Star Wars: Heir to the Empire

by Timothy Zahn

  “It’s of no consequence,” Thrawn told him. “The Sluissi will be in charge. Their timing will determine events.”

  Pellaeon exhaled and conceded defeat. “Yes, sir,” he muttered.

  Thrawn eyed him. “It’s not a question of bravado, Captain. Or of proving that the Imperial Fleet can function without him. The simple fact of the matter is that we can’t afford to use C’baoth too much or too often.”

  “Because we’ll start depending on him,” Pellaeon growled. “As if we were all borg-implanted into a combat computer.”

  Thrawn smiled. “That still bothers you, doesn’t it? No matter. That’s part of it, but only a very small part. What concerns me more is that we don’t give Master C’baoth too much of a taste for this kind of power.”

  Pellaeon frowned at him. “He said he doesn’t want power.”

  “Then he lies,” Thrawn returned coldly. “All men want power. And the more they have, the more they want.”

  Pellaeon thought about that. “But if he’s a threat to us . . .” He broke off, suddenly aware of the other officers and men working all around them.

  The Grand Admiral had no such reticence. “Why not dispose of him?” he finished the question. “It’s very simple. Because we’ll soon have the ability to fill his taste for power to the fullest . . . and once we’ve done so, he’ll be no more of a threat than any other tool.”

  “Leia Organa Solo and her twins?”

  “Exactly,” Thrawn nodded, his eyes glittering. “Once C’baoth has them in his hand, these little excursions with the Fleet will be no more to him than distracting interludes that take him away from his real work.”

  Pellaeon found himself looking away from the intensity of that gaze. The theory seemed good enough; but in actual practice . . . “That assumes, of course, that the Noghri are ever able to connect with her.”

  “They will.” Thrawn was quietly confident. “She and her guardians will eventually run out of tricks. Certainly long before we run out of Noghri.”

  In front of Pellaeon, the display cleared. “They’re ready, sir,” he said.

  Thrawn turned back to the freighter. “At your convenience, Captain.”

  Pellaeon took a deep breath and tapped the comm switch. “Cloaking shield: activate.”

  And outside the view window, the battered freighter—

  Stayed exactly as it was.

  Thrawn gazed hard at the freighter. Looked at his command displays, back at the freighter . . . and then turned to Pellaeon, a satisfied smile on his face. “Excellent, Captain. Precisely what I wanted. I congratulate you and your technicians.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Pellaeon said, relaxing muscles he hadn’t realized were tense. “Then I take it the light is green?”

  The Grand Admiral’s smile remained unchanged, his face hardening around it. “The light is green, Captain,” he said grimly. “Alert the task force; prepare to move to the rendezvous point.

  “The Sluis Van shipyards are ours.”

  Wedge Antilles looked up from the data pad with disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he told the dispatcher. “Escort duty?”

  The other gave him an innocent look. “What’s the big deal?” he asked. “You guys are X-wings—you do escort all the time.”

  “We escort people,” Wedge retorted. “We don’t watchdog cargo ships.”

  The dispatcher’s innocent look collapsed into thinly veiled disgust, and Wedge got the sudden impression that he’d gone through this same argument a lot lately. “Look, Commander, don’t dump it on me,” he growled back. “It’s a standard Frigate escort—what’s the difference whether the Frigate’s got people or a break-down reactor aboard?”

  Wedge looked back at the data pad. It was a matter of professional pride, that’s what the difference was. “Sluis Van’s a pretty long haul for X-wings,” he said instead.

  “Yeah, well, the spec line says you’ll be staying aboard the Frigate until you actually hit the system,” the dispatcher said, reaching over his desk to tap the paging key on Wedge’s data pad. “You’ll just ride him in from there.”

  Wedge scanned the rest of the spec line. They’d then have to sit there in the shipyards and wait for the rest of the convoy to assemble before finally taking the cargo on to Bpfassh. “We’re going to be a long time away from Coruscant with this,” he said.

