by Timothy Zahn
Lak Jit hunched forward to lean across the table. “Understand that what I am about to tell you is both private and exclusive,” he murmured. “No one else outside the New Republic government knows this.”
“Of course,” Mazzic said dryly, his tone making it clear to Shada that he didn’t believe that any more than she did. The Devaronian had probably already sold this same “exclusive” information to a half-dozen other people. “Let’s hear it.”
Lak Jit glanced around and hunched a little closer. “It concerns Caamas,” he said. “There exists evidence that it was indeed agents of the then Senator Palpatine who engineered its destruction.”
Beneath the table, Shada felt her hand curl into a hard fist. Caamas. It had been a long time since she’d thought about that world. A long time since she’d tried to block its name and the childhood memories it evoked of her own world of Emberlene from her mind. Now, suddenly, it was all coming back.
She wouldn’t have expected Mazzic to be equally moved. And he wasn’t. “Hardly groundbreaking news,” he said with a shrug. “That’s been the leading theory practically since the last Caamasi firestorm burned itself out.”
“But this is proof,” Lak Jit insisted. “A record recovered from the Emperor’s personal storehouse on Wayland.”
“A document you don’t happen to have.”
“But there’s more,” the Devaronian hissed, leaning forward until his horns were almost touching Mazzic’s forehead. “We now know how it was that the planet was so easily destroyed. The shield generators were deliberately sabotaged.” He jabbed a finger onto the table for emphasis. “By a group of Bothans.”
Mazzic shot Shada a glance. “Really,” he said, his voice still nonchalant but with a definite note of interest beneath it. “You know their names?”
“Unfortunately not,” Lak Jit said. “That part of the document was too badly damaged for my humble datapad to read.” He leaned back again in his chair. “But I suggest it doesn’t matter. Either way, the Bothans are in for an exceedingly rough time. A clever businessman should be able to make a profit from knowledge of such imminent instability.” He gestured to the stack of coins in front of Mazzic. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would indeed,” Mazzic said, looking at Shada and twitching an eyebrow. “Very well. Shada, would you assist our friend?”
“No need,” Lak Jit said. Leaning forward over the table again, he reached out for the coins—
And rising half from her seat, Shada jabbed the knuckles of her right hand at the base of his leftmost horn.
He went down without a whimper, dropping face first onto the table, his leftmost horn almost but not quite knocking over Mazzic’s drink. A Barabel and a couple of Duros glanced over and then looked away; passed-out customers were apparently a common sight at the Dona Laza. “Wheh!” Cromf wheezed, staring bulge-eyed at the limp form. “Is he not—?”
“Of course not,” Mazzic said, reaching over to tap the needle-shaped signaler in Shada’s hair three times. “No one’s paying us to kill anyone.”
Pushing his way through the crowd, Griv appeared at the table. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” Mazzic nodded, scooping up the stack of coins. He handed Cromf four of them, dropped the rest into his inside pocket. “Get him out to the speeder.”
Griv hoisted the Devaronian to his shoulder and pushed his way back into the crowd. “Well, that was a waste of time,” Mazzic commented, standing up and courteously offering Shada a hand. “Maybe we can bargain up Karrde’s bounty a little. Try to at least come out even.”
“We’re not going to do anything with this?” Shada asked.
“Don’t be silly,” he chided, taking her arm and guiding her into the crowd. “Who’s going to care about a planet destroyed almost half a century ago?”
Shada’s stomach tightened. Caamas … and Emberlene. “No one,” she agreed bitterly. “No one at all.”
It took a while—at least two complete read-throughs each, Disra estimated as he slowly paced the floor behind his ivrooy desk, trying to look impatient rather than apprehensive. But eventually the last of the four Imperial captains finished reading and lifted his eyes from his datapad. “With all due respect, Your Excellency, I find this proposal incredible,” Captain Trazzen of the Obliterator said, his soft voice belying his reputation for viciousness. “Surely you realize that you can’t simply pull four Imperial Star Destroyers out of a sector fleet and expect the remaining forces to adequately defend their territory.”
