Star Wars: The Hand of Thrawn II: Vision of the Future

by Timothy Zahn

  They went inside. “Up to now, you’ve been pretty quiet about what your plan is for this little raid,” Booster said when the door was sealed again behind them. “I think it’s about time I heard some details.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Bel Iblis said. “We’ll be taking the Errant Venture in past their sentry line and, hopefully, through their main defense perimeter. Once we’re inside, the rest of the task force will come in behind us from hyperspace and attack the perimeter. If we’re lucky, the Imperials will be so busy with them they won’t give us a second look.”

  “That assumes their first look doesn’t pin us to the wall, of course,” Booster pointed out darkly. “Assuming that, what then?”

  “Yaga Minor has a peculiarity that as far as I know is unique among Imperial installations,” Bel Iblis said. “There are a pair of outrider computer stations set up at the end of a corridor/walkway tube that extends about a hundred meters out from the main orbiting Ubiqtorate station.”

  Booster frowned. “Odd design.”

  “The idea was to give high-ranking civilian researchers access to the computer records system without having to let them into the Ubiqtorate base proper,” Bel Iblis told him. “Grand Moff Tarkin ran a lot of his more private stuff through Yaga Minor, and he didn’t want his political enemies getting even a glimpse of what he was up to.”

  “Okay, so there’s a convenient remote connection to the computer,” Booster said. “I don’t suppose it happens to have an equally convenient access hatchway where we can get to it.”

  “There are hatchways, but unfortunately they’re not at all convenient,” Bel Iblis said, his voice turning grim. “We’ll probably have to blast a hole in the side of the walkway tube and send in our slicers in vac suits.”

  Booster snorted. “Right—blow a hole in the side of the station. That’ll sure go unnoticed.”

  “It could,” Bel Iblis said. “The main force will be firing barrages of proton torpedoes at the time. The Imperials may assume that was one that got through.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Bel Iblis shrugged. “Then you and I and the rest of the Errant Venture’s crew start earning our pay the hard way. We’ll have to hold them off long enough for the slicers to pull up a copy of the Caamas Document and transmit it out to the attacking ships.”

  Booster snorted again. “No offense, General, but that has to be the worst plan I’ve ever heard in my life. What happens to us once we’ve got the document?”

  Bel Iblis looked him straight in the eye. “What happens to us doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. “If they accept our surrender, fine. If not … they turn the Errant Venture into scrap around us.”

  “Hold it a second,” Booster said, frowning. Buried in among all that breathtakingly lousy strategy he’d suddenly noticed a highly important word. “What do you mean us? I thought you were going to be out there with the main fleet.”

  Bel Iblis shook his head. “This ship is the key to the operation,” he said quietly. “This is the ship that has to survive long enough to first get the Caamas Document and then punch it out through whatever jamming the Imperials have going. This is where I’m needed the most. So this is where I’ll be.”

  “Now, wait just one mradhe mucking minute,” Booster growled, pulling himself up to his full one-meter-nine height. “This is my ship. You told me I would still be her captain.”

  “You’re still the captain,” Bel Iblis agreed. “I’m simply the admiral.”

  Booster let out a long, hissing breath. He should have known Bel Iblis hadn’t really given in on anything. He should have known it. “And if I refuse to give you command?”

  Bel Iblis lifted his eyebrows slightly. Booster nodded, a sour taste in his mouth. With the Errant Venture crawling with Bel Iblis’s people, the question wasn’t even worth answering. “Right,” he muttered. “I knew I’d regret this.”

  “You can stay here if you want,” Bel Iblis offered. “I’m sure Coruscant would compensate you for—”

  “Forget it,” Booster bit out. “This is my ship, and you’re not taking it into combat without me. Period.”

  Bel Iblis smiled faintly. “I understand,” he said. “Believe me, I understand. Was there anything else?”

  “No, that ought to about do it for now,” Booster said glumly. “You might want to see if you can come up with a better plan in the next three days.”

