Vision of the future

Timothy Zahn

Vision of the Future

The Hand of Thrawn, book 2

TO THE STAR LADIES, THE WILD KARRDES, THE CLUB JADERS, AND MY BOTHAN

SPIES. AND ESPECIALLY TO TISH PAHL, MINISTER OF FORMATION: BOTH IN-

AND DISIN-

CHAPTER

1

The Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera slid through the black of space, its only companion the silent gas giant world of Pesitiin far below.

Admiral Pellaeon was standing at the forward viewport, gazing out at the dead planet, when Captain Ardiff arrived on the bridge. "Report from Major Harch, Admiral," he said briskly. "All damage from that pirate attack has been repaired. Your ship is back to full fighting readiness."

"Thank you, Captain," Pellaeon said, carefully hiding a smile. In the thirty hours since the failed attack on the Chimaera, Ardiff had gone from believing it to be a raid by New Republic General Garm Bel Iblis, to suspicions that it had been engineered by dissident Imperial elements, to similar suspicions involving similarly dissident Rebels, and was now apparently convinced that a pirate gang was responsible.

Of course, in all fairness, Ardiff had had the past thirty hours to cogitate on his theories. The techs' preliminary report on the debris from that destroyed Kaloth battlecruiser had certainly influenced his thinking, too. "Anything new from the patrols?" Pellaeon asked.

"Just more negatives, sir," Ardiff said. "Still no indications of activity anywhere in the system. Oh, and the sensor-stealthed assault shuttle you sent on the attackers' escape vector also just checked in. Still no trace."

Pellaeon nodded. As expected, really—anyone who could afford to buy and fly a battlecruiser usually knew a few tricks about hiding it. "It was worth a try," he told Ardiff. "Have them try one more system; we can transmit that far without relays. If they haven't picked up the trail by then, order them back."

"Yes, sir," Ardiff murmured.

Even without looking, Pellaeon could sense Ardiff's hesitation. "A question, Captain?" he prompted.

"It's this communications blackout, sir," Ardiff said. "I don't like being so completely out of contact this way. It's like being blind and deaf; and frankly, it makes me nervous."

"I don't much like it myself," Pellaeon conceded. "But the only ways to make contact with the outside universe are to either transmit to an Imperial relay station or punch our way onto the HoloNet; and the minute we do either, everyone from Coruscant to Bastion will know we're here. If that happens, we'll have more than the occasional pirate gang lining up to take potshots at us." And, he added silently, it would be the end of any chance for a quiet meeting between him and Bel Iblis. Assuming the general was indeed willing to talk.

"I understand all that, Admiral," Ardiff said. "But has it occurred to you that yesterday's attack might not have been an isolated incident against an isolated Imperial ship?" Pellaeon cocked an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting it might have been part of a coordinated attack against the Empire?"

"Why not?" Ardiff said. "I'm willing to concede at this point that it probably wasn't the New Republic who hired them. But why couldn't the pirates have set it up on their own? The Empire has always come down hard on pirate gangs. Maybe a group of them got together and decided the time was right for revenge."

Pellaeon stroked his lip thoughtfully. On the surface, it was a ridiculous suggestion—even on its deathbed the Empire was far stronger than any possible aggregate of pirate gangs could hope to defeat. But that didn't mean they wouldn't be foolish enough to try. "That still leaves the question of how they knew we were here," he pointed out.

"We still don't know what happened to Colonel Vermel," Ardiff reminded him. "Maybe it was this pirate coalition who snatched him. He could have told them about Pesitiin."

"Not willingly," Pellaeon said darkly. "If they did what it would take to make him talk, I'll decorate Bastion's moon with their hides."

"Yes, sir," Ardiff said. "But that brings us back to the question of how long we're going to stay here."

Pellaeon looked out the viewport at the stars. Yes, that was indeed the question. How long should they wait here in the middle of nowhere in the hope that this slow attrition of the Empire could be stopped? That they could end this war with the New Republic with a shred of territory and dignity still intact?

That they could finally have peace?

"Two weeks," he said. "We'll give Bel Iblis another two weeks to respond to our offer."

"Even though the message may not have reached him?"

"The message reached him," Pellaeon said firmly. "Vermel is a highly resourceful, highly competent officer. Whatever happened to him, I have no doubt he completed his mission first."

"Yes, sir," Ardiff said, his tone making it clear that he didn't share Pellaeon's confidence. "And if Bel Iblis doesn't come within that time frame?"

Pellaeon pursed his lips. "We'll decide then."

Ardiff hesitated, then took half a step closer to his superior. "You really believe this is our best hope, sir, don't you," he said quietly.

Pellaeon shook his head. "No, Captain," he murmured. "I believe it's our only hope."

* * *

The wedge of approaching Sienar IPV/4 patrol ships broke in perfect formation to both sides, and the Imperial Star Destroyer Relentless glided smoothly between the re-forming clusters toward its designated orbital position. "Very impressive," Moff Disra growled to the slim man beside him, hearing his heart pounding in his ears as he gazed across the bridge at the green-blue world framed in the forward viewport. "I trust you didn't haul me all the way out here just to watch the Kroctarian home defense force's maneuvers."

"Patience, Your Excellency," Major Grodin Tierce said quietly at his side. "I told you we had a surprise for you."

Disra felt his lip twist. Yes, that's what Tierce had said. And that was all Tierce had said. And as for Flim—

Disra shifted his gaze to the Admiral's chair, feeling his lip twist a little more. Their tame con man was sitting there, bold as bricbrass in his blue-skin makeup and glowing red eye surface inserts and his white Grand Admiral's uniform. The absolute laser-trimmed image of Grand Admiral Thrawn, a masquerade solidly believed by every Imperial aboard the Relentless from Captain Dorja on down. Trouble was, there weren't any Imperials on the planet below them. Far from it. Kroctar, merchant center and capital of Shataum sector, was deep in New Republic territory, with every bit as much military firepower as one would expect such a world to have. There was no guarantee that any of them would be impressed by Flim's eyes and uniform and acting ability. And if they weren't, this cozy little triumvirate Disra had formed was about to blow up in their faces. Flim might look like Thrawn, but he had all the tactical genius of a garbage-pit parasite. Tierce, a former stormtrooper and Royal Guardsman under Emperor Palpatine, was the military brains of their little group; and if Captain Dorja saw an allegedly lowly major rush over to the allegedly brilliant Grand Admiral to give him advice, this whole illusion would explode into soap scum. Whatever bluff Tierce was running here, it had better work.

"Transmission from the surface, Admiral," the comm officer called from the portside crew pit. "It's Lord Superior Bosmihi, chief of the Unified Factions."

"On speaker, Lieutenant," Thrawn said. "Lord Superior Bosmihi, this is Grand Admiral Thrawn. I received your message. What may I do for you?"

Disra frowned at Tierce. "They called us?" he muttered. Tierce nodded, a small but satisfied smile playing around his lips. "Shh," he said. "Listen."

"We offer you greeting, Grand Admiral Thrawn," a nasally alien voice boomed over the comm,

"and we congratulate you most heartily on your triumphal return."

"Thank you," Thrawn said smoothly. "As I recall, you were somewhat less enthusiastic at our last meeting."

Disra threw Tierce a sharp look. "During his sweep through this sector ten years ago," Tierce murmured. "Don't worry, he knows all about it."

The alien gave a blubbering laugh. "Ah, yes—you remember most clearly," he admitted cheerfully.

"At that time the fear of Imperial power and the lure of promised freedoms still held sway over us."

"Such lies held sway over many," Thrawn agreed. "Does your choice of words imply the Kroctari have come to a new understanding?"

There was a disgusting, wheezy-sounding noise from the comm. "We have seen the crumbling of the promise," the Lord Superior said regretfully. "There is no longer any order emanating from Coruscant; no focused goals, no clear structures, no discipline. A thousand different alien species tug the galaxy in a thousand different directions."

"Inevitably," Thrawn said. "That was why Emperor Palpatine first inaugurated the New Order. It was an attempt to reverse the collapse you now see coming."

"Yet we were also warned not to trust Imperial promises," Bosmihi hedged. "The history of the Empire is one of brutal subjugation of nonhuman species."

"You speak of the rule of Palpatine," Thrawn said. "The Empire has freed itself from his self-destructive anti-alien bias."

"Your presence in a place of command is some evidence of that," Bosmihi said cautiously. "Still, others still say the bias exists."

"Others still lie about the Empire in many ways," Thrawn countered. "But there's no need for you to take my word for it. Speak to any of the fifteen alien species currently living under Imperial rule, beings who cherish the protection and stability we offer."

"Yes—protection." The Lord Superior seemed to pounce on the word. "The Empire is said to be weak; yet I perceive that you still have great strength. What guarantee of safety do you offer your member systems?"

"The best guarantee in the galaxy," Thrawn said; and even Disra felt a shiver run through him at the veiled power and menace that was suddenly in the con man's voice. "My personal promise of vengeance should anyone dare attack you."

There was a noise that sounded midway between a swallow and a burp. "I see," Bosmihi said soberly. "I understand that this is rather sudden, and for this I apologize; but on behalf of the Unified Factions of the Kroctari people, I would like to petition you for re-admission into the Empire." Disra looked at Tierce, feeling his jaw drop a few millimeters. "Re-admission?" he hissed. Tierce smiled back. "Surprise, Your Excellency."

"On behalf of the Empire, I accept your petition," Thrawn said. "You no doubt have a delegation standing ready to discuss the details?"

