by Timothy Zahn
“Knowing C’baoth, there was never any doubt on that score,” Doriana said. “Fortunately, the whole planet seems quite happy to let him have it. Another day or two, and he’ll be the hero of the entire sector. Give him a week, and he’ll probably be organizing his own victory parade through midlevel Coruscant.”
“You have done well,” Sidious said. “And what of the unanticipated interference from Kenobi and Skywalker?”
“Negligible,” Doriana said, wondering again at the speed and breadth of the Sith Lord’s knowledge. He hadn’t even mentioned Kenobi’s unwelcome arrival on Barlok, yet Sidious apparently knew all about it. Clearly, he had excellent sources of information. “All I had to do was add a shroud-liquid sprayer to the missile to make sure they wouldn’t be able to stop it until it reached the conference chamber where C’baoth could make his dramatic grandstand play.”
“And neither he nor Kenobi suspect your manipulation of the events?”
“Not at all, my lord,” Doriana said. “My sources tell me the police analysts could tell the sprayer was a last-minute add-on, but they’ve concluded that it was added in response to C’baoth’s appearance on the scene, not Kenobi’s.”
“I don’t want Kenobi taking any of the credit,” Sidious warned. “He cannot be permitted to blunt C’baoth’s triumph and prestige.”
“He won’t,” Doriana assured him. “Kenobi isn’t the type to seek public recognition. C’baoth certainly isn’t the type to offer him a share.”
“Then all continues to go according to my plan,” Sidious concluded with satisfaction. “Opposition in the Senate and the Jedi Council to C’baoth’s pet project will melt away now before the fire of his newly enhanced stature.”
“And if not, I have other contingency plans for raising it even higher,” Doriana said. “The right word in Palpatine’s ear is all it will take.”
“Yes,” Sidious said. “Speaking of Palpatine, you’d best leave Barlok and return to your official business. I also want you to find a way to make yourself the Supreme Chancellor’s personal liaison to Outbound Flight’s final preparations.”
“Easily done, my lord,” Doriana assured him. “Palpatine is so tied up with other matters that he’ll welcome the chance to pass this one onto my shoulders.”
“Excellent,” Sidious said. “You have done well, my friend. Contact me when you return to Coruscant, and we’ll discuss the final details.”
The image vanished, and Doriana keyed off the connection. A simpler man, he reflected, even a master of the Dark Side like Lord Tyranus, might have tried to eliminate C’baoth directly through a genuine assassination, utilizing a more potent attack from more competent conspirators.
But as Sidious himself had pointed out, Doriana was more subtle than that. After all, why simply dispose of a powerful troublemaker like Jorus C’baoth when you could dispose of him and as many other Jedi as he could talk into accompanying him on Outbound Flight?
Smiling to himself, Doriana began to disassemble his holo-projector. Jorus C’baoth, Jedi Master and potential threat to Darth Sidious’s plan for the Republic, was dead.
He just didn’t know it yet.
It had been a long, frustrating day at the Preparation Center, one more of an endless series of them stretching back to the beginning of time, and as Chas Uliar keyed open his apartment door he wondered yet again if all of this was ever going to be worth it.
He’d been fresh out of school when he’d been approached by Outbound Flight’s recruiters, and in the excitement and optimism of youth had instantly signed up to go along. But now, after two years of ever-slowing preparations and ever-lengthening delays, the shine had begun to fade. The latest rumor was that the Senate Appropriations Committee had decided to scratch all the families off the voyage, which would essentially turn Outbound Flight into little more than an extended military reconnaissance mission.
Which would, of course, take away the one thing which had made this whole project unique. But then, what did the corrupt bureaucrats of Coruscant care about anything as trivial as history or glory or even a vision for the Republic’s future?
The glowplates in the common room were off, but as he switched them on he spotted a sliver of light coming from beneath the doors of both sleeping rooms. At least two of his three roommates were home, then. The planners had deliberately packed the recruits tightly together this way to simulate the close quarters that would exist aboard the six Dreadnaughts once Outbound Flight set off on its mission. Some people, mostly those from the more sparsely settled Mid Rim worlds, hadn’t been able to handle the lack of privacy and had dropped out, but Uliar himself hadn’t had any problems.