  “I’d look on that as a plus if I were you, Commander,” the dispatcher said, lowering his voice. “Something here’s coming to a head. I think Councilor Fey’lya and his people are about to make their move.”

  Wedge felt a chill run through him. “You don’t mean . . . a coup?”

  The dispatcher jumped as if scalded. “No, of course not. What do you think Fey’lya is—?”

  He broke off, his eyes going wary. “Oh, I got it. You’re one of Ackbar’s diehards, huh? Face it, Commander; Ackbar’s lost whatever touch he ever had with the common fighting man of the Alliance. Fey’lya’s the only one on the Council who really cares about our welfare.” He gestured at the data pad. “Case in point. All this garbage came down from Ackbar’s office.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s still an Empire out there,” Wedge muttered, uncomfortably aware that the dispatcher’s verbal attack on Ackbar had neatly shifted him to the other side of his own argument. He wondered if the other had done that on purpose . . . or whether he really was one of the growing number of Fey’lya supporters in the military.

  And come to think of it, a little vacation away from Coruscant might not be such a bad idea, after all. At least it would get him away from all this crazy political stuff. “When do we leave?”

  “Soon as you can get your people together and aboard,” the dispatcher said. “They’re already loading your fighters.”

  “Right.” Wedge turned away from the desk and headed down the corridor toward the ready rooms. Yes, a quiet little run back out to Sluis Van and Bpfassh would be just the thing right now. Give him some breathing space to try to sort out just what was happening to this New Republic he’d risked so much to help build.

  And if the Imperials took a poke at them along the way . . . well, at least that was a threat he could fight back against.

  CHAPTER

  28

  It was just before noon when they began to notice the faint sounds wafting occasionally to them through the forest. It was another hour after that before they were close enough for Luke to finally identify them.

  Speeder bikes.

  “You’re sure that’s a military model?” Mara muttered as the whine/drone rose and fell twice more before fading again into the distance.

  “I’m sure,” Luke told her grimly. “I nearly ran one of them into a tree on Endor.”

  She didn’t reply, and for a moment Luke wondered if the mention of Endor might not have been a good idea. But a glance at Mara’s face relieved that fear. She was not brooding, but listening. “Sounds like they’re off to the south, too,” she said after a minute. “North . . . I don’t hear anything from that direction.”

  Luke listened. “Neither do I,” he said. “I wonder . . . Artoo, can you make up an audio map for us?”

  There was an acknowledging beep. A moment later the droid’s holo projector came on and a two-color map appeared, hovering a few centimeters over the matted leaves underfoot.

  “I was right,” Mara said, pointing. “A few units directly ahead of us, the rest off to the south. Nothing at all north.”

  “Which means we must have veered to the north,” Luke said.

  Mara frowned at him. “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, they must know we’ll make for Hyllyard City,” he said. “They’re bound to center their search on the direct approach.”

  Mara smiled thinly. “Such wonderful Jedi naïveté,” she said. “I don’t suppose you considered the fact that just because we can’t hear them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

  Luke frowned down at the holographic map. “Well, of course they could have a force lying in wait
there,” he agreed. “But what would it gain them?”

  “Oh, come on, Skywalker—it’s the oldest tactical trick in the book. If the perimeter looks impossible to crack, the quarry goes to ground and waits for a better opportunity. You don’t want him to do that, so you give him what looks like a possible way through.” She squatted down, ran a finger through the “quiet” section on the map. “In this case, they get a bonus: if we swing north to avoid the obvious speeder bikes, it’s instant proof that we’ve got something to hide from them.”

  Luke grimaced. “Not that they really need any proof.”

  Mara shrugged and straightened up again. “Some officers are more legal-minded than others. The question is, what do we do now?”

  Luke looked back down at the map. By Mara’s reckoning, they were no more than four or five kilometers from the edge of the forest—two hours, more or less. If the Imperials had this much organization already set up in front of them . . . “They’re probably going to try to ring us,” he said slowly. “Move units around to the north and south, and eventually behind us.”

