Star Wars_Thrawn

by Timothy Zahn

  “Fine,” Wiskovis said. “Anything else?”

  “I would also suggest you send a force to the other site they mentioned, the city Cartherston on Keitum.”

  “I thought they just said that to throw us off track.”

  “That was certainly its primary purpose,” Thrawn said. “But the name came too quickly and too easily. We may find that Keitum was where the Dromedar’s crew was to be released.”

  “And Cygni said his people would be watching,” Vanto said.

  “Yes,” Thrawn said. “It may be possible to learn who exactly his people are.”

  “If we can catch them.” Wiskovis started to turn back to the doorway, then paused. “You didn’t really contact Grand Moff Tarkin, did you?”

  “No,” Thrawn said. “I have never met the man.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Wiskovis said. “And if this is the way you talk to superiors, Lieutenant, you’d better hope you never do. Come on—we have some pirates to capture.”

  One whose path has taken a new turn is often initially disoriented. But as time passes, and the path continues steadily in its new direction, there is a tendency to believe that it will remain so forever, with no further turns.

  Nothing is further from the truth. A path once bent is always susceptible to new changes.

  Particularly when the original change came from manipulation by an outside force.

  —

  “So,” Juahir Madras said, taking a careful sip of the caf Arihnda had poured for her. “Are you going to Core Square for the weekend? Or are you going to be a stickley and just hang out in Bash?”

  “Probably be a stickley,” Arihnda said regretfully, sniffing at her own mug. Juahir liked her caf much hotter than Arihnda did, so that was how she always prepared it when her friend dropped into the office. Easier to let hers cool than watch Juahir trying not to complain about the tepidness of her own drink. “Core Square is awfully expensive.”

  “That it is,” Juahir agreed soberly. “I thought you used to sleep in your airspeeder when you went there.”

  “That was before Wapsbur got caught doing spice in a public parking area,” Arihnda reminded her. “After that, Renking banned us from sleeping or living in any of his vehicles.”

  “I didn’t realize it was a complete ban,” Juahir said. “I thought he just wanted his people not to get caught doing anything illegal or embarrassing.”

  Arihnda shrugged. “A complete ban is always easier.”

  “And more brainless,” Juahir said. “And you can’t stay in his main office?”

  “The office sleeps ten if you push it,” Arihnda said. “I’m currently number eighteen on the waiting list. So, no.”

  “Ah,” Juahir said again. “Well, Ascension Week’s kind of a big deal.”

  Arihnda nodded, sniffing again at her caf. A big deal for the average Coruscant resident, but even more of a big deal for the political elite. Grand events like this were the perfect screen for the high and powerful to mingle with one another, and Ascension Week was the ultimate in such things. The weeklong festivities that climaxed in Empire Day drew swarms of people to the center of Imperial society as politicians made quiet contacts and deals without the obviousness of going to one another’s offices or the less obvious but theoretically traceable route of comm calls.

  A million people, and a million possibilities, and Arihnda had worked very hard to take full advantage of both. She’d started small, making conversation with other senatorial aides and assistants, but over the last couple of festivals she’d also made contact with a low-level journalist and the office manager from one of the Mid Rim moffs. This year, she’d hoped to leverage both of those one step up to their respective bosses.

  Now, with Renking’s new ban on what his staff had jokingly referred to as portable housing, it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

  And she couldn’t help but wonder how much of the ban had been Wapsbur’s indiscretion and how much was Renking finally noticing Arihnda’s own political machinations and taking steps to block them. Though to be honest, she had to admit that was highly unlikely.

  But then, so much on Coruscant tended toward the unlikely.

  Her work at Renking’s citizen assistance office in Bartanish Four—known universally to its inhabitants as Bash Four—had started off a little rocky. The mostly working-class population was very much in the same mold as the miners of Lothal, but even with such commonplace people her Outer Rim accent and lack of Coruscant breeding had opened her up to both amusement and contempt. But Arihnda had kept at it, and slowly she’d gained their acceptance and trust.