"You understand my people well, Grand Admiral Thrawn," the Lord Superior said wryly. "Yes, my delegation does indeed await your pleasure."

"Then you may signal them to approach," Thrawn told him. "As it happens, Imperial Moff Disra is currently aboard the Relentless. As he is a specialist in political matters, he will handle the negotiations."

"We will be honored to meet with him," Bosmihi said. "Though I doubt his presence there is in any way the coincidence you imply. Thank you, Grand Admiral Thrawn; and until the meeting."

"Until the meeting, Lord Superior Bosmihi," Thrawn said.

He gestured to the crew pit. "Transmission ended, Admiral," the comm officer confirmed.

"Thank you," Thrawn said, rising almost leisurely from his command chair. "Signal TIE

interceptors to stand ready for escort duty. They're to meet the Lord Superior's shuttle as soon as it clears atmosphere, flying in full honor formation. Captain Dorja, I'd like you to meet the shuttle personally and escort the delegation to Conference Room 68. Moff Disra will await you there."

"Understood, Admiral," Dorja said. He strode from the bridge, throwing Disra a tightly satisfied smile as he passed, and stepped into a waiting turbolift in the aft bridge. "You might have said something," Disra muttered to Tierce as the turbolift door closed behind the captain. The Guardsman shrugged, a microscopic movement of the shoulders. "I wasn't absolutely sure this was what they wanted when they called," he said, gesturing Disra through the aft doors toward another turbolift. "But it seemed like a good guess. Kroctar has several potentially dangerous neighbors, and Intelligence reports the Unified Factions have become extremely disillusioned by Coruscant's inability to decide how tight a restraining bolt they want to keep on intersystem fighting." They reached the turbolift and stepped into a waiting car. "Kroctar's the first," Tierce continued as the doors closed and they began to move. "But it won't be the last. We already have transmissions from twenty other systems whose governments would like Grand Admiral Thrawn to drop in for a chat."

Disra snorted. "All they're trying to do is shake up their enemies."

"Probably," Tierce agreed. "But what do we care why they want to rejoin? The point is that they do, and it's going to send shock waves from here to Coruscant."

"Until Coruscant decides to take action."

"What action can they take?" Tierce countered. "Their own charter specifically allows member systems to withdraw anytime they choose."

There was a beep from the turbolift comlink. "Moff Disra?"

"Yes?"

"There's a transmission coming in for you, Your Excellency, under a private encryption designated Usk-51."

Disra felt his stomach try to cramp. Of all the stupid, brainless— "Thank you," he said as calmly as he could manage. "Have it transferred to Conference Room 68, and make sure it's not monitored."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Tierce was frowning at him. "That's not—?"

"It certainly is," Disra bit out. The turbolift doors opened—"Come on. And stay out of sight." Two minutes later they were in the conference room with the door privacy-sealed behind them. Activating the comm display set into the center of the table, Disra pulled the proper encryption datacard from his collection and slid it into the slot. He keyed for reception—

"It's about time," Captain Zothip spat, his eyes flashing, his bushy blond beard bristling with anger.

"Don't you think I've got better things to do than—?"

"What!" Disra barked. Zothip's head jerked back, his own tirade breaking off midway in sudden confusion. "Do... you... think... you're... doing?" Disra continued into the silence, biting out each word like the crack of a rotten snapstick. "How dare you take such an insane risk?"

"Never mind your precious image," Zothip growled, some of his insolence starting to come back.

"If consorting with pirates is suddenly an embarrassment for you—"

"Embarrassment is not the issue here," Disra said icily. "I'm thinking about our two necks, and whether we get to keep them. Or hadn't you noticed how many relays there are in this transmission?"

"No kidding," Zothip said with a sniff. "And here I thought it was just your wonderful Imperial comm equipment kicking ions again. So where are you, out at your vacation home counting your money?"

"Hardly," Disra said. "I'm aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer." Zothip's face seemed to darken. "If that's supposed to impress me, you'd better try again. I've about had my fill of your precious Star Destroyers."

"Really." Disra smiled coldly. "Let me guess. You got overconfident, went in blazing, and Admiral Pellaeon clipped your tail feathers for you."

"Don't mock me, Disra," Zothip warned. "Don't ever mock me. I lost a Kaloth battlecruiser and eight hundred good men to that Vader-ripped katchni. And the payment's going to come out of somebody's hide. Pellaeon's, or yours."

"Don't be absurd," Disra said scornfully. "And don't try to blame it on me. I warned you not to actually engage the Chimaera. All you were supposed to do was make him think Bel Iblis was attacking."

"And how did you expect I was supposed to do that?" Zothip shot back. "Insult his family?

Transmit lists of ancient Corellian curses?"

"You pushed an Imperial too hard and he pushed back," Disra said. "Consider it a useful lesson painfully learned. And hope you don't need to learn it again."

Zothip glared. "Is that a threat?" he demanded.

"It's a warning," Disra snapped. "Our partnership's been extremely profitable for both of us. I've had the chance to play havoc with New Republic shipping; you've had the chance to collect the merchandise from those ships."

"And have taken all the risks," Zothip put in.

Disra shrugged. "Regardless, I'd hate to see such a valuable relationship dissolve over something this trivial."

"Trust me, Disra," Zothip said softly. "When our relationship dissolves you'll find a lot more than that for you to hate."

"I'll start making a list," Disra said. "Now go lace your wounds; and next time you want to talk to me go through proper channels. This encrypt's one of the best ever created, but nothing's totally slice-proof."

"The encrypt's that good, huh?" Zothip said sardonically. "I'll have to remember that. Should bring a good price on the open market if I ever need quick money. I'll be in touch." He waved a hand offscreen, and the display blanked. "Idiot," Disra snarled toward the empty display. "Moronic, brain-rotted idiot."

Across the table, Tierce stirred. "I trust you're planning to be a little more politic than that with the Kroctari," he said.

Disra shifted his glare from the display to the Guardsman. "What, you think I should have let him cry on my shoulder? Or said 'There, there,' and promised to buy him a new battlecruiser?"

"The Cavrilhu Pirates would be a dangerous enemy," Tierce warned. "Not militarily, of course, but because of what they know about you."

"Zothip's the only one who really knows anything," Disra muttered. Tierce was right—he probably should have played it a little more calmly. But Zothip still shouldn't have contacted him directly like that, especially not when he was away from the security of his office.

Regardless, he wasn't going to admit an error in judgment in Tierce's presence. "Don't worry—he's making too much out of this arrangement to toss it all over a single battlecruiser."

"I wonder," Tierce said thoughtfully. "You should never underestimate what people will do out of pride."

"No," Disra said significantly. "Or out of arrogance, either." Tierce's eyes narrowed fractionally. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've pushed things too far," Disra said flatly. "Dangerously far. In case you've forgotten, Flim's job was to inspire the Empire's military and bring them solidly into line behind us. It was never part of the plan to openly provoke the New Republic this way."

"I've already explained Coruscant has no legal basis for action—"

"And you think that will stop them?" Disra shot back. "You really think fine points of the law will make any difference to terrified aliens who think Grand Admiral Thrawn is breathing down their necks? Bad enough that you talked me into letting Flim show himself to the Diamalan Senator. But now this?" He waved a hand in the direction of the planet.

"The Diamalan incident accomplished exactly what it was intended to," Tierce said coolly. "It created doubt and consternation, stirred up old animosities a bit more, and silenced some of the last calming voices the Rebellion still has."

"Wonderful—except that now this little trick has completely negated that one," Disra countered.

"How can anyone wonder if the Diamala are lying when a whole planet has seen Thrawn?" Tierce smiled. "Ah, but that's the point: the whole planet hasn't seen him. Only the Lord Superior's handpicked delegation will have seen him; the rest have only their word that Thrawn has returned. And since part of his message to the neighboring systems will be that Kroctar is under Thrawn's protection, his sighting will be as suspect as the Diamal's."

"You always make it sound so reasonable," Disra bit out. "But there's more here than you're letting on. I want to know what."

Tierce lifted his eyebrows. "That sounded like a threat."

"It was half a threat," Disra corrected him coldly. "Here's the other half." Reaching into his tunic, he drew the tiny blaster concealed there.

He never even got a chance to aim it. Before the weapon was even clear, Tierce had thrown himself onto the conference table, the momentum of his leap carrying him sliding headfirst on elbow and hip toward Disra across the polished laminate. Reflexively, Disra leaped to his right, trying to move out of reach of the approaching hands; but even as he lifted the blaster, Tierce rolled partway over and grabbed the center comm display, using it as a pivot point to both change direction and also roll him onto his back, swiveling his feet around in front of him, and then pushing off of it to increase his speed.

The maneuver caught Disra flat-footed. Before he could move again to correct his aim, one of Tierce's feet caught the blaster squarely across the side of the barrel, sending it spinning across the room.

Disra took a staggering step back, the bitter taste of defeat choking his throat, hands lifted in a futile gesture of defense as Tierce hopped off the table. He'd had one chance to wrest control of this grand scheme back from the Guardsman, and he'd muffed it.

And now Tierce would kill him.

But once again, Tierce surprised him. "That was extremely foolish, Your Excellency," the other said calmly, crossing the room and retrieving the blaster. "The sound of a shot would have had a squad of stormtroopers down on you in nothing flat."

Disra took a careful breath, lowering his hands. "That works both ways," he managed, knowing even as he said it that the Guardsman wouldn't need to bother with anything so crude and noisy as a blaster if he wanted to kill him.

