power of an Imperial Ubiqtorate base," Tierce said. "They don't need to know we're expecting an attack until it actually happens." He looked at Flim. "It's a classic con technique," he added. "If the target doesn't know what's supposed to happen, he can't be disappointed if it doesn't."
"He's right about that," Flim agreed.
"All right, fine," Disra said. "And what if Coruscant changes its mind and sends Bel Iblis to attack Bastion instead?"
Tierce shrugged. "On what grounds? We've given them the Caamas Document—"
"Altered."
"Which they don't know about and have no way of proving," Tierce reminded him. "The point is that if Bel Iblis so much as pokes his nose into this system they'll be handing us a propaganda weapon they'll regret for years to come. Give me some holos of an unprovoked New Republic attack on Bastion, and I'll have a thousand systems seceding from Coruscant in the first month alone."
"Besides, Your Excellency," Flim said with a casual wave of his hand, "even if Bel Iblis did hit Bastion, the three of us will still be safe at Yaga Minor. Unless you're so attached to your comforts here you couldn't bear to give them up."
"I was merely pointing out," Disra said stiffly, "that it would look bad for Thrawn to be somewhere else when the Imperial capital was under attack."
"Don't worry about it," Tierce said with a tone of finality in his voice. "Bel Iblis won't hit Bastion; and he will hit Yaga Minor. And once we've defeated him, we'll see the Empire's prestige rise considerably."
"We might also finally push Coruscant into launching a full-scale attack at us," Disra warned. Tierce shook his head. "In five days Coruscant will have a civil war on its hands," he said. "And long before they're ready to turn any attention this direction, we'll have Parck and the Hand of Thrawn."
His eyes glittered. "And this time, there will be nothing that can stop us. Nothing at all."
* * *
The corridor was long and drab and gray, lined with equally drab doors. Locked doors, of course—this was a prison, after all. The walls and ceiling were solid metal, the floor a metal grating that gave off a pair of hollow-sounding clinks with every footstep.
They were certainly making a lot of those clinks at the moment, Pellaeon thought, listening to the sound echo off the walls as he strode down the corridor toward the secondary security post just around the corner at the far end. It sounded like a parade, in fact, or a sudden burst of rain on a thin metal roof.
And those ahead had taken notice of the commotion. Already four of the guards had poked black-helmeted heads around the corner to see what
all the commotion was about. Two of those guards were still visible; the others had ducked back out of sight, presumably to report to whoever was manning the security post.
The other two guards had reappeared by the time Pellaeon reached the corner, all four of them now standing stiffly at full military attention. Without a word or glance Pellaeon passed through the group and rounded the corner.
Four more guards were standing at attention behind the security post desk, three meters in front of an extra-secure-looking cell door. Seated at the desk, gazing up at Pellaeon with a mixture of uncertainty and surliness in his face, was a young major. He opened his mouth to speak—
"I'm Admiral Pellaeon," Pellaeon cut him off. "Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Open the door."
The major's cheek twitched. "I'm sorry, Admiral, but I have orders that the prisoner is to be kept strictly incommunicado."
For a few seconds Pellaeon just stared at him, a glare developed and honed and fine-tuned by long decades of Imperial command. "I'm Admiral Pellaeon," he said at last, biting out each word, his tone the verbal counterpart of that blade-edged glare. He'd been willing to give the guards the benefit of the doubt, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to put up with any nonsense whatsoever.
"Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Open the door."
The major swallowed visibly. His eyes flicked away from Pellaeon to the dozen stormtroopers visible in the corridor behind him, his mind perhaps flicking to the other twelve stormtroopers out of sight around the corner that his guards would have told him about, then came reluctantly back to Pellaeon's face again. "My orders come from Moff Disra himself, sir," he said, the words coming out with difficulty.
Beside Pellaeon, the stormtrooper commander stirred. "Moff Disra is a civilian," Pellaeon reminded the major, giving him one last chance. "And I'm countermanding those orders." The major took a careful breath. "Yes, sir," he said, capitulating at last. Half turning, he nodded to one of the guards.
The guard, who had also been eyeing the stormtroopers and had obviously already done the math, showed no hesitation whatsoever. Stepping quickly to the cell door behind him, he keyed it open and moved smartly aside.
"Wait here,'' Pellaeon told the stormtrooper commander, rounding the desk and stepping into the cell, his pulse pounding in his neck. If Disra had somehow managed to get word here through the transmission blockade and ordered all witnesses disposed of...
Seated at a small table, a hand of single sabacc laid out in front of him, Colonel Vermel looked up, his eyes widening in astonishment. "Admiral!" he said, clearly not sure he believed it. "I—" Abruptly, he scrambled to his feet. "Colonel Meizh Vermel, Admiral," he said briskly. "Request permission to return to duty, sir."
"Request granted, Colonel," Pellaeon said, not bothering to hide his relief. "And may I say how pleased I am to find you looking so well."
"Thank you, Admiral," Vermel said, heaving a sigh of relief of his own as he stepped around the table. "I hope you didn't come alone."
"Don't worry," Pellaeon assured him grimly, waving Vermel to the cell door. "I haven't exactly taken over Rimcee Station; but my men are in position to do so if any of Disra's people take exception to our leaving."
"Yes, sir," Vermel said, throwing an odd look back at him. "Regardless, may I suggest we hurry?"
"My sentiments exactly," Pellaeon agreed, frowning. There had been something in that look... They passed the major and the guard station without comment and headed around the corner. The stormtroopers, as per Pellaeon's earlier instructions, fell into full escort array with twelve each front and rear. "You didn't sound very confident when I mentioned Disra's people a minute ago," Pellaeon commented as they headed down the long corridor.