Though if all the families were tossed out like the Senate wanted, he thought sourly, he would probably get a suite this size all to himself.
He was looking through the pantry, trying to decide what to have for dinner, when one of the doors opened behind him. “Hey, Chas,” Brace Tarkosa called from behind him. “You hear the news?”
Uliar shook his head. “I’ve been on D-Five all day trying to run down a fuel line problem,” he said, turning around. “Let me guess: the Senate’s decided to close us down completely?”
“You’ve got it backward,” Tarkosa said, grinning. He was a strongly built man, two years older than Uliar, and allegedly one of the first hundred people to have signed up with the project. “Not only are they not closing us down, they’ve restored full funding and authorized the final assembly of the Dreadnaughts and reversed themselves on dropping the families.”
Uliar stared at him. “You’re kidding,” he said. “Did someone on Coruscant have spoiled shellfish for lunch and start hearing voices?”
Tarkosa shook his head. “Rumor has it that it’s all Jedi Master C’baoth’s doing. He came roaring back from some negotiation session two days ago with enough momentum to crush-roll this whole thing straight through committee.” He lifted a finger. “And it looks like we’re going to get some more Jedi, too.”
“How many?”
“Don’t know,” Tarkosa said. “As many as C’baoth wants, apparently.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Uliar murmured, a faint wisp of hope tugging at him. Rumors around here were as cheap as hardware problems, and he certainly wasn’t ready to take any of this at face value. But if the Jedi had genuinely signed on to the project, maybe things would finally start to turn around. After all, a solar wind drove all wisp-sails, and everyone knew that Jedi always got the best of everything. “So when is this all supposed to happen?”
“Any day now,” Tarkosa assured him. He grinned lopsidedly. “Hey, have a little faith. Come on—let’s go get Keely, and hit the tapcaf for dinner.”
“You go ahead,” Uliar told him, turning back to the pantry and pulling out a packaged ship’s ration. “I’ll save my celebrating until the Jedi are actually here.”
“Six of them?” Obi-Wan repeated disbelievingly.
“Including C’baoth himself, yes,” Windu confirmed, his back rigid as he stared out the Council Chamber window at the evening Coruscant skyline. “And eleven Jedi Knights have signed on to go along, as well.”
Obi-Wan grimaced. Six Jedi Masters, plus eleven Jedi Knights, was not an insignificant number in these increasingly dark days. “I thought you and Master Yoda told him he could have no more than two other Jedi.”
“That was before Barlok,” Windu said ruefully, turning to face him. “After Barlok… well, let’s just say that not even the Council is completely immune to pressure.”
“Yes, I heard some of it,” Obi-Wan said, nodding. “He was pushing his arguments to anyone who would listen.”
“And he can be highly persuasive when he wants to be,” Windu said. “I just wasn’t expecting so many to get caught up in his excitement.”
Obi-Wan felt a frown crease his forehead. Jedi Master Mace Windu, as closely attuned with the Force as any Jedi in the Republic… and yet he hadn’t foreseen something this dramatic? “Couldn’t you refuse them permissi
on?”
“Of course we could,” Windu said. “But I’m afraid that at the moment that would just cause more dissension. We can’t afford that, not in these times of turmoil. And to be honest, there are good arguments to have a strong Jedi presence aboard Outbound Flight.” He paused, studying Obi-Wan’s face. “Tell me, did the investigators on Barlok ever locate or identify the human whom the Brolf conspirators claimed had helped with their missile attack?”
“Not as of when Anakin and I left,” Obi-Wan said. “I haven’t heard anything since then, either. Why?”
“It just bothers me somehow,” Windu said. “We have a human help to launch a missile, which is then stopped in the nick of time by another human. Coincidence?”
Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. “Are you suggesting C’baoth might have set the whole thing up himself?”