  “I’ll try,” Bel Iblis promised. Turning, he headed for the door—

  “Wait a second,” Booster said as a new thought struck him. “You say we’re going to blow a hole in that outrider computer station. What happens if someone’s in there at the time?”

  “I’m not expecting anyone to be there,” Bel Iblis told him. “I doubt it’s used much anymore. Besides, I can’t see any other way to do this.”

  “But what if there is someone?” Booster persisted. “You said yourself the place was only used by civilians. You blow a hole in the wall and you’re going to kill them.”

  A shadow seemed to cross Bel Iblis’s face. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I know.”

  “Well,” Klif said, consulting his chrono. “It’s been four hours. What do you think—another two before the panic call comes?”

  Navett shrugged, running through a quick mental calculation of his own. He and Klif had been conspicuously elsewhere at the time, just in case backchecks were made, but according to Pensin the subtle transfer of their little organic time bombs to the Bothan techs’ clothing had gone as smooth as spun gemweb. Four hours now since those techs had vanished into the Drev’starn shield generator building; give them another hour to make their presence known, two more after that for the Bothans to become fully aware of the magnitude of the problem and to exhaust all other possibilities for dealing with it … “I’m guessing at least three,” he told Klif. “They aren’t going to be in a hurry to call in offworlders.”

  “Well, the stuff’s ready whenever they do,” Klif said with a shrug.

  Across the shop, the annoyingly cheery chime rang out as the door swung open. Settling his face into what Klif had dubbed their earnest-but-stupid expression, he looked up.

  And felt the expression freeze across his face. There, walking into the shop, were their two New Rep military types.

  Beside him, Klif made a faint choking sound in the back of his throat. “Quiet,” Navett murmured, adding a slightly dopey smile to his expression and bounding eagerly around the end of the counter toward their visitors. “A day of fun and profit to you, or however that goes,” he said, keying his voice to the pleasant yet vaguely pushy tone of a merchant determined to make a sale. “Can I help you?”

  “Just looking, thanks,” one of the men said as they wandered down the row of cages. They were two of a kind, Navett noted: both somewhat short, both with slightly graying brown hair, the speaker with brown eyes while his companion had green.

  And seen up close, Brown Eyes especially looked familiar.

  “Sure, sure,” Navett said, hovering nearby in traditional shopkeeper style. “Anything special you’re lookin’ for?”

  “Not really,” Green Eyes put in, gazing down into the polpian cage. “What are these? Polpians?”

  “Sure are,” Navett said. Both of them had faint Corellian accents, too. “You know your petstock.”

  “I know a little,” Green Eyes said, gazing at him with a glint in his eye that Navett didn’t care for at all. “I thought Bothans are allergic to polpians.”

  “Yeah, some of them are, I suppose,” Navett said with a shrug.

  “And yet you brought them to Bothawui?”

  Navett put on a bewildered expression. “Well, sure,” he said, trying to sound slightly wounded. “Just ’cause some people are allergic to something doesn’t mean someone else won’t wanna buy it. Not all Bothans are allergic to them, either, and anyway there are lots more people here than just Bothans—”

  He broke off as Brown Eyes sneezed. “There—see?” he said, jabbing a finge
r toward the other as if the sneeze was a sort of vindication. “Probably something in here he’s allergic to, too. But you still came in, right? And I’ll bet I can find something that’d make a really great pet for you.”

  The door chime sounded again, and Navett turned to see a thin old woman come in. The fringe companion Klif had mentioned? “Hi, there,” he said, nodding to her. “A day of fun and profit to you. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” she said. “You have any ratter thists?”

  Navett felt his throat tighten. What in blazes was a ratter thist? “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of them,” he said carefully, knowing better than to pretend knowledge he didn’t have. “I can check the lists, though, see if we can get them from somewhere. What kind of critter are they?”

  “They’re not all that popular, really,” the woman said. Her voice was casual, but she was watching him as closely as Green Eyes was. “They’re small and agile, with tan-striped fur and retractable claws. They’re sometimes used as livestock border guards in mountainous terrain.”