"It may not be Disra's authority you'll have to go up against, Admiral," Vermel said, moving a bit closer to Pellaeon as if worried about being overheard. "When Captain Dorja brought me aboard after intercepting my ship at Morishim, he said he'd been personally ordered to do so by Grand Admiral Thrawn."
Pellaeon felt his throat tighten. "Thrawn."
"Yes, sir," Vermel said. "I've been hoping it was just some trick of Disra's—I remember you mentioning how totally against these peace talks he was. But Dorja seemed so sure."
"Yes," Pellaeon murmured. "I've heard some of those rumors myself. He's allegedly been seen by various people in the New Republic, too."
Vermel was silent a moment. "But you haven't actually seen him yourself?"
"No." Pellaeon braced himself. "But I think it's time I did," he said. "If he has indeed returned."
"You might be in trouble with him for pulling me out," Vermel pointed out reluctantly, glancing back over his shoulder. "Perhaps it would be better if I went back."
"No," Pellaeon said firmly. "Thrawn never punished his officers for doing what they sincerely thought was right. Especially when he hadn't given them orders or the necessary information to understand otherwise."
They reached the end of the corridor and turned into the main guard nexus. The guards and officers were still sitting where Pellaeon had left them, glowering under the silently watchful eye of yet another contingent of the Chimaera's stormtroopers. "No, we're going to go back to Bastion and see what Moff Disra has to say about all this," he continued as they passed through the nexus and headed toward the landing bay where their shuttles were berthed. "If the rumors are false, then we should have no further trouble with Moff Disra. Commander Dreyf and I have obtained a set of datacards—in Disra's personal encrypt, no less—that lays out his entire operation: names, places, and deals, including all his links to the Cavrilhu Pirates and various shady financiers on both sides of the border."
He felt his face harden. "And including the details of his efforts to incite civil war within the New Republic. That alone should be worth a great deal to us in any future negotiations with Coruscant. It will certainly put Disra away for a long time."
"Yes, sir," Vermel murmured. "And if the rumors are true?" Pellaeon swallowed. "If the rumors are true, we'll deal with them then." Vermel nodded. "Yes, sir."
"In the meantime," Pellaeon went on conversationally, "your last report is far overdue. I'd like to hear exactly what happened at Morishim."
CHAPTER
31
The preparations had taken six hours: six hours of frantic work as every flight-worthy spaceship on Exocron was hurriedly fitted out for battle. It took another hour to get the whole ensemble into space, and one more to arrange them into something resembling a combat perimeter. And with that, their estimated eight-hour grace period was over.
And now, with the entire Rei'Kas pirate gang on its way, the most pitiful defense fleet Shada had ever seen stood by in trembling readiness to defend its world or die trying. Most likely, to die trying.
"Report from ground, Adm'ral David," Chin reported from the Wild Karrde's bridge comm station, looking over at the helm. "Supreme Adm'ral Darr says we all in good position. Also says Airfleet ships ready if pirates get past."
Looming over Dankin, his hands clasped stiffly behind his back, Admiral Trey David nodded.
"Very good," he said, his formal tone nevertheless hinting at a great deal of energy below the surface.
"Signal the rest of the fleet to be ready. They could be here at any moment."
"Oh, my," Threepio said miserably from beside Shada at the spotting station. "I do so hate space combat."
"I can't argue with you on this one," Shada agreed, looking over her status board. She had wondered at first—wondered with a great deal of suspicion, actually—why Admiral David would ask to direct the battle from the Wild Karrde instead of one of Exocron's own combat ships. But her subsequent assessment of those ships and their capabilities had unfortunately provided her with the answer.
Eight hours ago, she had snidely suggested to Entoo Nee that the Exocron space force might find anything more formidable than an occasional smuggler beyond its strength. Never before in her life had one of her offhanded comments
nailed the truth so accurately.
There was a brush of air beside her. "It becomes a waiting game now," Karrde said, kneeling down beside her seat. "What do you think?"
"We haven't got a chance," Shada told him bluntly. "Not unless Rei'Kas doesn't bother to send anything bigger than the Corsairs he hit us with at Dayark."
She thought she'd spoken quietly enough for only Karrde to hear. David apparently had good ears. "No, he'll bring everything he has," the admiral assured her. "His full armada, with himself at the head of it. He's wanted to get his hands on Exocron's wealth for a long time." He smiled tightly. "Besides which, I understand from Entoo Nee that you gave him something of a bruised eye at Dayark. For the revenge part alone he'd be sure to be here." Shada felt Karrde's silent sigh as a breath of warm air on her cheek. "Which may ultimately give us our only real chance," he said. "If we can pretend to start running, we may be able to draw enough of them away for your forces to deal with the rest."
"Possibly," David agreed. "Not that that would do us personally much good, of course."
"It's my fault he's here," Karrde reminded him. "It's not too late for you to transfer to one of the other ships—"
At the sensor station, H'sishi suddenly snarled. [They come,] she announced. [Three Sienar Marauder-class Corvettes, four Duapherm Discril-class Attack Cruisers, four combat-modified CSA Etti Lighter freighters, and eighteen Corsair-class attack vessels.]
"Confirmed," Shada said, running her eyes over her spotting displays, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The Wild Karrde could take any one of those ships or give any two of them a decent fight. But all of them together...
"Stand by turbolasers," Karrde said, rising to his feet beside her.
"Turbolasers standing by," Shada confirmed, keying targeting information over to the three weapons stations. Just because it was hopeless didn't mean they shouldn't do their best. "Looks like the Corsairs are forming up a screen around the bigger ships."