“I agree,” Captain Nalgol of the Tyrannic put in, fingering the Kuat family crest ring he always wore. “In addition—and also with due respect—I would go so far as to question your authority to even order these two missions. All incursions into New Republic space are supposed to be under the direct command of Supreme Fleet Commander Pellaeon.”
“Perhaps,” Disra said. “Perhaps not. We’ll put that aside for a moment. Are there other questions?”
“I have one,” Captain Dorja of the Relentless spoke up. “This mission to Morishim that you want me to go on. What exactly is this courier ship I’m being asked to intercept?”
Disra lifted his eyebrows. “Being ‘asked,’ Captain? Being ‘asked’?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Dorja said stiffly. “Captain Nalgol is correct: you are supreme commander of the Braxant Sector Fleet only with regard to operations within Braxant sector. Missions to Morishim and Bothawui do not fall under this authority.”
“I see.” Disra looked at the fourth captain. “You’ve been rather quiet, Captain Argona.”
“The Ironhand is of course under your command, Your Excellency, and we’ll go wherever you send us,” Argona said quietly. “At the same time, I have to concur with Captain Trazzen’s assessment. Sending away four of the sector fleet’s thirteen Star Destroyers is not something to be done lightly.”
“Especially with three of them on this long-term mission to the Bothawui system,” Trazzen added. “The nature of which, I remind you, precludes any chance of a quick recall.”
“Indeed,” Argona said. “You’d have to physically send couriers out there to contact us. In an emergency, the extra days that would cost could prove disastrous.”
“Nothing worthwhile is ever gained without risk,” Disra said coldly. “I’m beginning to think that perhaps a wrong choice has been made in offering these missions to you. If you’d prefer to bow out of a history-making military campaign—”
“No.”
The voice had come from the direction of Disra’s secret passageway. The captains turned—
And Grand Admiral Thrawn stepped into the office.
There was a gasp from someone, choked off into a stunned silence. “Excuse me, Admiral?” Disra asked carefully.
“I said they will not be excused from this mission, Your Excellency,” Thrawn said, his voice calm and cool as he walked to the desk and sat down in Disra’s chair. “I had my reasons for choosing these particular Star Destroyers and their captains. Those reasons have not changed.”
For a moment his glowing eyes focused on the captains as they stood at obviously confused attention before him, measuring and evaluating each in turn. Then, leaning back in his seat, he smiled slightly. “Observe, Your Excellency,” he said, looking up at Disra and waving a hand at the officers. “Utterly stunned by my unexpected appearance; yet already they are largely recovered. Quick and flexible minds, combined with utter loyalty to the Empire. That is the combination I need. The combination I will have.”
“Of course, Admiral,” Disra said.
Thrawn turned his attention back to the captains. “You have questions, of course,” he said. “Unfortunately, the one foremost in all your minds cannot at this time be answered. As I make preparations to return to open command, the method which allowed me to survive the assassination attempt ten years ago must remain confidential. I must also ask that for the moment my return be kept a secret, to be shared only with your senior officers, and that only after you’
ve left Imperial space. Other than that—” He cocked his head slightly to the side. “I believe there were some questions about command authority?”
“No questions, Admiral,” Trazzen said, his voice almost reverent. “Not anymore.”
“Good.” Thrawn cocked a blue-black eyebrow at Nalgol. “I take it from your expression, Captain Nalgol, that you don’t concur with your colleague?”
Nalgol cleared his throat self-consciously, his finger squeezing his ring as if trying to extract confidence from the carved crest. “I certainly don’t question your authority, Admiral Thrawn,” he said. “But I would very much appreciate some clarification. I’m familiar with the Bothawui system, and I can think of no reason why it should be of any serious military value to the Empire. Certainly not worth tying up three Star Destroyers for.”
“Your evaluation is quite correct,” Thrawn agreed. “It’s not the system itself that interests me, but events which in the near future will be taking place over the Bothan homeworld. Events which I intend to turn to the Empire’s advantage.”