  “Oh, sure,” Klif called from the far side of the counter. Leaning casually on it, there was no sign of the datapad he undoubtedly had going out of sight under the flat surface. “You’re talking about Kordulian krisses.”

  “Oh—Kordulian krisses,” Navett said with a knowing nod. He’d never heard of those, either, but Klif’s cue was obvious. “Sure. I just never heard of them by that other name before. Klif, can we get them in?”

  “Let me check,” Klif said, making a show of pulling the datapad up onto the counter and pretending to turn it on.

  “What are these?” Brown Eyes called. He was standing over the mawkren tank, looking in with a somewhat leery expression.

  “Baby mawkrens,” Navett told him, stepping to his side and looking fondly down through the clear plastic at the tiny lizards scrabbling restlessly around on top of each other. “Just whelped this morning. Cute, huh?”

  “Adorable,” Brown Eyes said, not sounding like he meant it.

  “Here it is,” Klif called. “Kordulian krisses. Let’s see …”

  There was a beep from Navett’s comlink. “ ’Scuse me,” he said, pulling out the instrument, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him. If this was the call they were expecting … “Hello?”

  “Is this Proprietor Navett of the Exoticalia Pet Emporium?” a stiff but harried-sounding Bothan voice asked.

  “Sure is,” Navett said, striving for earnest-but-stupid cheerfulness. It was the call, all right; and with all the rotten luck it had come with a pair of New Rep agents standing right there listening. “What can I do for you?”

  “We have a small but troublesome insect infestation problem,” the Bothan said. “Our attempts to eliminate them have so far proved futile. As a dealer in exotic animals, it was thought you might have some suggestions.”

  “Probably,” Navett said. “Klif and I did some bug-squash work before we got into the pet business. What kind are they?”

  “They’re unfamiliar to our experts,” the other said, sounding disgusted. “All we know is that they’re very small, do not respond to any of our extermination methods, and at random intervals all begin making a loud humming noise.”

  “Could be skronkies,” Navett suggested doubtfully. “They make a pretty annoying noise. Or aphrens, or—wait a minute. I’ll bet they’re metalmites. You got any electronics or heavy machinery in the area?”

  There was a sort of strangled sound from the comlink. “A considerable amount of it, yes,” the Bothan said. “What do metalmites do?”

  “Chew through metal,” Navett said. “ ’Course, they don’t actually chew through the stuff—they’ve got enzymes that—”

  “I don’t need the physiological details,” the Bothan cut him off. “How do we eliminate them?”

  “Well, let’s see,” Navett said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully for the benefit of the New Rep agents. Green Eyes had that glint in his eyes again … “First thing you gotta do is some spraying. You got any—let’s see—any CorTrehan around? That’s cordioline trehansicol, if you need the whole name.”

  “I don’t know,” the Bothan said. “But I’m sure we can get some made up.”

  “Before you do, make sure you got someone who knows what they’re doing,” Navett warned. “Won’t do you a bit of good to just slather the stuff around.”

  There was a brief pause. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you can’t just slather the stuff around, that’s what,” Navett said, letting a little impatience creep into his voice. “You gotta get all the spots where they’re going to feed, but also leave them enough bare spots—” He sighed. “Look, this isn’t something for amateurs to mess around with. We’ve got the equipment to spray with—we use them to disinfect our cages and stock. You get us the CorTrehan, and Klif and me can do the job for you.”

  “Impossible,” the Bothan said sharply. “Offworlders cannot be permitted in that area.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Navett shrugged. He’d expected the automatic rejection of his first offer. “Just trying to help. You’ll have plenty of time to get rid of a single brood before it does much damage.”

  He frowned, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “It is just a single brood, isn’t it? When they hum, do they all make one note, or are there a couple of different pitches?”

  There was a short pause. “There are several different notes,” the Bothan said. “Five, perhaps six.”