  “If they haven’t done so already,” Mara said. “No reason we would have heard them—they don’t know exactly how fast we’re moving, so they’ll have made it a big circle. Probably using a wide ring of Chariot assault vehicles or hoverscouts with a group of speeder bikes working around each focal point. It’s the standard stormtrooper format for a web.”

  Luke pursed his lips. But what the Imperials didn’t know was that one of the quarry knew exactly what they were up to. “So how do we break out?” he asked.

  Mara hissed between her teeth. “We don’t,” she said flatly. “Not without a lot more equipment and resources than we’ve got.”

  The faint whine/drone came again from somewhere ahead of them, rising and then fading as it passed by in the distance. “In that case,” Luke said, “we might as well go straight up the middle. Call to them before they see us, maybe.”

  Mara snorted. “Like we were casual tourists out here with nothing to hide?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  She glared at him. But it was a reflexive glare, without any real argument behind it. “Not really,” she conceded at last. “I suppose you’re also going to want to do that role-switch thing Karrde suggested.”

  Luke shrugged. “We’re not going to be able to blast our way through them,” he reminded her. “And if you’re right about that pincer movement, we’re not going to sneak through them, either. All that’s left is a bluff, and the better a bluff it is, the better chance we’ve got.”

  Mara’s lip twisted. “I suppose so.” With only a slight hesitation, she dropped the power pack from her blaster and handed it and the forearm holster to him.

  Luke took them, hefted the blaster in his hand. “They may check to see if it’s loaded,” he pointed out mildly. “I would.”

  “Look, Skywalker, if you think I’m going to give you a loaded weapon—”

  “And if another vornskr finds us before the Imperials do,” Luke cut her off quietly, “you’ll never get it reloaded fast enough.”

  “Maybe I don’t care,” she shot back.

  Luke nodded. “Maybe you don’t.”

  She glared at him again, but again, the glare lacked conviction. Teeth visibly grinding together, she slapped the power pack into his hand. “Thank you,” Luke said, reloading the blaster and fastening it to his left forearm. “Now. Artoo?”

  The droid understood. One of the trapezoidal sections at the top of his upper dome, indistinguishable from all the other segments, slid open to reveal a long, deep storage compartment beneath it. Turning back to Mara, Luke held out his hand.

  She looked at the open hand, then at the storage compartment. “So that’s how you did it,” she commented sourly, unhooking his lightsaber and handing it over. “I always wondered how you smuggled that thing into Jabba’s.”

  Luke dropped the lightsaber in, and Artoo slid the door shut behind it. “I’ll call for it if I need it,” he told the droid.

  “Don’t count on being very good with it,” Mara warned. “The ysalamiri effect is supposed to extend several kilometers past the edge of the forest—none of those little attack-anticipation tricks will work anywhere near Hyllyard City.”

  “I understand,” Luke nodded. “I guess we’re ready to go, then.”

  “Not quite,” Mara said, eyeing him. “There’s still that face of yours.”

  Luke cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think Artoo’s got anywhere to hide that.”

  “Funny. I had something else in mind.” Mara glanced around, then headed off toward a stand of odd-looking bushes a few meters away. Reaching it, she pulled the end of her tunic sleeve down to cover her hand and carefully picked a few of the leaves. “Pull up your sleeve and hold out your arm,” she ordered as she returned with them.

  He did so, and she brushed his forearm lightly with the tip of one of the leaves. “Now. Let’s see if this works.”

  “What exactly is it supposed to—aah!” The last of Luke’s air came out in an explosive burst as a searing pain lanced through his forearm.

  “Perfect,” Mara said with grim satisfaction. “You’re allergic as anything to them. Oh, relax—the pain will be gone in a few seconds.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Luke gritted back. The pain was indeed receding. “Right. Now, what about this—mmm!—this blasted itch?”

  “That’ll hang on a little longer,” she said, gesturing at his arm. “But never mind that. What do you think?”