“No, of course not,” Windu said. But he didn’t sound entirely certain. “Only a Jedi who’d turned to the dark side would be capable of such cold-blooded manipulation. I can’t believe he’d do that, not even for something he believes in this strongly.”
“On the other hand, we suspect there may be a Sith out there somewhere,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Maybe… no. No, I can’t believe it, either.”
“Still, we can’t afford to take chances,” Windu said. “That’s why I asked you here tonight. I want you and Anakin to find C’baoth and ask to go along with him. Not all the way to the next galaxy,” he hastened to add as Obi-Wan felt his jaw drop. “Just through the Unknown Regions part of the exploration.”
“That could take months,” Obi-Wan protested. “I have work to do on Sulorine.”
“Sometimes a Jedi’s most important duty is to stand and wait,” Windu countered mildly. “I presume you’ve mentioned that to Anakin on occasion?”
Obi-Wan grimaced. “Not more than twice a day,” he conceded. “Did you have any suggestions on how to convince C’baoth to turn around when we reach the edge of the galaxy and take us back?”
“That would be an interesting conversation to sit in on,” Windu said drily. “But no, my thought was to put a Delta-Twelve Skysprite aboard one of the Dreadnaughts for you. It’s a bigger, two-seat version of the Delta-Seven Aethersprite you’ve been training on, only with the weapons packs stripped off. Kuat Systems is hoping to put them on the civilian market sometime in the next few months.”
“No internal hyperdrive, I take it?”
Windu shook his head. “It uses the same TransGalMeg hyperdrive ring as the Aethersprite.”
“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said doubtfully, running the numbers in his head. “We’re talking an awful lot of distance for something that size. Especially with two people aboard.”
“It would be tight, but doable,” Windu assured him. “Especially since both you and Anakin can use Jedi hibernation to stretch out the supplies of air and food.”
Obi-Wan spread his hands. “If that’s what the Council wishes, Anakin and I stand ready to obey. If C’baoth will have us, that is.”
“Just find a way aboard,” Windu said, his eyes darkening. “However you have to do it.”
10
What is your profession?“ Thrawn asked in Cheunh.
“I am a merchant trader,” Car’das said carefully in the same language, forcing the odd sounds through unwilling tongue and lips.
Thrawn lifted his eyebrows politely. “You are a fishing boat?” he asked, switching to Basic.
Car’das looked at Maris. “That’s what you said,” she confirmed, an amused smile on her face.
He lifted his hand slightly, let it fall back into his lap. “I am a merchant trader,” he said, giving up and switching over to the Minnisiat trade language.
“Ah,” Thrawn said in the same language. “You’re a merchant trader?”
“Yes.” Car’das shook his head. “I really said I was a fishing boat?”
“Pohskapforian; Pohskapforian,” Thrawn pronounced. “Can you hear the difference?”
Car’das nodded. He could hear the difference between the aspirated and unaspirated p sounds in the second syllable, all right. He just couldn’t make the difference with his own mouth. “And I practiced that all evening, too,” he grumbled.
“I warned you Cheunh would most likely be beyond your physical capabilities,” Thrawn reminded him. “Still, your increase in comprehension level has been quite amazing, especially after only five weeks. And your progress with Minnisiat over the same period has been nothing less than remarkable. I’m impressed.” His glowing eyes shifted to Maris. “With both of you,” he added.
“Thank you, Commander,” Car’das said. “To have impressed you is high praise indeed.”
“Now you flatter me,” Thrawn warned with a smile. “Is that the correct word? Flatter?”
“The word is correct,” Car’das confirmed. Whatever progress he and Maris might have made with their studies, Thrawn’s own work on Basic had far surpassed them, a feat rendered all the more remarkable given how much less time he’d had to devote to language studies. “But I would argue with the usage,” he added. “Flattery implies exaggeration or even falsehood. My statement was the truth.”
Thrawn inclined his head. “Then I accept the tribute as given.” He turned to Maris. “And now, Ferasi, I’m ready with your special request.”
Car’das frowned. “Special request?”
“Ferasi asked me to create a description of one of the artworks aboard the Vagaari pirate vessel,” Thrawn told him.