“Yes, sir,” Nalgol said. “But—”
“In time, all will be clear,” Thrawn said. “For now, I must ask that you trust my judgment.”
Nalgol drew himself to his full height. “Always, Admiral.” He stepped forward and offered his hand across the desk. “And if I may say so, welcome back. The Empire has sorely missed your leadership.”
“As I have missed the privilege of command,” Thrawn said, rising to his feet and gripping the proffered hand briefly. “The refitting of your three Star Destroyers is already under way, and should be completed within two days.” He shifted his attention to Dorja. “As for your mission, Captain Dorja, the Imperial courier you’re to intercept at Morishim is scheduled to leave in twenty hours. Will you have enough time to return to the Relentless and reach the system ahead of it?”
“Easily, Admiral.” Dorja’s lip twitched in what passed for a smile with him these days. “And if I may, sir, I’d like to echo Captain Nalgol’s sentiments. I’m honored to once again serve under your direct command.”
Disra looked at Dorja, his chest suddenly feeling tight. Dorja had served directly under Thrawn?
“I’m pleased to once again lead you, Captain,” Thrawn said gravely. “During my time on the Chimaera I often felt that you had more leadership potential than circumstances allowed you to develop. Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity now to judge that evaluation.”
Dorja fairly glowed. “I’ll do my best to prove you right, sir.”
“I can ask no more than your best,” Thrawn said. “And will accept nothing less,” he added, looking at each of the captains in turn. “You have your orders. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Trazzen said for all of them. They turned and left, with what seemed to Disra to be a markedly more spirited step than that with which they’d entered the office half an hour earlier. The double doors swung ponderously shut behind them—
“A fine group of gentlemen,” Flim declared, digging a finger into the collar of his white Grand Admiral’s uniform. “A bit gullible, perhaps, but fine gentlemen all the same.”
“Oh, they’re fine, all right,” Disra snarled, glaring at the secret door the con man had made his grand entrance through. “They’re also extremely dangerous. Tierce? Where are you?”
“Right here,” Tierce said, stepping out of the secret door. “What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” Disra snapped. “Bad enough that three of the four captains you picked for these missions aren’t particularly loyal to me. But someone who served directly with Thrawn? Are you insane?”
“Don’t be insulting,” Tierce said coldly, joining the others by the desk. “I had to bring in someone like Dorja on this. A junior student of tactics could tell you that.”
“I don’t think tactically,” Disra shot back. “At least, not according to you. That’s why your expertise is so necessary, remember?”
“Calm down, Your Excellency,” Flim interjected, carefully popping the glowing surface insert out of his left eye. “Sooner or later, it was inevitable that I face someone who personally knew Thrawn. What better time or place than here, where all four of them could have been dealt with quietly and discreetly if necessary?”
“Exactly,” Tierce said. “And as to my choice of commanders, those not personally loyal to you are precisely the ones we need to work Flim’s magic on.”
“And have you considered what they might do once they’re out of range of that magic?” Disra countered. “What if they decide they’re not really convinced after all and do some checking?”
“Oh, they’re going to,” Tierce assured him. “That was why I wanted Nalgol to be in this first group. He comes from a long line of Kuat nobility, and I knew he’d be wearing his poison injector ring.”
Flim paused midway through popping out the other surface insert. “His what?”
“His poison injector ring,” Tierce repeated. “Poisoning one’s enemies is a centuries-old tradition there. Oh, relax—Nalgol hasn’t carried any poison in that ring for years.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Flim said irritably, examining his hand closely where Nalgol had gripped it. “It wasn’t your hand he came over and—”
“I said relax,” Tierce said again, and this time there was an edge to his voice. “He wasn’t putting anything in. He was taking something out.”
“A small skin sample, to be exact,” Disra said, finally catching on. “Which he’ll undoubtedly take straight over to the archives to compare against the genetic profile in Thrawn’s ID records.”