But Tierce merely shook his head. "You insist on misunderstanding," he said.

"And you insist on working behind my back," Disra countered. "Gaining a system or two isn't worth the risk of scaring Coruscant into action. What's going on that you aren't telling me?" Tierce seemed to measure him with his eyes. "All right," he said. "Have you ever heard the phrase

'the Hand of Thrawn'?"

Disra shook his head. "No."

"You answered that rather quickly."

"I was working on this plan long before you came on the scene," Disra reminded him tartly. "I found and read everything in the Imperial records that pertained even remotely to Thrawn."

"Including everything in the Emperor's secret files?"

"Once I was able to find a way into them, yes." Disra frowned as a sudden thought struck him. "Is this what your little trip to Yaga Minor last month was really all about?" Tierce shrugged. "The primary purpose was exactly as we discussed: to alter their copy of the Caamas Document to match the changes you'd already made in the Bastion copy. But as long as I'd broken into the system anyway, I did spend some time looking for references."

"Of course," Disra said. Nothing so crude as a direct lie, simply a conveniently neglected bit of the truth. "And?"

Tierce shook his head. "Nothing. As far as any existing Imperial record is concerned, the term might not even exist."

"What makes you think it ever did?"

Tierce looked him straight in the eye. "Because I heard Thrawn mention it once aboard the Chimaera. In the context of the Empire's ultimate and total victory." Suddenly the room felt very cold. "You mean like a superweapon?" Disra asked carefully.

"Another Death Star or Sun Crusher?"

"I don't know," Tierce said. "I don't think so. Superweapons were more the Emperor's or Admiral Daala's style, not Thrawn's."

"And he did just fine without them," Disra conceded. "Come to think of it, he did always seem more interested in conquest than wholesale slaughter. Besides, if there were another superweapon lying around, the Rebels would almost certainly have found it by now."

"Most likely," Tierce said. "Unfortunately, we can't make it quite that final. Did your extensive research into Thrawn's history happen to turn up the names Parck and Niriz?"

"Parck was the Imperial captain who found Thrawn on a deserted planet at the edge of Unknown Space and brought him back to the Emperor," Disra said. "Niriz was the captain of the Imperial Star Destroyer Admonitor, which Thrawn took back into the Unknown Regions on his supposed mapping expedition a few years later."

" 'Supposed'?"

Disra sniffed. "It doesn't take much reading between the lines to see that Thrawn tried his hand at Imperial Court politics and got his fingers burned. No matter what they called it, his assignment to the Unknown Regions was a form of exile. Pure and simple."

"Yes, that was the general consensus among the Royal Guard at the time, too," Tierce said thoughtfully. "I wonder now if there could have been more to it than that. Regardless, the point is that neither Parck nor Niriz—nor the Admonitor, for that matter—ever returned to official duty with the Empire. Not even when Thrawn himself came back."

Disra shrugged. "Killed in action?"

"Or else they did come back, but are in hiding somewhere," Tierce said. "Perhaps standing guard over this Hand of Thrawn."

"Which is what?" Disra demanded. "You say it's not a superweapon. So what is it?"

"I didn't say it wasn't a superweapon," Tierce countered. "I just said superweapons weren't Thrawn's style. Personally, I see only two likely possibilities. Did you ever hear of a woman named Mara Jade?"

Disra searched his memory. "I don't think so."

"She currently works with the smuggling chief Talon Karrde," Tierce said. "But at the height of the Empire, she was one of Palpatine's best undercover agents, with a title of Emperor's Hand." Emperor's Hand. The Hand of Thrawn. "Interesting possibility," Disra said thoughtfully. "But if the Hand is a person, where has he or she been all these years?"

"Gone to ground, too, perhaps," Tierce said. "The second possibility's even more intriguing. Remember that above all else Thrawn was a master strategist. What could be more his style than to leave behind a master plan for victory?"

Disra snorted. "Which after ten years of Imperial reverses would be totally useless."

"I wouldn't dismiss it quite so quickly," Tierce warned. "A strategist like Thrawn didn't see battle plans solely in terms of numbers of warships and locations of picket lines. He also considered geopolitical balances, cultural and psychological blind spots, historical animosities and rivalries—any number of factors. Factors which could very likely still be exploited." Absently, Disra rubbed his hand where Tierce's kick had jammed the blaster painfully against the skin. On the face of it, it was absurd.

And yet, he'd read the history of Thrawn's accomplishments. Had seen the record of the man's genius. Could he really have created a battle plan that could still be used ten years and a thousand defeats later? "What about that five-year campaign I found in his files?" he asked. "Was there something in there I missed?"

"No." Tierce shook his head. "I've already been through it. All that is is a rough outline of what he was planning to do after the Bilbringi confrontation. If the Hand of Thrawn is a master strategy, he hid it away somewhere else."

"With Captain Niriz and the Admonitor, you think?" Disra suggested.

"Perhaps," Tierce said. "Or else the ultimate victory lies with a person called the Hand. Either way, there's someone out there who has something we want."

Disra smiled tightly. Suddenly, it was clear as polished transparisteel. "And so in order to lure that someone into the open, you've decided to parade our decoy around a little." Tierce inclined his head slightly. "Under the circumstances, I think the risks are worth taking."

"Perhaps," Disra murmured. "It assumes, of course, that it wasn't all just a load of tall talk." The corner of Tierce's lip twitched. "I was aboard the Chimaera with the Grand Admiral for several months, Disra. Before that, I watched him from the Emperor's side for nearly two years. Never in all that time did I hear him make a promise he wasn't able to carry out. If he said the Hand of Thrawn was the key to ultimate victory, then it was. You can count on it."

"Let's just hope whoever's holding the key comes out of hiding before Coruscant gets nervous enough to take action," Disra said. "What do we do first?"

"What you do first is get ready to welcome the Kroctari back into the Empire," Tierce said. Placing Disra's blaster on the table, he pulled a datacard from his tunic and set it down beside the weapon. "Here's a brief rundown on the species in general and Lord Superior Bosmihi in particular," he continued, starting toward the door. "It's all the data we had on board, I'm afraid."

"It'll do," Disra said, stepping to the table and picking up the card. "Where are you going?"

"I thought I'd join Captain Dorja in escorting the delegation from the hangar bay," Tierce said.

"I'm rather looking forward to seeing your negotiation skills in action." Without waiting for a reply, he stepped through the door and was gone. "And to seeing whether or not the Royal Guardsman and con man still need the Moff?" Disra muttered aloud after him. Probably. But that was all right. Let him watch—let Flim watch, too, if he liked. He'd show them. By the time the Kroctarian delegation went home, both of them would be absolutely convinced that Disra wasn't just some tired old politician whose brilliant scheme had somehow gotten away from him. He was a vital part of this triumvirate, a part that was not going to simply fade into the background. Especially not with a guarantee of ultimate victory almost within their grasp. He had started this; and by the Emperor's blood, he would be with it to the very end. Sliding the datacard into his datapad, he tucked his blaster away into its hidden holster and began to read.

* * *

There were no planets visible from the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Tyrannic. No planets, no asteroids, no ships, no stars. Nothing but complete, uniform blackness. Except for one spot. Off to starboard, barely visible within Captain Nalgol's view, was a small disk of dirty white. A tiny sliver of the comet head the Tyrannic was riding beside, peeking through the ship's cloaking shield.

They'd been flying like this for a month now, completely blind and deaf to the rest of the universe outside their insular existence.

For Nalgol, it wasn't really a problem. He'd pulled duty on one of the Empire's most distant listening posts when he was a cadet, and the mere fact that there was nothing outside to look at didn't bother him. But not all of the crew were as tough as he was. The vids and combat practice rooms were getting triple duty these days, and he'd heard rumors that some of the probe ship pilots were being offered huge bribes to take a passenger or two on their trips outside the darkness. At the height of the Empire's power, Star Destroyer crews had been the elite of the galaxy. But that glory was far behind them; and if something didn't break soon, Nalgol was going to have a serious personnel problem on his hands.

Outside, there was a brilliant flash from the upper portside quadrant. Relatively brilliant, at least: the glowing drive from one of their probe ships, carefully made up to look like a battered old mining tug. Nalgol watched as it circled around to vanish beneath the arrowhead-shaped hull toward the hangar bay.

No, the unremitting blackness didn't bother him. Still, he had to admit it had felt good to stretch his eyes there for a moment.

There was a step on the command walkway beside him. "Preliminary report from Probe Two, sir," Intelligence Chief Oissan said in that tone of voice that always sounded to Nalgol like someone smacking his lips. "The warship count around Bothawui has gone up to fifty-six."

"Fifty-six?" Nalgol echoed, taking the other's datapad and skimming the numbers. If he remembered the list from yesterday's probe run— "Four new Diamalan ships?"

"Three Diamalan, one Mon Calamari," Oissan said. "Probably there to counter the six Opquis ships that arrived two days ago."

Nalgol shook his head in wordless amazement. From the beginning he'd had quiet but serious doubts about this mission—the idea that the Bothan homeworld would become a focal point for any military activity, let alone a confrontation of this magnitude, had been ludicrous on the face of it. But Grand Admiral Thrawn himself had apparently come up with this scheme; and plagued if old red-eyes hadn't been right.

"Very good," he told Oissan. "I want Probe Two's complete report filled within the next two hours."

"Understood, Captain." Oissan seemed to hesitate. "I don't mean to pry into top-level affairs, sir, but at some point I'm going to need to know what's going on out there if I'm to do my job properly."