  Navett let out a low whistle. “Five of ’em? Ho, boy. Hey, Klif—they got five different broods in there. Well, good luck to you. I sure hope you can get someone on ’em before the brood war starts.”

  He keyed off the comlink. “Five broods,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Wow.”

  “Shocking,” Green Eyes agreed, the glint still in his eyes. “Pretty exotic pests, metalmites.”

  “They come in on ships sometimes,” Navett said, wishing he could read that face. Green Eyes was suspicious, all right. But was he suspicious of Navett personally, or just the general metalmite situation? “I’ve heard of ’em riding mynocks, too. Sort of scavenging along behind as they—”

  There was another beep from his comlink. “ ’Scuse me again,” he said, pulling it out. “Hello?”

  “This is Field Controller Tri’byia again,” the same Bothan voice came, sounding disgusted. “I spoke with you a few moments ago.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Navett said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been instructed to ask how much you would charge for getting rid of the metalmites,” Tri’byia said.

  “Oh, not much,” Navett said, carefully suppressing a smile. From the tone of Tri’byia’s voice, it was clear the sudden officiai change of heart wasn’t his idea. “Matter of fact, as long as you spring for the CorTrehan—well, look. The guy at Customs said we’re gonna need a special merchant’s license to sell our pets outside Drev’starn. You get us that license, and we’ll do it for free.”

  “For free?” Tri’byia repeated, the pitch of his voice dropping a few steps. “Why so generous?”

  “Listen, I’ve seen what metalmites can do,” Navett said stiffly. “If you think I want to run a business in a town where they’ve gotten a foothold, you can think again. And the faster we get started, the easier it’ll be to get rid of them. You get us a merchant’s license and the juice, and we’ll call it even.”

  “I believe that can be arranged,” Tri’byia said reluctantly. “You and your equipment will have to submit to a full scan before you can be allowed into the facility.”

  “No problem,” Navett said. “Actually, this’ll be kind of fun—just like old times. When do you want us?”

  “A landspeeder will pick you up in thirty minutes,” the Bothan said. He still didn’t sound happy, but there was a cautious note of relief in his voice. “Be ready to go.”

  “We will,” Navett promised.

  The Bothan clicked off without bothering to say good-bye. “Man, you just never know,
do you?” Navett said philosophically, sliding the comlink away. “Sorry, folks. Did you want us to order some of those krisses for you, ma’am? Klif, you find anything on the lists?”

  “Looks like we can get them from a supplier on Eislo—have them here in two or three days,” Klif reported. “Or we can get them shipped in straight from Kordu itself. That’ll probably be a little cheaper, but it’ll take longer.”

  “You want to order today?” Navett asked hopefully. “You only have to put a tenth down up front.”

  The old woman shook her head. “I think I’ll see if anyone else in town has them in stock first.”

  “Well, if you don’t find anyone, come on back,” Klif called as the three of them headed for the door. “We can get express service for a pretty reasonable fee.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” Brown Eyes promised. “Thanks. We may be back.”

  They filed out, passing across the front window and out of Navett’s view as the door closed behind them. “I’ll just bet you will,” he said softly to himself.

  He shook his head, dismissing them from his mind. Fringe lifters and even New Rep agents were completely unimportant right now. What was important was that their little metalmite time bombs, introduced into the shield generator techs’ clothing, had done their job.

  And now it was time for Klif and him to do theirs.

  “Let’s get ready,” he said, heading briskly toward the back room. “Mustn’t keep the Bothans waiting.”

  “And here,” General Hestiv said, keying a combination into the keypad, “is where you’ll be working.”

  “Okay,” Ghent said, glancing nervously down the long corridor behind them. It was a long way back to the main base, and Hestiv had assured him that hardly anyone ever came out here anymore. But there was a whole Imperial Ubiqtorate station back there, and he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched by unfriendly eyes.

  With a puff of slightly stale air the door swung open. “There we go,” Hestiv said, gesturing him forward. “Go on in.”