  And most unlikely of all, along the way she’d even made a genuine friend.

  “So I guess we’re going to have to do something about that,” Juahir said. She took another sip, then set down her mug. “Okay, I concede. It is possible to make this stuff too hot.”

  “Told you,” Arihnda said, smiling. She’d been in Bash Four over a year, and was just starting to win over the populace, when Juahir had come in asking for help finding an apartment. Arihnda had located one in her own building, and later that week had helped carry in her meager collection of belongings. Juahir had thanked her with dinner at an incredible little blink-and-miss-it restaurant Arihnda hadn’t even known existed, and from then on they’d been inseparable. “Not worth stressing about. There will be celebrations here, too, you know.”

  Juahir burbled a rude sound through her lips. “Right—Bash Four’s Empire Day festivities. Ten minutes’ worth of fireworks—two minutes of which are duds from last year—and three minutes of all the airspeeders honking their horns. Listen to Palpatine’s pre-recorded speech, two more minutes of honking, and everyone goes home. Big whoop.” She shook her head. “It’s too bad you don’t have a friend who has a friend who has an apartment within view of the Imperial Palace.”

  Arihnda gave a little snort. “If you mean Senator Renking—”

  “Oh, wait,” Juahir interrupted, brightening. “That’s right—you do.” She pointed a finger at herself. “Me.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Arihnda asked, frowning.

  “I’m talking about Core Square,” Juahir said, clearly enjoying herself immensely. “I know a guy who just snagged a place in Sestra Towers.”

  “Sestra Towers?” Arihnda gasped. Sestra was a luxury apartment complex close enough to the center of Federal District that it was visible from Renking’s main office. “You’re joking.”

  “Nope,” Juahir assured her. “It’ll be a little cozy, but we can fit you in.”

  “You’re serious,” Arihnda said, almost not daring to believe it. “You sure your friend won’t mind?”

  “Already cleared it with him,” Juahir said. “There’s one catch, though.” She leveled a finger at Juahir. “We’ll be responsible for transportation and lodging. You’ll be responsible for getting us into at least one exclusive party or reception. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Arihnda said, smiling back. “Not a problem—I can get up to two other guests in on my senator’s aide pass.”

  “No, no, no,” Juahir chided. “You never tell the crowd how the trick is done. So can you sneak out a little early?”

  “Sure.” Arihnda checked her chrono. “As boss of this office, I’m giving myself the rest of the day off.”

  “I wish I had friends in high places.”

  “You do. Sestra Towers.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” Juahir said. “How long will it take you to pack a bag?”

  “Five minutes,” Arihnda promised, shutting down her computer and keying for messages to forward to her comm. “Come on—I’ll drive us over, you can get your bag while I pack, and we’ll meet back at my airspeeder.”

  “I said I’d provide transportation,” Juahir reminded her.

  “I know,” Arihnda said. “I’ve also seen your airspeeder. We’re taking mine.”

  —

  The Federal District, known informally as the Core of Corusca
nt—or, even more informally, Core Square—was the undisputed center of the galaxy, both politically and socially. The Senate was there, as were the Imperial Palace, all the major ministries, and the combined headquarters of the army and the Imperial Navy.

  The elite of the Empire lived and worked here. So did those who had ambitions of joining that noble society, as well as those who carried out the elite’s will.

  “So what’s your excuse?” Arihnda asked Driller MarDapp as they rode the crowded airbus toward the Alisandre Hotel.

  “She means how did you score an apartment here,” Juahir translated. “As in, whose pet tooka did you have to feed, walk, and polish?”

  “Oh, is that what she meant?” Driller asked, grinning. He grinned a lot, Arihnda had noticed in the brief time she’d known him. Fortunately, he had the teeth and dimples for it. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no tooka was involved. I happen to have an uncle who’s a senior staff officer at Royal Imperial and who happens to be offplanet for three months. Being as I’m his favorite nephew—”

  “Translation: He’s the nephew who got in his bid before any of the other relatives did,” Juahir interjected.