"I wish I could help you, Colonel," Nalgol said candidly. "But I really don't know a lot myself."

"But you did receive a special briefing from Grand Admiral Thrawn at Moff Disra's palace, didn't you?" the other persisted.

"It hardly qualified as a briefing," Nalgol said. "He basically just gave us our assignments and told us to trust him." He nodded in the direction of the comet and the other two Star Destroyers riding cloaked alongside it. "Our part is simple: we wait until all those ships out there have battered themselves and the planet into as much rubble as they're going to, then we come out of cloak and finish them off."

"Finishing off Bothawui will be a good trick," Oissan commented dryly. "I doubt the Bothans have scrimped on their planetary shield system. Thrawn give any idea how he's going to handle that?"

"Not to me," Nalgol said. "Under the circumstances, though, I'm inclined to assume he knows what he's doing."

"I suppose," Oissan muttered. "I wonder how he got all those ships to face off like that?"

"Best guess is that rumor you picked up from your fringe contacts just before we cloaked," Nalgol said. "That thing about a group of Bothans having been involved in the destruction of Caamas."

"Hardly seems something worth getting worked up over," Oissan sniffed. "Especially not after all this time."

"Aliens get worked up over the strangest things," Nalgol reminded him, feeling his lip twist with contempt. "And from the evidence out there, I'd say Thrawn found exactly the right hot spot to hit them with."

"So it would seem," Oissan conceded. "How are we supposed to know when to come out of cloak and attack?"

"I think a full-scale battle out there will be fairly obvious," Nalgol said dryly. "Anyway, Thrawn's last message before we went under the cloak said there would be an Imperial strike team on Bothawui soon, and that they'd be feeding us periodic data via spark transmission."

"That'll be useful," Oissan said thoughtfully. "Of course, knowing Thrawn, he'll probably have the battle timed for the comet's closest approach to Bothawui, to give us the maximum benefit of surprise. That's about a month away."

"That makes sense," Nalgol agreed. "Though how he's going to get them to follow that tight a timetable I haven't a clue."

"Neither do I." Oissan smiled tightly. "That's probably why he's a Grand Admiral and we're not." Nalgol smiled back. "Indeed," he said; and with that admission, one more layer of his private doubts seemed to melt away. Yes, Thrawn had proved himself in the past. Many, many times. However this magic of his worked, it was apparently still working.

And under the spell of Thrawn's genius, the Empire was about to get some of its own back. And that was really all Nalgol cared about.

"Thank you, Colonel," he said, handing back the other's datapad. "You may return to your duties. Before you do, though, I want you to check with Probe Control about whether we can increase our probe flights to twice a day without drawing unwanted attention."

"Yes, sir," Oissan said with another tight smile. "After all, we wouldn't want to miss out on our grand entrance."

Nalgol turned to gaze out at the blackness again. "We won't miss it," he promised softly. "Not a chance."

CHAPTER

2

From somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind came an insistent warbling; and with a jolt, Luke Skywalker snapped out of his Jedi hibernation trance. "Okay, Artoo," he told the droid as he rolled out of his bunk, and took a moment to reorient himself. Right; he was aboard Mara Jade's ship, the Jade's Fire, heading toward the Nirauan system. The system where Mara herself had disappeared nearly two weeks ago. "Okay, I'm awake," he added, flexing his fingers and toes and working moisture back into his mouth. "We almost there?"

The droid twittered an affirmative as Luke snagged his boots, a twitter that was echoed from the direction of the cockpit. The echo was Mara's Veeone pilot droid, who had been flying the Fire ever since Luke and Artoo had come aboard at the Duroon rendezvous point, and who up till now had refused to let either of them anywhere near the ship's controls.

An overprotectiveness that was about to come to an end. "Artoo, go back to the docking port and make sure the X-wing's ready to fly," he instructed the little droid as he headed toward the cockpit. "I'm going to take us in."

A minute later he was seated in the Fire's pilot's seat, reviewing the layout of the controls and displays one last time. The Veeone droid, perhaps recognizing Luke's expression as one he'd seen often enough on Mara's face, had decided not to argue the point. "Get ready," Luke told the droid, resting his hands on the controls. The counter ran to zero, and Luke pushed the hyperdrive lever forward. The starlines flared and shrank back down into stars, and they were there. The Veeone whistled softly. "That's the place," Luke confirmed, gazing out at the distant sun, its tiny red disk looking cold and aloof. The planet Nirauan itself was nowhere to be seen. "We're looking for the second planet," he told the droid. "Can you get me a reading on it?" The Veeone twittered an affirmative, and the nav displays came to life. "I see it." Luke nodded, checking the reading. It was a pretty fair distance away.

Which was by deliberate design, of course. The Fire had impressive shields and armament, but charging to the rescue with quad lasers blazing would be unlikely to do Mara any good, no matter what the situation she was in. Stealth and secrecy were the plan, and that meant leaving the Fire hidden out here while he and Artoo sneaked in in their X-wing.

He keyed the comm unit to the docking bay. "Artoo? Is everything ready?" There was a confirming warble. "Good," Luke said, looking back at the nav display. They were, he estimated, a good seven hours away from the planet by the X-wing's sublight drive. A long time to sit in a cramped cockpit worrying about Mara, besides giving whoever was down there a straight vector back to the Fire.

Fortunately, there was another way. "Start calculating our two jumps," he instructed Artoo, keying on the Fire's automatic weapons systems. "No more than five minutes each way—we don't want to take any more time with this than we have to."

Artoo twittered an acknowledgment, and got to work. "Now, you're clear on what you're supposed to do?" Luke asked the Veeone as he keyed the drive to low power and started the Fire moving. There was a convenient clump of small asteroids drifting through in the darkness just ahead that would make a perfect hiding place. "I'm going to put the ship in with those rocks; and then you're going to sit there and pretend to be one of them. Okay?"

The droid gurgled reluctant agreement. "All right," Luke said, easing the ship up into the asteroids. One of them, about shockball size, bounced lightly against the hull, and he winced in reaction. The Fire was Mara's most prized possession, and she was more protective of it than even the Veeone was. If he dented the hull, or even just scratched the paint, he would never hear the end of it from her. He finished his maneuvering with exaggerated care, and managed to get it into position without any further collisions. "Okay, that's it," he said, unstrapping and keying control back to the Veeone.

"You've got the code I gave you—we'll transmit that on our way back so you'll know it's us. Anyone else... well, don't let the ship shoot at them unless you're fired on first. Not until we have some idea what's going on down there."

Two minutes later, keeping a wary eye out for the floating rock pile outside, he eased the X-wing out of the Fire's docking bay and headed into deep space. Artoo had the course already plotted in, and with a burst of starlines they were off.

Luke had told him to keep it under five minutes, and the droid had taken him at his word. Two minutes after heading out, following Artoo's instructions, he dropped the X-wing back out of hyperspace, turned it around, and headed back in. Two minutes after that, they were there. Artoo whistled softly. "That's the place, all right," Luke confirmed, gazing out at the dark planet hanging in space in front of them. "Just like the pictures the Starry Ice brought back." And Mara was down there somewhere. Stranded, maybe injured, maybe a prisoner. Or maybe dead.

Pushing that thought firmly away from his mind, Luke stretched out to the Force. Mara? Mara, can you hear me?

But there was nothing.

Artoo gave a questioning warble. "I can't sense her," Luke admitted. "But that doesn't necessarily mean anything. We're still pretty far out, and she may not be strong enough to reach this far. She could be asleep, too—that would limit her range."

The droid didn't respond. But it wasn't hard to guess that his thoughts were paralleling Luke's. And there was also the vision Luke had had three and a half weeks ago at the Tierfon medical facility. That image of Mara floating lifelessly in a pool of water...

"Anyway, there's no point in worrying about it," Luke said, pushing that vision into the back of his mind as best he could. "Do a quiet sensor scan—nothing that'll set off their detectors. Or at least, nothing that'll set them off if they work the way ours do."

There was an acknowledgment, and another question scrolled across the X-wing's computer display. "We'll take the same route in that she did," Luke answered. "Down the canyon to the cave where she disappeared. Once we get there, we'll take the X-wing inside and see what happens." Artoo twittered an uneasy-sounding acknowledgment. Glancing at the course record Talon Karrde had given him, Luke eased the X-wing toward the planet, wishing for a moment that Leia were here with him. If those creatures that Mara had run into were intelligent, it might take not only Jedi skill but also diplomatic finesse to deal with them. Finesse that Leia had, and that he didn't. He grimaced. On the other hand, they probably weren't very happy back home that he'd taken off this way without notice, let alone if he'd tried to bring Leia along with him. No, Leia's diplomatic skills were needed most back in the New Republic.

What skills would be needed here he'd find out soon enough.

They were still well outside the planet's atmosphere when the X-wing's sensors picked up the two alien spacecraft rising from the surface toward them. "So much for stealth and secrecy," Luke murmured, studying the sensor profiles. They definitely looked like the ship he and Artoo had spotted on their way out of the Cavrilhu Pirates' nest in the Kauron asteroid field. That ship, though, had cut and run before he could get a close look at it. Now, as this pair rose rapidly toward him, he could see that his first impression of the craft had indeed been correct. Roughly three times the X-wing's size, they were an odd but strangely artistic combination of alien manufacture melded with that of the all-too-familiar TIE fighter design. At the bow of each ship was a slightly darkened canopy, through which he could just barely make out a pair of Imperial-style flight helmets.

