Star Wars_Thrawn

by Timothy Zahn

  But the moments must be faced. And all will learn from them, whether to satisfaction or to sorrow.

  —

  They reached the coordinates to find the freighter waiting for them.

  “Took your sweet time about it,” the other growled. “Trouble?”

  Eli took a deep breath. If there was one group he’d really gotten to know during his time in the navy it was smugglers, arms merchants, thieves, and general assorted scoundrels.

  He knew how they behaved, talked, and thought. The trick was to make himself think and talk the same way.

  He keyed the comm. “Weren’t planning on using the hyperdrive at all until you showed up. Didn’t think you’d get bored so easy.”

  “Yeah. Ha-ha. Who are you?”

  “Name’s Horatio Figg.”

  “What were you doing at Batonn?”

  “Trolling for bargains and customers,” Eli said. “I heard about your Scrim Island thing and thought I’d come see if you were interested in doing some business. Buying or selling—like I said, I do both.”

  “Well, personally, I’d just as soon blow you into dust and be done with it,” the other said. “But the boss wants to see you, so I guess you get to live a little longer. Follow me.”

  “Thanks,” Eli said, turning onto the freighter’s vector. “You won’t regret this.”

  “I already do. And don’t try to run—I’m not the only one out here.”

  The comm clicked off. “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now we prepare,” Thrawn said, unstrapping and climbing out of his seat. “Stay with him and keep watch. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Ten minutes later, with their destination visible on the displays, he returned. “I see we’ve arrived.”

  “Just about,” Eli said, frowning. Thrawn had his tunic draped over his arm with a small hold-out blaster in his other hand. “It looks like an old Clone Wars–era Nomad.”

  “I’m not familiar with those.”

  “They were a sort of traveling ship–repair shop that came into systems after the battles were over and the fleets left,” Eli explained. “Repair facilities were usually hit pretty hard, and these ships came in to pick up some of the slack for the locals. You realize taking off your tunic isn’t going to fool anyone, right?”

  “It isn’t intended to,” Thrawn said. “Take off your tunic and put on this one.”

  “Okay, but it won’t fit—whoa,” Eli interrupted himself as he spotted the fresh blaster burn in the tunic. “What’s that?”

  “You took this tunic from an officer you killed,” Thrawn said. “That’s why it doesn’t fit. You wear it because it intimidates people.”

  “Okay,” Eli said, frowning at the tunic as he quickly stripped off his own. Thrawn’s admiral insignia plaque, he saw, had been replaced by a lieutenant’s plaque.

  A lieutenant’s plaque?

  He sent Thrawn a sharp look. “Yes,” the admiral confirmed. “My old remote, modified for the current need. When the time comes, press the tile closest to the center of your chest.”

  “That time being?”

  “You’ll know. Here.” He offered Eli the hold-out blaster. “Hide it somewhere. They’ll take it from you, but it would look suspicious if you weren’t carrying a backup weapon.”

  “So I keep this one, too?” Eli asked, nodding toward his blaster as he smoothed the sealing strip on Thrawn’s tunic. The garment was definitely two sizes too big for him.

  “Yes,” Thrawn said. “It will be a sample of the merchandise you have for sale.”

  “Okay,” Eli said, fresh doubts nagging at him. Playing this insane role on a comm was one thing. Playing it in person was something else.

  He forced the thought away. The whole essence of being a scoundrel was self-confidence. If he couldn’t fake that, he was dead. “Where will you be?”

  “Engineering our escape,” Thrawn said. “In the meantime, learn as much about them as you can.”

  “Right.” The Nomad was coming into view ahead, and Eli could see that there were six small ships already lined up in its long, full-flank repair bay. Tucked in among the parked vessels were three empty slots, with flashing approach lights marking the one in the center. “Just remember that I can’t keep this role up forever.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can,” Thrawn said. He left the cockpit, taking Eli’s tunic with him.

  “Figg, there’s a landing slot marked for you,” the freighter pilot said, veering out of Eli’s path. “Land and come outside. Someone will be waiting.”