  “—favorite nephew of all those who asked him,” Driller amended drily, “I got to move in.”

  “So what are you doing?” Arihnda asked. “Workwise, I mean?”

  “Nothing fancy, I’m afraid. I’m with an advocacy group that petitions senators and ministers on behalf of ordinary citizens.”

  “Ah,” Arihnda said, mentally crossing him off her checklist. Advocacy groups sometimes had access to the powerful, but they had no power of their own. Nothing there for her to cultivate.

  “Sounds a lot like what Arihnda does in Bash Four,” Juahir said.

  “Pretty similar, yes,” Driller said. “Except that you’re handling local people and problems, while we speak on behalf of people from other planets. Sometimes on behalf of the whole planet, in fact.”

  “I thought that was what senators were supposed to do,” Arihnda said.

  “Emphasis on the supposed to part,” Driller said. “I’m sorry—that sounded nastier than I meant it to. You know better than anyone how easy it is for someone to fall through the cracks. That’s our job: filling in cracks.”

  “Sounds so exciting when you put it that way,” Juahir said. “So any idea which of these parties the Emperor is supposed to be hosting?”

  “I’m not sure he’s going to host any of them,” Arihnda said. “That rumor goes around every year.” She squinted toward the hotel they were rapidly approaching. “I don’t see any Imperial Guards anywhere, so if it’s happening it’s not happening here.”

  “That’s okay,” Juahir said. “We’re going to hit a lot more parties before the week’s up, right?”

  “As many as you can handle,” Arihnda promised. “Or at least until we get thrown out.”

  “Hey, that can be fun, too.”

  The Alisandre’s grand ballroom was supposed to be one of the biggest in Core Square, with a cluster of smaller rooms surrounding it. The arrangement made it ideal for both large gatherings and the smaller, more intimate get-togethers that inevitably spun off from big crowds. The security men at the door gave Arihnda’s ID a good, hard look—and gave Juahir and Driller even harder ones—but passed all three of them without comment.

  “Wow,” Juahir breathed, looking around as Arihnda led the way through the meandering flow of people. “I feel very underdressed.”

  “You’re the guests of a lowly senator’s aide,” Arihnda reminded her. “You’re not expected to have a thousand-credit gown.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of us around,” Driller added. “You just can’t see them for the glare of the gems from everyone else. So who exactly is here, Arihnda?”

  “It’s a pretty fair mix,” Arihnda said, studying the little conversational knots that had formed amid the eddies and flows of partygoers. “Over there are the governors of a couple of the minor Core worlds. There’s a Mid Rim moff over there, and I see at least six or seven senators.”

  “And you know all of them?” Driller asked. “Can you introduce me?”

  “I don’t really know them, but I’ve met a lot of them,” Arihnda said. Though she’d certainly been trying to know most of them better. “Senator Renking sometimes sends me out to deliver confidential data cards when I’m here in Core Square.”

  “So that’s where you disappear to all the time,” Juahir commented.

  “It’s hardly all the time,” Arihnda corrected her severely. “Maybe four days a month if I’m lucky.”

  “Yeah, but for every one of those days I get twenty calls wondering why you’re not in your office fixing someone’s problem.”

  “What are they calling you for?” Arihnda asked, frowning. This was the first she’d heard about this. “You don’t work there.”

  “No, but a surprising number of people in our building know we’re friends,” Juahir said drily. “They figure that I’m responsible for you, or some such.”

  “Ridiculous,” Arihnda said. “You’re barely responsible for yourself.”

  “If you two could stop bickering for just a minute,” Driller cut in, “would one of you care to explain that?”

  Arihnda followed his pointing finger. Across the room was another conversation knot, this one consisting of just four people.

  But they were definitely an eye-catching group. One of them was a white-haired man with a matching mustache wearing the white tunic and insignia plaque of an ISB colonel. The second man had his back toward Arihnda, but his formal outfit matched one owned by Senator Renking. The third man was young, and wore the uniform and plaque of a navy ensign. And the fourth man—

  Wasn’t a man at all. He was human-shaped and had human features, but his skin was blue, his hair was blue-black, and his eyes were glowing red.