Artoo whistled pensively. "Steady, Artoo," Luke warned. "It doesn't necessarily mean they're allied with the Empire. They might have found a TIE fighter somewhere and borrowed from it." Artoo's grunt showed his opinion of that one. "All right, fine, probably not," Luke said, eyeing the incoming ships. A minute later they were on him, rising slightly above the X-wing and altering course as they curved into flanking positions on both sides. "You getting weapons readings?" The droid whistled, and a rough schematic appeared on the computer display. The ships were quite heavily armed. "Great," Luke muttered, stretching out with the Force to try to get a feel for the situation. But all he could detect were the basic emotional backgrounds of the three beings aboard each ship. Alien minds thinking alien thoughts, with no point of reference for him to latch on to. On the other hand, their flanking positions were more suited to escort than attack. More importantly, Luke's Jedi senses weren't indicating any immediate danger. For the moment, at least, they were probably relatively safe.

And it was time to start acting friendly. "Let's see if we can talk to them," he suggested, reaching for the comm switch.

The aliens beat him to it. "Ka sba'ma'ti orf k'ralan," a surprisingly melodious voice said in Luke's ear. "Kra'miral sumt tara'kliso mor Mitth'raw'nuruodo sur pra'cin'zisk mor'kor'lae." Luke felt his stomach tighten. "Artoo?" he asked.

The droid warbled a worried-sounding confirmation: it was indeed the same transmission Karrde and Mara had picked up from the alien ship that had buzzed Booster Terrik's Errant Venture. The transmission, according to Mara, that had included Thrawn's little-known complete name. Grimacing, Luke keyed his comm. "This is New Republic X-wing AA-589," he said. If the aliens didn't speak Basic, of course, this wasn't going to do any good. Still, it wouldn't do to just sit here and ignore them. "I'm looking for a friend who may have crashed on your world." There was a short pause. Watching out the canopy, Luke had the distinct impression that the two alien ships had pulled in just a hair closer to him. "New Republic X-wing," the voice came again, this time in quite passable Basic. "You will follow us to the surface. You will not deviate from our guidance. If you do, you will be destroyed."

"I understand," Luke said. There was a click from the comm; and suddenly the two alien ships dropped toward the surface. Luke was ready, following and sliding quickly back into his place in the formation. "Show-offs," he muttered under his breath.

He had spoken too soon. A second later the two ships again twisted away, this time curving slightly up and then hard to starboard. Artoo screeched as the portside ship shot uncomfortably close over his head, the tone of his displeasure rising sharply as Luke cut the X-wing hard over to again match the maneuver. He had barely settled back into his place in the center when they did it again, veering to portside this time.

Artoo grunted. "I don't know," Luke told him as he caught up with his escort again. "Maybe there's some kind of defense system they've got set up that requires a specific approach if you don't want to get blasted. Like the pirates had at their asteroid base, remember?" The obvious point scrolled down the computer display: according to the Starry Ice's record, Mara hadn't followed any such complicated approach. "Maybe they set it up in response to her sneaking in," Luke suggested. "Or we could be coming in over a different part of the planet than she did—we haven't been able to pick up a geographic match yet."

Artoo grunted. "Or they could be trying to create an excuse to open fire," Luke agreed grimly.

"Though why they'd think they'd need one I don't know."

The alien ships performed three more sets of maneuvers on the way down, none of which Luke had any particular trouble matching. But as they reached the upper atmosphere they seemed to tire of the game, settling into a hard, straight drive toward the western horizon. Luke stayed in formation, splitting his attention between the ships and the ground far below, and stretching out to the Force for any signs of trouble.

They were twenty minutes into their drive, and Artoo had finally made a match between the topography below and the Starry Ice's records, when the familiar tingling began. "We've got trouble, Artoo," Luke told the droid. "I'm not sure what kind yet, but it's definitely trouble. Give me a quick status rundown."

He ran an eye over the display as the status report appeared. There were no other air-or spacecraft registering on the X-wing's sensors, nothing in their escort's power usage or weapons systems that indicated attack preparation, and the X-wing's own systems were reading fully operative.

"How far to the fortress Mara found?" he asked.

Artoo beeped: less than fifteen minutes at their current speed. "Sometime in the next ten minutes, I'd guess," Luke told him. "Be ready." Taking a deep breath, settling his hands on the controls, he consciously relaxed his muscles and immersed himself in the Force.

They were registering six minutes to the fortress, and the canyon Mara had flown down had just appeared paralleling them on the distant horizon, when it finally happened. In perfect unison the two escort ships threw a quick spurt of power to their forward thrusters, dropping from flanking into following positions behind the X-wing as their velocities blipped down.

And from nozzles nestled half-hidden beneath their cockpits spat a deadly salvo of blue fire. But their target was no longer there. An instant before the aliens' thrusters had fired, Luke had caught the subtle disturbance in the Force; and by the time their weapons flashed he had thrown the X-wing into a sharp climb, curving up and around in a tight loop that would take him back around into attack position behind his attackers.

Or at least, that was the normal endpoint of the maneuver. This time, though, Luke had other plans. Instead of pulling out of his loop behind the aliens, he held the X-wing's nose pointed toward the ground for an extra pair of heartbeats. Then, at what seemed like the last second, he twisted the starfighter into a stomach-wrenching, twin-rotational turn. An instant later they were running bare meters above the ground on a vector perpendicular to their original course.

"What are they doing?" Luke called, not daring to take his eyes away from the landscape long enough to look for himself.

The droid's warning screech and a sudden tingling in the Force were his answer. From behind came another volley of blue fire, most of it going wide but a few shots splattering off his rear deflector shield. "Any new friends joined them?" he called.

Artoo warbled a negative. That was something, anyway. Still, those ships were good and the crews clearly knew what they were doing. At two-to-one odds, Luke was going to have his hands full. Especially since—

Artoo twittered an urgent question. "No, leave the S-foils as they are," Luke told him. "We're not going to shoot back."

The droid's question was a disbelieving whistle. "Because we don't know who they are or why they're here," Luke told him, eyes measuring the ground ahead. Just beyond Mara's canyon the terrain abruptly became something shattered-looking, broken into granite-walled cliffs and deep, sharp-edged crevices. "I don't want to kill any of them until I know who and what they are." Artoo's rejoinder became another screech as the latest enemy salvo blew a thin layer of metal from the top of the starboard S-foil. "Don't worry, we're almost there," Luke soothed him, risking a quick glance at his status displays. No serious damage yet, but that wouldn't last long once the attackers got a little closer.

Which meant that his best hope was to keep that from happening.

Behind him, Artoo whistled suspiciously. "That's exactly where we're going," Luke confirmed. They were nearly to the shattered landscape now; and off to portside he spotted a likely looking gorge. "Oh, relax—it's no worse than some of the other things we've pulled off," he added, twisting the X-wing's nose toward the gorge. "Anyway, we haven't got a choice. Hang on—here we go." Beggar's Canyon on Tatooine had been a tricky but familiar obstacle run of twists and corners and switchbacks. The Death Star trench had been far straighter, but with the addition of turbolaser fire and attacking TIE fighters to keep it interesting. Now, the Nirauan cliffs took the challenge a step farther by adding unpredictable curves and breakpoints, with varying widths and depths, jutting rocks, and clinging tree vines.

The newly signed Rebel recruit at Yavin would have recognized the risks involved. Even the cocky adolescent on Tatooine would have hesitated at the stupidity of tackling such an unknown labyrinth at such high speeds. The seasoned Jedi Luke had become, though, knew he wouldn't have a problem with it.

He was mostly right. The ship sliced through the first series of twists with ease, Luke's piloting skill and prescience in the Force combining with the X-wing's innate maneuverability to leave the alien ships far behind. He shot through an open valley, changed direction toward a new canyon—

And nearly lost control as a burst of blue fire raked across the portside fuselage.

"It's all right," he called back to Artoo, feeling a flash of annoyance with himself as the X-wing plunged again into the relative safety of his chosen ravine. This had happened before: focusing his attention—and the Force—too narrowly in one direction had a tendency to blind him to anything happening outside that cone. Clearly, at least one of the alien pilots had been smart enough to abandon the chase and fly up over the maze to wait for the target to show himself. But the gambit had failed; and if the terrain cooperated, he wouldn't get another chance at it. The X-wing emerged into a second valley, this one smaller than the first, and veered off into another ravine. Letting the Force guide his hands, Luke watched the cliffs around him, looking for just the right place...

And then, suddenly, there it was. On both sides of the X-wing steep cliffs rose upward, one of them angling sharply toward the other until only a tiny ribbon of daylight showed at the top between them. Lines and clusters of drab and scraggly bushes clung to various parts of the craggy rock, with a thick matting of brown bushes and squat trees covering the canyon floor below. Ahead and behind, the canyon curved sharply to either side, leaving this center part as an isolated bubble surrounded by rock.

It was the perfect place to go to ground.

Artoo didn't squeal or screech as Luke swung the starfighter around in a hundred-eighty-degree skid in a classic smuggler's reverse. Probably, Luke decided as he fed power to the thrusters, because the little droid was too busy holding on for dear life. For a handful of seconds the X-wing bucked beneath him, and he fought hard for stability as it tried to flip out of control. Outside, the canyon walls shooting past began to slow, and as they did so he eased off on the drive and keyed in the repulsorlifts. The deceleration pressure crushing him against the seat cushions faded; spinning the X-wing around to face forward again, he threw a quick look around. Directly ahead, a pair of squat but bushy trees rose up from the canyon floor, straddling what appeared to be a dry creek bed, their trunks just the right distance apart. Killing the last of the X-wing's forward velocity, he dropped its nose down to slide neatly between the tree trunks.