“Exactly,” Tierce said. “And once he’s convinced—and he’ll certainly share his findings with the others—there will be literally nothing they won’t do for us.”
“I wondered why you were so insistent we get those ID records altered last night,” Disra said. “Not exactly a large margin of error built into that operation.”
“Especially considering the two of us were taking all the risks,” Flim seconded, still cradling his hand. “You weren’t even in the room with us.”
“Calm down, both of you,” Tierce said, a hint of contempt in his tone. “There’s a long way yet to go on this. I hope you’re not losing your nerve already.”
“Don’t worry about our nerve, Major,” Disra bit out. “You just worry about this strategy of yours actually working.”
“It will,” Tierce assured him. “Trust me. Whatever the preliminary skirmishes, the opening battle of the Rebellion’s final civil war will be fought over Bothawui. The Caamas Document will insure that. We want to orchestrate the details of that blow-up as best we can; and we want an Imperial presence at Bothawui to make sure the damage to both sides is as extensive as possible.”
“Well, whatever we do, we’d better do it quickly,” Disra warned. “Pellaeon’s already three-quarters of the way to making my connection to the Cavrilhu Pirates and their associates. If he does a check and finds my sector fleet missing four Star Destroyers, he’s going to be all over me.”
“There’s not much we can do about the timetable,” Tierce reminded him. “The three heading to the Bothawui system won’t be in attack position for several weeks.”
“Then perhaps we should scrap the comet aspect,” Disra said. “They can form up around some other marker.”
“There isn’t one,” Tierce said patiently. “At least, nothing that would be safe for them to use. You’ll just have to use your native charm to keep Pellaeon at bay.”
“I’ll do my best,” Disra said sarcastically. “And what sort of charm would you suggest I use on Captain Zothip?”
“What’s wrong with Captain Zothip?” Flim asked.
“Major Tierce called and told him we were cutting off their supply of clones,” Disra growled. “Zothip is rather upset.”
“We’ve been through this once already,” Tierce said with an air of strained patience. “We need those clones ourselves now. Zothip has no cause to complain—he’s
benefited well enough from having them aboard his ships. Anyway, what are you worried about? That he’ll come here and demand satisfaction?”
“You don’t know Zothip,” Disra said heavily.
“He’s scum from the fringe,” Tierce said, dismissing the pirate with a twist of his lip. “Buy him off or calm him down—I don’t care which.”
“I’m less worried about Zothip than I am about your attitude,” Disra countered. “From now on, major decisions like this are going to be made jointly. I won’t have you tearing down things I’ve built and then handing me the pieces to put back together.”
For a long moment Tierce just looked at him. “Let’s get one thing straight right now, Disra,” he said at last, his voice icy smooth. “I’m in command of the military aspects of this operation. All of them. That’s what you offered me, and that’s what I’m taking. Your part right now—your only part right now—is to supply the ships and men I need, and to handle any political aspects that crop up.”
Disra glared again at him. But it was a glare whose edge he could feel blunting. Just what sort of monster had he created here? “Is that all I am to you?” he asked Tierce quietly. “Your supply officer?”
Tierce smiled, a cold twitch of the corner of his lip. “Afraid you’ve lost control of this scheme you’ve created? Don’t be. My goal here—my only goal—is to avenge the Emperor’s death and wipe the Rebellion off every map of the galaxy. After that, my job is done. Ruling the new Empire that emerges will be entirely up to you.”
For a moment Disra eyed him, trying to read past his stony expression, trying not to let wishful thinking color his judgment. If the man was lying …
No. Tierce was a soldier; an uncommonly good one, but a soldier nonetheless. He had nowhere near the political skills or experience Disra himself possessed. Even if he grew to like the taste of power, he would still need Disra after the fighting was over.
“Most triumvirates are unstable, Your Excellency,” Flim spoke up. “I know; I’ve seen many of them rise and collapse among pirate and smuggler organizations in the fringe. But this one is different. None of us can make it work without both of the others.”