  Eli keyed the transmitter. “Understood,” he said. “I hope there’s something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Just be ready to talk,” the other said sourly. “Because you’ll be doing a lot of that.”

  —

  Three armed men were waiting for Eli when he walked down the freighter’s ramp. “Well, well,” one of them sneered. “An Imperial. What a surprise.”

  “And you’re exactly the kind of idiot I wear this for,” Eli said, putting tired contempt into his voice. “Did you even notice that it doesn’t fit?”

  “Or see the blaster burn?” one of the others added, pointing his blaster toward Eli’s stomach.

  “Which you can’t see if I angle the comm cam just right,” Eli said. “Guaranteed to get people’s attention and cooperation.”

  “Not here it doesn’t,” the first man said. “That blaster. Pull it out—slowly—and kick it over.”

  “Be careful with it,” Eli said, drawing his blaster from its holster and setting it on the deck in front of him. A gentle nudge with his toe sent it spinning across to the guards. “That’s part of my stock. Genuine Imperial Navy sidearm. Can’t get those just anywhere.”

  “You’d be surprised,” the first man said. “Arms out and stand still.”

  Eli complied. The man gestured, and his two companions laid their own blasters on the deck and walked over to Eli, purposeful expressions on their faces.

  He’d hoped they wouldn’t find the hold-out blaster hidden under his arm. They did.

  “More stock?” the first man asked, taking the weapon and frowning at it as the others retrieved their own weapons.

  “Part stock, part insurance,” Eli said. “You’d be surprised how many customers try to walk off without paying for their purchases.”

  “I’ll bet. Come on.”

  The docking bay had three hatches leading into the rest of the massive ship. The three men took Eli through the center one, the hatch nearest his freighter. A short walk down a rust-edged corridor, a turn into another corridor, and they arrived at a compartment with a faded plaque that said SHIPMASTER beside it.

  The first man stepped forward and tapped the release. The hatch opened, and he gestured Eli forward.

  Eli took a careful breath. Self-confidence, he reminded himself. Arrogant self-confidence. With a casual nod at his captor, he walked through the hatchway.

  And froze. Seated behind an old desk, a small smile on his face—

  “Cygni?”

  “So you remember me,” the man said, his smile widening a bit. “It’s good to see you again, Commander Vanto.

  “And please—call me Nightswan.”

  —

  For a long moment, Eli couldn’t breathe. Ever since that first run-in aboard the Dromedar, Nightswan had always kept to the shadows and background. Always. He was the last person Eli had expected to see in charge of the Scrim Island operation.

  Was this something new? Or had they never really known the man at all?

  He started as someone poked him hard in the back. Forcing his muscles to unfreeze, he stepped into the room. “Have a seat,” Nightswan said, gesturing to a chair at the corner of his desk. “What was he carrying?”

  “Standard blaster,” the first guard said, brushing past Eli and laying the navy sidearm on the desk. “Plus this,” he added, setting the hold-out blaster beside it. “Never seen one like it before.”

  “An antique of some sort,” Nightswa
n said, peering closely at it. “Clone Wars era?” he asked, looking up at Eli.

  Eli shook his head. “No idea.”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” Nightswan said, turning both weapons a few degrees so that they were pointed away from him and directly at Eli. “I’m glad that Admiral Thrawn sent you to seek me out, by the way. I always thought you’d been handed a bad set of cards, and your presence here means you’ll be spared what the rebels on Scrim Island are doing to him right now.” He frowned, his gaze dropping to the tunic’s insignia plaque. “You are a commander, aren’t you? I saw the announcement. You haven’t been demoted, have you?”

  “No, I’m still a commander,” Eli confirmed, some of his mental haze burning away in a sudden surge of cautious excitement. Nightswan thought it was Thrawn directing that botched attack on the island? “This is just part of the camouflage.”

  “Ah,” Nightswan said. “Not much of a disguise. You really weren’t expecting to be challenged?”

  “Oh, I was expecting to be challenged,” Eli said, his mind racing. Nightswan clearly thought Eli was here alone. His best chance now was to stall. “I just wasn’t expecting there to be someone aboard who’d ever seen me before, let alone you. So, what, you’ve thrown in with a bunch of crazies?”