"There," he said, running the last steps of the landing cycle and shutting down the repulsorlifts.

"That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

There was a weak and slightly shaky whistle from behind him. Apparently, Artoo hadn't found his voice yet.

Smiling tightly, Luke popped the canopy, wincing at the high-pitched scratching sounds as dozens of thorn-edged leaves scraped across the transparisteel, and slid off his helmet and gloves. The air flooding in from outside was cool and smelled vaguely mossy. For a long minute he listened, stretching out with Force-enhanced senses for sounds of pursuit. But there was nothing except the normal sounds of wind rustling through the leaves and the distant chirps of avians or insects. "I think we've lost them," he told Artoo. "At least for now. You figured out where we are?" Artoo beeped, still sounding a little dazed, and a map appeared on the computer display. Luke studied it. Not too bad, but not too good either. They were no more than ten kilometers from Mara's cave, but most of the territory between here and there consisted of the same kind of narrow gorges and rocky cliffs they'd just been flying through. At least a full day's travel, probably two, possibly three.

On the other hand, the very roughness of the ground would give them better cover than they could reasonably have asked for. All in all, a pretty fair trade.

But it wouldn't be much of a trade if the aliens found them before they even got started. "Come on," he said, easing out of the cockpit and rolling out to the ground. The attempt to avoid the leaf thorns was only partially successful, but only a couple of them actually drew blood. "Let's get the pack sorted out and get out of here."

It was the work of a few minutes to break out the camo-net Karrde had sent along and to pull it snugly over the X-wing. Then, as an extra precaution, he cut up some of the smaller bushes and tree limbs with his lightsaber and scattered them on top of the net. It wasn't perfect, especially at close range, but it was the best he could do in the available time.

Karrde's people had also put his survival pack together, assembling the supplies and loading them aboard the X-wing while Luke hurried through the datawork necessary for getting off Cejansij. And as Luke had come to expect from the smuggler's organization over the years, they'd done a first-rate job of it. Split into two separate carrypacks, the supplies included ration bars, water filter/bottles, medpacs, glow rods, a good supply of syntherope, a spare blaster, a survival tent with bedroll, and even a small selection of low-yield grenades.

"I'm surprised they didn't try to cram a landspeeder in," Luke grunted as he hoisted one of the packs experimentally onto his shoulders. It was heavy enough, but the weight had been well distributed and would be reasonably easy to carry. "I guess we'll have to leave the other pack here. You ready to do a little climbing?"

Artoo warbled questioningly, his dome swiveling to peer first one direction down the canyon and then the other. "No, that's where they'll expect us to come out," Luke told him. He pointed upward toward one of the cliffs towering over them. "That's our route, up there." The droid swiveled his dome again, whistling skittishly as he leaned way back to look up.

"Relax—we won't have to go all the way to the top," Luke calmed him. "See that gap about two-thirds of the way up? If I read the aerial pictures right, that should lead into a cut that'll take us the rest of the way to the top."

Artoo warbled forlornly, looking back and forth along the canyon again. "No, Artoo, we can't go that way," Luke told him firmly. "And we don't have time to argue the point. Even if those ships can't get in there, they may have smaller ones back at the fortress. And they can always come in on foot, too. You want to be sitting around when they get here?"

The droid beeped emphatically. Swiveling himself around, he started bumping determinedly along the dry creek bed toward the base of the cliff below the gap Luke had pointed out. Smiling, Luke gave his pack one final settling shrug. Then, stretching out with the Force, he lifted Artoo high enough off the ground to clear the undergrowth and headed toward the cliff.

* * *

As it turned out, the climb had looked more daunting than it really was. Though certainly steep enough, the wall wasn't nearly the impossibly vertical slope that it had seemed from the canyon floor. Hand-and footholds were plentiful; the whole cliff face seemed to be dotted with narrow ledges and small caves, and the bushes and vines provided sturdy handholds as well. The only problematic part was Artoo, but even that quickly settled into a more or less comfortable routine. Finding a secure place to stand, Luke would use the Force to lift the droid up past him to a narrow ledge or conveniently spaced pair of caves, hold him in place while using the syntherope to lash him to the nearest bushes, then climb past him to the next convenient resting point and repeat.

Artoo didn't care for any part of the procedure, of course. Midway up the cliff, though, he at least stopped complaining about it.

They were almost to the gap, and Luke was once again catching up to the point where he'd anchored Artoo, when he heard the faint voice.

He stopped, one hand gripping a lumpy vine, and listened. But there was nothing but the distant insect chirping he'd been hearing since they landed. Running through his Jedi sensory-enhancement techniques, he stretched out his hearing; but though the chirps became louder and more varied, the voice he thought he'd heard wasn't there.

There was a loud squeal from above him: Artoo, whistling softly in his enhanced hearing. "I thought I heard something," he murmured back, the words booming in his head. Hastily, he eased his hearing back to normal. "It was like a voice—"

He broke off at Artoo's startled twitter. "What is it?" he asked, looking up. The droid was facing down and along the cliff; turning his head, Luke tracked along his gaze—

And froze. Perched on a thorn-leafed bush not three meters away was a small, slack-winged brown-gray creature.

Watching him.

"Take it easy," Luke soothed Artoo, taking a moment to study the creature. About thirty centimeters long from head to talons, it was covered with smooth-looking skin. Its folded wings were more of the same, though it was hard to guess their size, and arched slightly over in a way that reminded Luke of hunched shoulders. The head was proportionally small and streamlined, with a pair of dark eyes nestled beneath fleshy folds and two horizontal slashes beneath them. The upper slash was undulating with the steady rhythm of respiration, while the lower was pressed into a tight slit. A pair of segmented, wide-taloned feet gripped the bush it was perched on, apparently not bothered in the least by the sharp thorns. The overall effect was like something halfway between a mynock and a preying makthier, and he wondered if it was related to either of those species. Artoo gave another warble, this one wary. "I don't think it means us any harm," Luke assured him, still watching the creature. "I don't sense any danger from it. And we're a little big for a snack for something that size."

Unless, of course, they hunted in packs. Still watching the creature, he stretched out with the Force, searching for others of the species. There were definitely more of them in the canyon, but most seemed to be fairly distant—

The lower slit on the creature's face opened, revealing twin rows of tiny sharp teeth, and emitted a loud chirp.

Who are you?

Luke blinked in surprise. There was the voice he thought he'd heard, except that this time it was clear enough to understand. But had it come from—? "What?" he asked. The creature chirped again. Who are you?

He was right: it was the creature who'd spoken.

Only it hadn't spoken. Not really. But then how had Luke understood—?

And then, abruptly, he understood. "I'm Luke Skywalker," he said, stretching toward the creature with the Force. "Jedi Knight of the New Republic. Who are you?" The creature emitted a short series of chirps. What do you do here, Jedi Knight Sky Walker?

"I'm looking for a friend," Luke said. His guess had been right: while he couldn't understand the creature's actual chirping language, he was pulling the essence of the communication from its mind via the Force. An extremely rare event, in his experience, and it probably implied the creatures were at least marginally Force-sensitive. "She landed near here nearly two weeks ago and then disappeared. Do you know where she is?"

The creature seemed to shy back a bit. It fluffed its wings partially open, resettled them across its back. It chirped again— Who is this friend?

"Her name is Mara Jade," Luke said.

Is she another Jedi Knight?

"Sort of," Luke hedged. Mara had dropped by his Jedi academy occasionally over the past eight years, but she'd never stayed long enough to complete her training. Actually, there were times Luke wondered if she'd ever truly begun it. "Do you know where she is?" The wings fluffed again as the creature chirped. I know nothing.

"Really," Luke said, letting his tone cool just a bit. He didn't even need the Force for this one; he'd watched Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin pull this trick enough times to recognize guilty knowledge when he saw it. "What if I told you a Jedi can always tell when someone's lying?" From behind him came a loud and authoritative chirp. Leave the young one alone. Luke turned his head. Perched on the bushes and craggy rocks on the other side of the cliff face were three more of the creatures. They were each twice as big as the first one; but even without the size differential the subtle differences between adult and young were instantly apparent. "Your pardon," he said to them. "I wasn't trying to intimidate him. Perhaps you can help me in my search for my friend."

One of the creatures spread his wings and gave a short hop to a bush closer to Luke, twisting his head one way and then the other as if studying the intruder out of each eye individually. You are not one of the others. Who are you?

"I think you know," Luke said, a quiet sense prompting him to play a hunch. "Why don't you tell me instead who you are?"

The creature seemed to consider. I am Hunter Of Winds. I bargain for this nesting of the Qom Qae.

"In the name of the New Republic I greet you, Hunter Of Winds," Luke said gravely. "I presume you know of the New Republic?"

The elder Qom Qae fluffed his wings exactly the same way the young one had. I have heard. What is the New Republic to us?

"I suppose that depends on what you want it to be," Luke said. "But that's a matter for diplomats and bargainers to discuss. I'm here to help a friend."

Hunter Of Winds chirped decisively. We have no knowledge of any strangers. But we do, the younger Qom Qae chirped from behind Luke. The Qom Jha spoke of—

Hunter Of Winds cut him off with a squawk. Is your name Seeker After Stupidity? he demanded pointedly. Be silent.

"Perhaps you've merely forgotten," Luke suggested diplomatically. "A nesting bargainer must have many other matters to think about, after all."