Car’das looked at her. “Oh?”
“I wanted some extra practice with abstract terms and adjectives,” she said, meeting his eyes coolly.
“Okay, sure,” Car’das said hastily. “I was just wondering.”
She held his gaze a fraction of a second longer, then turned back to Thrawn. “May I ask which piece you’ve chosen?”
“Certainly not,” he admonished her with a smile. “You’ll have to deduce that from my description.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding momentarily nonplussed. She glanced at Car’das, then set her jaw firmly. “All right. I’m ready.”
Thrawn’s eyes seemed to defocus as he gazed across the room. “The changing of colors is like a rainbow’s edge melding into a sunlit waterfall…”
Car’das listened to the melodious flow of Cheunh words, struggling to keep up as he studied Maris out of the corner of his eye. She was struggling a little, too, he could see, her lips occasionally moving as she worked through some of the more complex terms. But behind the concentration he thought he could sec something else in her eyes as she looked at Thrawn.
Only it wasn’t the kind of look a language student should be giving her teacher. It most certainly wasn’t a look a captive should be giving her captor.
An unpleasant sensation began to drift into his gut. She couldn’t actually be falling for Thrawn, could she? Surely she wouldn’t let herself be drawn in by his intelligence and courtesy and sophistication.
Because she wasn’t just Qennto’s partner and copilot, after all. And while Car’das had never seen Qennto in a fit of jealousy, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to.
. . with a deep sense of disconnection and strife between the artist and his people.“
“Beautiful,” Maris murmured, her eyes shining even more as she gazed at Thrawn. “That was the flat with the carved edging, wasn’t it? The landscape with the darkness growing upward from the lower corner?”
“Correct,” Thrawn confirmed. He looked at Car’das. “Were you also able to identify it?”
“I—no,” Car’das admitted. “I was mostly concentrating on understanding the words.”
“One can concentrate so closely on the words of a sentence that one thereby misses the meaning,” Thrawn pointed out. “As can happen in any area of life. You must never lose focus on the larger landscape.” He looked over at a series of lights on the wall above the door and stood up. “Today’s lesson is over. I must see to my guest.”
“Guest?” Mari
s asked as she and Car’das also stood up.
“An admiral of the Chiss Defense Fleet is on her way to take possession of the Vagaari vessel,” Thrawn said as they all headed to the door. “Nothing you need concern yourselves with.”
“May we observe the welcoming ceremony with you?” Car’das asked. “This time we should be able to understand what’s being said.”
“I believe that will be permissible,” Thrawn said. “Admiral Ar’alani will certainly have heard of your presence from Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano and will want to see you for herself.”
“Are they both from the same family?” Maris asked.
Thrawn shook his head. “Senior officers of the Defense Fleet belong to no family,” he said. “They’re stripped of family name and privilege and made part of the Defense Hierarchy in order that they may serve all Chiss without deference or prejudice.”
“So military command is merit-based, and not something that comes from Family connections?” Maris asked.
“Exactly,” Thrawn confirmed. “Officers are taken into the Hierarchy once they’ve proven themselves, just as the Ruling Families themselves select merit adoptives.”
“What are merit adoptives?” Car’das asked.
“Chiss brought in from outside a Family’s bloodlines to enrich or diversify or invigorate,” Thrawn told him. “All warriors are made merit adoptives when they’re accepted into either the Defense Fleet or the Expansionary Fleet.” He tapped the burgundy patch on his shoulder. “That’s why every warrior wears the color of one of the Families.”
“Which one is yours?” Maris asked.
“The Eighth,” Thrawn said. “My position is actually different from that of most warriors, as I’ve been named a Trial-born of the family. Most warriors’ positions automatically cease when they leave the military, but mine carries the possibility that I will be deemed worthy and matched permanently to the Family. I may even be granted the position of ranking distant, which will tie my descendants and bloodline into that of the Family.”
“Sounds complicated,” Car’das commented.
“Sounds smart,” Maris countered. “The Republic could use a lot more of that, instead of always going with straight bloodlines, or the highest bidder.”