  “They’re hardly crazies,” Nightswan said. “Your Empire is corrupt, Commander. Corrupt, dangerous, and ultimately self-defeating. It’s going to fall anyway. I’m just helping it along.”

  “I’d go easy on the overconfidence if I were you,” Eli offered. “As long as there are commanders like Admiral Thrawn, you’re going to have an uphill job of it.”

  “Ah, but there are no commanders like Admiral Thrawn,” Nightswan said with a tight smile. “Not anymore.”

  The smile faded. “Please understand that Scrim Island was my last resort. I’d tried destroying him politically. I’d tried persuading the High Command that he was more trouble than he was worth. But he skated clear every time. Killing him was the only way I could think of to neutralize him.”

  “I’m sure he appreciated your earlier restraint,” Eli said, frowning as the patterns of Nightswan’s earlier challenges suddenly became clear. “Still, Star Destroyers are pretty tough ships. The island also has only one turbolaser, and it’s firing through atmosphere. He may wiggle out yet.”

  Nightswan shrugged. “Perhaps. At this point, though, it doesn’t really matter. Losing his command ship—and the ship is lost, whether he personally survives or not—is a blunder even he can’t withstand. Whoever his friends are, however highly they’re placed, they’ll have no choice now but to turn their backs on him.”

  Eli had to smile at that one. “Maybe,” he said. “You seem to have taken an interest in his career.”

  “I have,” Nightswan said, frowning at Eli’s smile. “Ever since he turned the tables on my little tibanna gas theft. What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Eli said. “Speaking of the tibanna, that was a nice trick of your own. How did you get the gas out without leaving any damage to the cylinders?”

  “Sorry. Professional secret.”

  “So what?” Eli countered. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

  “Actually, I’m not,” Nightswan said. “Not unless you make trouble. My target was Thrawn, not you.”

  “Thanks,” Eli said drily. “Not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Though even Scrim Island may not be enough. I gather you don’t know how Thrawn happened to be admitted into the navy in the first place.”

  “I assume the appointment was pushed through by one of his friends.” Nightswan’s eyes narrowed as he studied Eli’s face. “No,” he said slowly. “Not just a friend. A nonhuman from the Unknown Regions…it would have to be someone very highly placed. No—wait.” His eyes widened. “Hell and brimstone,” he breathed, leaning forward over the desk. “That was him?”

  “That was who?” Eli asked, reflexively shrinking back a little. Nightswan’s sudden intensity was more than a little intimidating.

  “Hell and brimstone,” Nightswan murmured again, his eyes fixed on Eli. “You really don’t know?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “So that was Thrawn,” Nightswan said, his gaze drifting to somewhere over Eli’s shoulder. “I heard about it a couple of years ago, from someone working the Thrugii asteroids. There was this unknown nonhuman—blue skin, glowing red eyes—who’d somehow teamed up with one of the Jedi generals fighting in the Clone Wars.”

  Eli felt his throat tighten. “Anakin Skywalker,” he murmured.

  In a flash Nightswan’s eyes came back, an invisible hatch seeming to slam shut over the memories. “Yes, General Skywalker,” he said, his voice wary. “So you do know the story.”

  “All I know is that Thrawn once met the man,” Eli said. “He wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

  The desk intercom beeped. For a moment Nightswan continued to lock gazes with Eli. Then, leaning back in his chair again, he touched a switch. “Yes?”

  “We searched the freighter, sir,” a faint voice came. “No one else aboard. But listen—the engine compartment’s showing a radiation leak.”

  “A radiation leak, you say,” Nightswan repeated, raising his eyebrows at Eli.

  “Yes, sir, and it looks bad. You think we should tractor the whole thing out of the bay before the reactor goes critical?”

  “Oh, I doubt we need to go to such extremes,” Nightswan said. “How many troops do you have with you?”

  “All six. You said to be careful.”

  “So I did,” Nightswan said. “Get everyone together by that hatch and figure out how to get in. There should be an override control near the main release.”