Hunter Of Winds fluffed his wings. What happens outside this nesting does not properly concern us. Go to another nesting of the Qom Qae, or to the Qom Jha if you dare. Perhaps they will help you.

"All right," Luke said. "Will you guide me to them?" They are outside this nesting, Hunter Of Winds chirped. They are not our concern.

"I see," Luke said. "Tell me, Hunter Of Winds, have you ever had a friend in danger?" The Qom Qae spread his wings, his two companions following suit. This conversation is ended. Young one: come.

He leaped out from his bush, gliding away toward the canyon floor below on outstretched wings, his two companions following. Turning back, Luke saw the young Qom Qae follow them. Artoo grunted contemptuously. "Don't blame them too much," Luke told him with a sigh. "There may be cultural or political entanglements here we don't know about." He resumed his climb. "Or they may just be wary of getting involved in someone else's fight," he added. "We've certainly seen enough of that over the years."

Five minutes later they'd reached the gap. Luke had been right: the cut continued upward toward the top of the cliff at a much more leisurely angle while still keeping them under tree cover the whole way. "Perfect," Luke said, peering up along it. "Let's get up to the top and see where we go from here." Collecting the syntherope, he started to coil it—

And suddenly Artoo emitted a startled squawk.

"What is it?" Luke demanded, grabbing reflexively for his lightsaber as he spun around. There was no danger around them that he could see or sense. "Artoo, what is it?" he asked again, turning his attention to the droid.

Artoo was gazing back down into the valley along the way they'd come, moaning mournfully. Frowning, Luke followed along the droid's line of sight—

And felt his breath catch in his throat. Down on the valley floor, their X-wing had vanished.

"No," Luke breathed, gazing hard at the browns and grays down there. His first, hopeful thought was that his camouflage job had simply been better than he realized and that the starfighter was still right where they'd left it. But a moment of careful searching with Jedi-enhanced senses put that hope quietly to rest.

The X-wing was indeed gone.

Artoo warbled anxiously. "It's all right," Luke soothed. "It's all right." And to his own mild surprise, he found he actually meant it. The X-wing's disappearing act was frustrating and annoying; but oddly enough, there was no sense of danger or fear accompanying it. Not even any serious concern, despite the fact that the loss of their ship meant no chance for a quick escape should the situation warrant it.

A prodding from the Force? A sense, perhaps, that the X-wing was merely misplaced and not actually lost?

Unfortunately, he realized soberly, it could just as easily be a prodding in the opposite direction. That the loss of the ship didn't matter because he would not be leaving this world alive anyway. Unbidden, an image of Yoda rose from his memory: the old Jedi Master sighing with weariness as he settled onto his bed for the last time. Luke could remember his gut-churning fear at Yoda's frailness; could recall the exact tone of his own voice as he protested to Yoda that he must not die. Strong am I with the Force, Yoda had gently reproved his student. But not that strong. Twilight is upon me and soon night will fall. That is the way of things... the way of the Force. Luke took a deep breath. Obi-Wan had died, Yoda had died, and someday it would be his turn to face that same journey. And if this was the place where that journey would begin, so be it. He was a Jedi, and would face it as one.

In the meantime, the reason he had come here had not changed. "Nothing we can do about it now," he told Artoo, turning away from the valley and returning to the task of coiling the syntherope.

"Let's get to the top and see where we go from there."

From directly above came a soft chirp. There are better ways to pass. Luke looked up. The young Qom Qae was back, hovering on some updraft he'd found and gazing down at them. "Are you offering to help us?" he asked.

The Qom Qae bent one of his wings slightly, the change in air pressure sending him sidling over to the cliff face beside Luke. He caught one of the bushes in his talons as he reached it, folding his wings behind him. I will help you, he chirped. The Qom Jha have said another has arrived and is with them. I will take you there.

"Thank you," Luke said, wondering if he should ask about his missing X-wing. But after the young Qom Qae's skittishness earlier it probably would be better to leave any interrogations for later. "May I ask why you're willing to take the risk?"

I am known to some of the younger Qom Jha, he chirped. I do not fear them.

"I'm not necessarily talking about the Qom Jha," Luke said, wanting to make sure the young alien genuinely understood the risks. "The others Hunter Of Winds spoke of may also try to stop us." I understand that. The alien fluffed his wings. But you asked Hunter Of Winds if he had ever had a friend in danger. I have.

Luke smiled. "I understand," he said. "And I'm honored to have your assistance. I'm Luke Skywalker, as I said, and this is my droid, Artoo. What's your name?" The Qom Qae spread his wings and made a short hop to a bush in front of them. I am too young yet to have a name. I am called merely Child Of Winds.

"Child Of Winds," Luke repeated, eyeing him thoughtfully. "You wouldn't by any chance be related to Hunter Of Winds, would you?"

He is my sire, Child Of Winds chirped. It is indeed true about the wisdom of the Jedi Knights.

Luke suppressed a smile. "Sometimes," he said. "But we should get moving now. Along the way, perhaps you can tell me more about your people."

I would be honored, Child Of Winds said, spreading his wings eagerly. Come, I will show you the path.

CHAPTER

3

The communications blister on the New Republic Dreadnaught Peregrine was something of an anachronism among modern warships, a throwback to the pre-Clone Wars design philosophy that had prevailed at the time the Peregrine and its Katana-fleet sister ships had been built. Not only was the ship's entire primary antenna array located in the blister, but so were the complex and delicate encryption/decryption computers.

The handful of other Katana-fleet Dreadnaughts still in New Republic service had had their comm blisters extensively renovated, with the encrypt/decrypt equipment moved inside into a more sheltered area between the bridge and Intelligence ops. But somehow, no matter how often the renovation procedure was talked about, the Peregrine always seemed to slip through the cracks in the work schedule.

Wedge Antilles had wondered about that on occasion. There was, he knew, still some bad blood between General Garm Bel Iblis and a few of the New Republic's upper echelon, dating back to Bel Iblis's years of running his own private war against the Empire after his falling-out with Mon Mothma. Wedge had always suspected the lack of renovation on this, the general's flagship, was tied to that animosity.

It wasn't until Wedge and Rogue Squadron had been permanently assigned to Bel Iblis that he'd learned the truth. Intelligence sections, Bel Iblis had explained to him, were crowded and public places, and having a decrypted signal piped to bridge or command room gave abundant opportunity for anyone with a modicum of skill and a surplus of curiosity to tap into the conversation. A comm blister, in contrast, was about as isolated a place as one could find aboard a warship; and having the encrypt/decrypt computer close at hand meant that the message began and ended right there. Whenever any really private transmissions were due, that was where Bel Iblis was to be found. He and Wedge were there now. At Admiral Ackbar's personal request.

"I understand your concerns, General Bel Iblis," Ackbar said, his face filling the comm display, his huge eyes swiveling around to take in Wedge as well. "And I do not disagree with your assessment. But I must nevertheless turn down your request."

"I strongly urge you to reconsider, Admiral," Bel Iblis said stiffly. "I appreciate the political situation on Coruscant, but that can't be allowed to blind us to the purely military considerations here." The Mon Cal's lip tendrils seemed to stiffen. "Unfortunately, there are no longer any pure military considerations involving the Caamas issue," he rumbled. "Political and ethical questions have pervaded everything."

"Unusual combination," Wedge murmured under his breath.

One of Ackbar's eyes swiveled briefly toward him before turning back to Bel Iblis. "The final line of the situation is that any serious New Republic presence over Bothawui at this point would be construed as support of the Bothans against their critics."

"It would be nothing of the sort," Bel Iblis objected. "It would be a voice of calm and reason in the middle of a very dangerous flash point. There are sixty-eight warships here already, all of them engaged in a twelve-way glaring contest with each other, all of them ready to jump if any of the others so much as sneeze. There has got to be someone here who can mediate any problems before they collapse into all-out war."

Ackbar sighed, a darkly rasping sound. "I agree with you wholeheartedly, General. But the High Council and Senate are in ultimate authority here, and they have come to a different conclusion." Bel Iblis threw a baleful glance at Wedge. "I trust you'll continue trying to change their minds."

"Yes indeed," Ackbar said. "But whether I am successful or not, you will not be the one chosen for the dubious honor of mediator. President Gavrisom has already selected another task for you."

"More important than keeping the peace over Bothawui?"

"Far more important," Ackbar assured him. "If Bothawui is the flash point, then it is the Caamas Document which is the spark."

Wedge felt a sudden premonition hit him. Could Gavrisom actually be considering—?

He was. "President Gavrisom has therefore concluded that the New Republic's best chance of defusing the controversy is to obtain an intact copy of the document," Ackbar continued. "To that end, you are to proceed immediately to Ord Trasi, where you will begin assembling a force for an information raid on the Imperial Ubiqtorate base at Yaga Minor."

Wedge stole a furtive glance at Bel Iblis. The general's expression hadn't changed, but there was just enough of a tightness in his jaw to show he was thinking along the same lines Wedge was. "With all due respect, Admiral," Bel Iblis said, "President Gavrisom must be joking. Yaga Minor is possibly the most heavily defended system in Imperial or New Republic space. And that's just considering a straight-line attack, where it doesn't matter which enemy positions come under fire. Having to keep the enemy data system intact adds five extra layers of difficulty to the whole operation."