  And his insignia plaque identified him as a senior lieutenant.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Driller continued. “What is he, some kind of Pantoran with an eye condition?”

  “Now, that’s just rude,” Juahir chided him. But she was staring at the strange being just as hard as he was. “Arihnda? Any ideas?”

  “Sure,” Arihnda said. “Let’s go over and ask.”

  Juahir’s gasp was audible even over the hum of conversation filling the ballroom. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all,” Arihnda said. “Actually, I think that’s Senator Renking, so I can just pretend I was checking in to see if he needed anything.”

  “I thought you were off duty.”

  “Senator’s aides are never off duty,” Arihnda said. “Come on.”

  And if it wasn’t Renking, she decided, his outfit tagged him as someone of similar status. Easy enough to flip a humorous case of mistaken identity into a new contact among the elite.

  The contingency plan proved unnecessary. The man was, in fact, Senator Renking.

  The first thing Arihnda had learned as his aide was to never interrupt a conversation. The second thing she’d learned was how to edge herself into those conversations. In this case, the best approach was to position herself at a discreet distance, outside the group but inside the edge of the senator’s peripheral vision. Eventually, she knew, he would notice her.

  In this instance, the wait was barely ten seconds. “Ah—Arihnda,” Renking said, interrupting himself and holding out an inviting hand. “I was hoping to run into you—your comm said you were here, but I didn’t want to interrupt you with a call unless I had to.”

  “Not a problem, Senator,” Arihnda said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need a favor.” Renking half turned to the other three people. “But I’m forgetting my manners. Colonel, Lieutenant, Ensign: This is Arihnda Pryce, one of my aides. Ms. Pryce: This is Colonel Wullf Yularen of the Imperial Security Bureau; Senior Lieutenant Thrawn, a rising star in the navy; and Ensign Eli Vanto, the lieutenant’s aide and translator.”

  “Honored, noble sirs,” A
rihnda said, bowing respectfully.

  “Colonel Yularen was just telling me about an intriguing operation the lieutenant and ensign were recently involved with out in the Mid Rim,” Renking continued.

  “Really,” Arihnda said, putting some fascination—most of it genuine—into her voice. The elite loved to hear themselves talk, but most of the time their stories were worth listening to.

  “Really,” Yularen confirmed, his eyes flicking over her shoulder to Juahir and Driller. Probably making sure they were out of eavesdropping range. “The lieutenant more or less single-handedly captured a pirate ship and most of its crew, and saved a valuable shipment of tibanna gas on top of it.”

  “It was hardly single-handed, Colonel,” the nonhuman said. His voice was calm and respectful, with a quiet underpinning of confidence and intelligence.

  “You had only four crew with you, including Ensign Vanto,” Yularen said. “I call that close enough to single-handed. What do you say, Ensign? Was I overstating the case?”

  “Not at all, sir,” Ensign Vanto said politely. He looked and sounded a little pained, as if he had no idea what he was doing here and just wanted to go home.

  Which, from his distinctive accent, Arihnda guessed to be somewhere in the Outer Rim or even Wild Space, which likely made his forced presence here among the elite even more awkward and uncomfortable. Arihnda herself had worked very hard to get rid of her own Outer Rim accent, but she still felt self-conscious about her roots.

  “Ensign Vanto is perhaps too modest about his and the others’ contributions,” Thrawn said. “But what matters is the result.”

  “Well, however it untangles, congratulations to you both,” Renking said. “I presume you’re here on Coruscant for commendation?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or promotions?”

  “Not exactly,” Yularen said. “There’s some additional…datawork, shall we say, that needs to be looked at.”

  “How serious are we talking?” Renking asked, eyeing Thrawn.

  “Serious enough,” Yularen said. “But I’m not particularly worried. I was an admiral during the Clone Wars, and I still have friends in high places.”