  Luke gritted his teeth. The itching was not-so-subtle torture . . . but she was right. Where she’d brushed the leaf the skin had turned dark and puffy, sprinkled with tiny pustules. “Looks disgusting,” he said.

  “Sure does,” she agreed. “You want to do it yourself, or you want me to do it for you?”

  Luke gritted his teeth. This was not going to be pleasant. “I can do it.”

  It was indeed unpleasant; but by the time he finished brushing his chin with the leaves the pain had already begun to recede from his forehead. “I hope I didn’t get it too close to my eyes,” he commented between clenched teeth, throwing the leaves away into the forest and fighting hard against the urge to dig into his face with both sets of fingernails. “It’d be handy to be able to see the rest of the afternoon.”

  “I think you’ll be all right,” Mara assured him, studying the result. “The rest of your face is pretty horrendous, though. You won’t look anything like whatever pictures they have, that’s for sure.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Luke took a deep breath and ran through the Jedi pain suppression exercises. Without the Force they weren’t all that effective, but they seemed to help a little. “How long will I look like this?”

  “The puffiness should start going down in a few hours. It won’t be completely gone until tomorrow.”

  “Good enough. We ready, then?”

  “As ready as we’ll ever be.” Turning her back to Artoo, she took the travois handles and started walking. “Come on.”

  They made good time, despite the lingering tenderness of Mara’s ankle and the distractions inherent in a faceful of itch. To Luke’s relief, the itching began to fade after about half an hour, leaving only puffy numbness behind it.

  Mara’s ankle was another story, however, and as he walked behind her and Artoo he could see clearly how she was having to favor it. The added burden of Artoo’s travois wasn’t helping, and twice he almost suggested that they give up on the role switching. But he resisted the urge. It was their best chance of getting out of this, and they both knew it.

  Besides which, she had far too much pride to agree.

  They’d gone perhaps another kilometer, with the whine/drone of the speeder bikes rising and falling in the distance, when suddenly they were there.

  There were two of them: biker scouts in glistening white armor, swooping up to them and braking to a halt almost before Luke’s ears had registered the sound of their approach. Which meant a very short ride, w
ith target position already known.

  Which meant that the entire search party must have had them located and vectored for at least the past few minutes. It was just as well, Luke reflected, that he hadn’t tried switching roles with Mara.

  “Halt!” one of the scouts called unnecessarily as they hovered there, both swivel blaster cannons trained and ready. “Identify yourselves, in the name of the Empire.”

  And it was performance time. “Boy, am I glad you showed up,” Luke called back, putting as much relief into his voice as the puffy cheeks allowed. “You don’t happen to have some sort of transport handy, do you? I’m about walked off my feet.”

  There was just the slightest flicker of hesitation. “Identify yourself,” the scout repeated.

  “My name’s Jade,” Luke told him. He gestured at Mara. “Got a gift here for Talon Karrde. I don’t suppose he sent some transport, did he?”

  There was a short pause. The scouts conferring privately between themselves, Luke decided, or else calling back to base for instructions. The fact that the prisoner was a woman did indeed seem to have thrown them. Whether it would be enough, of course, was another question entirely.

  “You’ll come with us,” the scout ordered. “Our officer wants to talk to you. You—woman—put the droid down and move away from it.”

  “Fine with me,” Luke said as the second scout maneuvered his speeder bike to a position in front of Artoo’s travois. “But I want both of you to witness, for the record, that I had her fair and square before you showed up. Karrde weasels his way out of these capture fees too often; he’s not going to weasel out of this one.”

  “You’re a bounty hunter?” the scout asked, a clear note of disdain in his voice.

  “That’s right,” Luke said, putting some professional dignity in his voice as a counter to the scout’s contempt. Not that he minded their distaste. He was, in fact, counting on it. The more firmly the Imperials had the wrong image of him set in their minds, the longer it would take them to see through the deception.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the sort of trick a Jedi should use.