  “Wait a minute,” the man protested. “You want us to go in? Without radiation suits?”

  “You won’t need them,” Nightswan assured him. “It’s just another Imperial or two hiding among the baffles. They’ll be armed, of course, so continue being careful.”

  “Got it,” the man said.

  Nightswan touched the intercom switch again. “Really?” he asked Eli with a wry smile. “A radiation leak?”

  Eli shrugged, stifling a curse. Of all the ploys for Thrawn to pull out of his hat, it had to be one Nightswan already knew. “It is a classic.”

  “So it is,” Nightswan agreed. “Though like you, I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. You’re probably wishing you’d tried something else.”

  “I didn’t know I’d be playing to an audience who’d already put on the same show.”

  “True,” Nightswan said. “I hope that whoever’s in there doesn’t put up a fight. Simmco’s people aren’t too bright, but they’re very good shots.”

  “I’m sure they are,” Eli said with a sigh. However this worked out, Nightswan was in for a surprise. He’d either have Thrawn himself, or he’d have his body.

  “But you were telling me about Thrawn and Skywalker,” Nightswan continued.

  “No, I already told you about Thrawn and Skywalker,” Eli corrected. “Everything I know. That Thrugii story sounds interesting, though.”

  “I’d rather talk about you,” Nightswan said. “With Thrawn about to leave the stage, your career will finally be out of his shadow.” He raised his eyebrows. “It has been rather in his shadow, hasn’t it?”

  Eli smiled. Once, he’d indeed felt that way.

  But not anymore. Not for a long time.

  “I’m not worried about it,” he assured Nightswan. “The future is what you make of it, as my father used to say. I’m a commander, I have a fairly decent list of victories on my ledger, and I’d like to think I’ve picked up one or two friends along the way.”

  “Really?” Nightswan said. “Because Thrawn doesn’t seem to have. Not politically astute at all, from what I hear.” He snorted. “As for you, my young idealist commander, do you really think you have any friends on Coruscant? A Wild Space nobody who’s spent his entire career as a house pet to a nonhuman?”

  “It’s not
like that,” Eli insisted. “You saw how they came around with Thrawn.”

  “Probably because favors were bought or sold,” Nightswan said. “You really need to learn more about Coruscant.” The intercom pinged again, and he tapped the key. “Yes?”

  “Sir, it’s Simmco,” the man’s voice came. “We’ve searched the engine compartment, and there’s—”

  He was cut off by an explosive concussion erupting from the intercom speaker. An instant later Eli felt a quieter echo of the blast through the bulkhead behind him.

  And suddenly the room erupted with the thunderous cadence of the universal abandon ship alarm.

  Nightswan snatched up Eli’s blaster from the desk with one hand, jabbing at the intercom with the other. “Captain?” he called over the cacophony. “Captain, what’s going on?”

  Eli braced himself. You’ll know, Thrawn had promised. Reaching casually to his insignia plaque, Eli pressed the innermost tile. Nightswan caught the movement, turned the blaster warningly toward his prisoner—

  As the hold-out blaster in front of him exploded into a blinding cloud of smoke.

  Eli was out of his chair in an instant, wincing as Nightswan’s blaster bolt sizzled through the space he’d just been occupying and shattered the back of the chair. For a fraction of a second he thought about trying to counterattack, realized it would be suicidal, and instead sprinted for the hatch. If he could get it open before Nightswan’s vision cleared he might make it.

  He was nearly there, his hand stretched out toward the release, when the hatch slid open of its own accord and a looming figure charged inside, a blaster gripped in his hand. Eli slammed into him at full speed, sending the man toppling backward onto the deck and squeezing out an agonized whoof as the impact knocked the air out of his lungs. Eli grabbed his blaster, twisted it out of his grip, slammed it across the side of his head to make sure he stayed down, then scrambled to his feet and made for the docking bay.

  Even over the noise he could hear multiple shouts and running footsteps as the rest of the crew reacted to the alarm. Fortunately, he didn’t have far to go. He burst through the hatchway into the repair bay—