"The President is well aware of the challenges involved," Ackbar said, his voice even more gravelly than usual. "I'll be honest: I don't like this any more than you do. But it has to be tried. If war breaks out over this issue, we don't have enough ships or troops to either force or maintain a peace. The entire New Republic could conceivably collapse into total civil war." Bel Iblis looked at Wedge again, turned back to the display. "Yes, sir," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm forced to agree with your assessment."

"I may also say," Ackbar added, "that if there's any way this can be done, you are the one who can do it."

Bel Iblis smiled wryly. "Thank you for your confidence, Admiral. I'll do my best."

"Good," Ackbar said. "You and your task force are to leave Bothawui immediately for Ord Trasi. I'll be quietly sending you the rest of your ships over the next two weeks, at which time I expect you to have a battle plan formulated and ready to go."

"Understood," Bel Iblis said. "What about special equipment or units?"

"Anything the New Republic can supply is yours," Ackbar assured him. "Tell me what you need, and I'll have it sent to you."

Bel Iblis nodded. "We will of course need total secrecy on this," he warned. "If even a hint leaks to the Empire, what little chance we have will be gone."

"The secrecy will be complete," Ackbar promised. "I've already set a cover story in motion which should convince any Imperial spies that the ships are secretly being assembled in the outer regions of the Kothlis system for the defense of Bothawui, should that become necessary."

"That should work," Bel Iblis said. "Provided they don't head to Kothlis and take a look for themselves."

"Two Rendili Space Docks have already been moved to the Kothlis system," Ackbar said.

"They'll be equipped with dummy ships carrying the proper IDs and markings for the benefit of any Imperials who happen by."

"Interesting." Bel Iblis cocked an eyebrow. "So this isn't just some slice-of-the-moment idea Gavrisom came up with last night. This has been in the works for some time now." The Mon Cal nodded his massive head. "The preparations were begun the day after the riot at the Combined Clans Building on Bothawui," he said. "With General Solo's implication in that incident, the President knew it would no longer be possible for the New Republic government to make any overt political moves without our motives coming under fire."

"I understand the reasoning involved," Bel Iblis said heavily. "Ord Trasi it is, then."

"A liaison team from my office will be waiting there when you arrive," Ackbar said. "Good luck, General."

"Thank you, Admiral. Bel Iblis out."

The general touched a key, and the transmission ended. "Which doesn't mean I entirely agree with it," he commented under his breath to the blank display as he turned to Wedge. "Well, General. Comments?"

Wedge shook his head. "I was on an information raid once, back when we were trying to get data on Grand Admiral Makati out of the Boudolayz library," he said. "I think the bit-pushers estimated afterward that we were about eighty percent successful. And that was Boudolayz, not Yaga Minor."

"Yes, I've read the reports on that raid," Bel Iblis said, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. "This is definitely not going to be easy."

Wedge grimaced. "Meanwhile, Bothawui keeps collecting warships like a floodlight collects night insects. Eventually, sir, someone's going to try to take advantage of that."

"I agree," Bel Iblis said. "Which is why I asked you to come up here with me this afternoon."

"Oh?" Wedge said, regarding him closely. "Then you knew this was coming?"

"Not the Yaga Minor raid specifically," Bel Iblis said. "But I had a feeling Coruscant would turn down my request to stay here and keep order. It also occurred to me that if my task force was ordered away—as we now indeed have been—that Rogue Squadron isn't technically part of that task force."

Wedge frowned. "You've lost me, General. I thought we'd been permanently attached to you."

"To me, yes," Bel Iblis agreed. "But not to my task force. It's a fine but very important technical distinction."

"I'll take your word for it," Wedge said, trying without success to sift confirmation of that point from his own memory of the New Republic's military regs. "So what does that mean?" Bel Iblis swiveled the encrypt station chair around and sat down. "It means I agree with you that someone is likely to take advantage of this mess," he said, folding his hands in his lap. "Possibly this shadowy Vengeance organization that keeps throwing riots and demanding the Bothans pay through the snout for their part in the destruction of Caamas."

"Yes," Wedge said slowly as a sudden thought hit him. "And since the Bothan contribution to that attack was to sabotage the Caamas planetary shields...?"

Bel Iblis nodded. "Very good. Yes, my guess is someone's going to try to take out Bothawui's shields."

Wedge whistled softly. "Do you think that's even possible? The Bothans are supposed to have one of the best shield systems in the galaxy."

"They did once, back at the height of the Empire," Bel Iblis said. "Whether they've kept it up I don't know. But of course an enemy wouldn't have to take down the entire grid to do serious damage. Dropping the shield just over Drev'starn would open up a hole you could pour a lot of turbolaser damage through."

"Yes," Wedge murmured. "Trouble is, it wouldn't be just the Bothans who'd get hammered."

"That is indeed the problem," Bel Iblis agreed soberly. "At last count, there were over three hundred megacorporations with their headquarters on Bothawui, plus thousands of smaller companies and at least fifty pledge and commodity exchanges."

Wedge nodded. It wouldn't exactly mean universal economic chaos if they were hit, but it would add a considerable degree of extra anger and resentment to the stew already heating up out there. And with all those warships trying to stare each other down overhead, it might do considerably more than just heat the stew. "What do you want me to do?"

Bel Iblis seemed to be studying his face. "I want you to go down to the surface and make sure that doesn't happen."

Wedge had had a sneaking suspicion that was the direction this conversation was going. It came as something of a shock just the same. "All by myself?" he asked. "Or do you think I might need the rest of Rogue Squadron, too?"

Bel Iblis smiled. "Relax, Wedge, it's not as bad as it sounds," he said. "I'm not expecting you to stand in front of the Drev'starn generator dome, a blaster in each hand, and hold off the Third Imperial Heavy Armor. So far Vengeance has shown more trickery and subterfuge than brute force; and trickery and subterfuge are things a couple of clever X-wing pilots ought to have a good chance of spotting."

So the proposed scout party was up to two now, Wedge noted, thereby doubling their chances of rooting out this theoretical splinter in a sand hill. "Did you have anyone in particular in mind as the second clever X-wing pilot?"

"Of course," Bel Iblis said. "Commander Horn."

"I see," Wedge said between suddenly stiff lips. A search for a hidden saboteur... and Bel Iblis had immediately come up with Corran Horn. Could he somehow have deduced Corran's carefully hidden Jedi skills? "Why him?"

Bel Iblis's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Because his father-in-law is a smuggler," he said. "He's bound to have a network of contacts Horn will be able to access."

"Ah," Wedge said, relaxing a bit. "I hadn't thought about that."

"That's why I'm a senior general," Bel Iblis said dryly. "You'd better get below and give Horn the good news. You heard Ackbar—I only have a couple of weeks to pull all this together, and I'll want you back with the squadron when we hit Yaga Minor."

"We'll do what we can," Wedge promised. "You want us to take one of the Peregrine's unmarked shuttles?"

Bel Iblis nodded. "X-wings would be a little conspicuous. Leave your uniforms, too, but take your military IDs in case you have to pull rank on some bureaucrat. I'll let you know when I want you at Ord Trasi."

"Understood," Wedge said.

"Good," Bel Iblis said. "I'm going to stay up here for a few minutes—I can transmit to the other commanders from here as well as I can from the bridge or my office. Ackbar said immediately, though, so as soon as the other ships are ready, we go. You'll need to be off the Peregrine before that."

"We will, sir," Wedge said, moving toward the door. "Good luck with your battle plan, General." Bel Iblis smiled faintly. "Good luck with yours."

* * *

They were just hitting Bothawui's atmosphere when Corran, who'd been leaning against the side viewport looking back toward the shuttle's stern, turned around and settled himself back into his seat.

"They're gone," he announced.

Wedge glanced at his displays. The ships of the Peregrine task force were indeed no longer registering. "That they are," he agreed. "We're on our own now." Corran shook his head. "This is crazy, Wedge. And you say he specifically told you to take me?"

"Yes, but it didn't have anything to do with your hidden talents," Wedge assured him. "He thinks you'll be able to access Booster's smuggling network."

Corran snorted. "That might work, if Booster was speaking to me these days." Wedge glanced sideways at him. "What, he's not still mad about that trick we pulled with the Hoopster's Prank off Sif'kric, is he? I thought we decided they weren't carrying any contraband and let them go."

"No, they weren't; and yes, he is," Corran said. "Clean or not, the Sif'kries decided they didn't want smugglers carrying cargoes for them and banned the Hoopster's Prank forthwith from future pommwomm shipments."

Wedge winced. "Ouch."

"Doesn't mean they won't get in anyway," Corran continued with a shrug. "It just means they'll have to come up with different ships or new ID camouflage or something. But it's a nuisance, and Booster hates nuisances. Especially official nuisances."

"Mm," Wedge said. "Sorry about that. Maybe Mirax will be able to calm him down."

"Oh, I'm sure she will," Corran said. "Come to think of it, though, I'm not sure Booster even has any interests on Bothawui. The planet's got so many other smuggling groups crawling all over it that he may have decided to leave it alone."

"Oh, that's handy," Wedge grumbled.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to get back to the exciting life of an X-wing pilot, remember," Corran reminded him. "You could have been safely flying a computer somewhere on Coruscant if you'd wanted."

Wedge made a face. "No, thanks. Tried it, didn't like it. So you're not expecting us to find any help down there at all?"

There was a brief silence. "That's an interesting question," Corran murmured at last, his voice sounding odd. "Actually... I think I am."

Wedge threw him a frown. "You are what? Expecting to find help?"

"I think so, yes," Corran said, that same strange tone in his voice. "Don't ask how or where. I just... I think so."

"Let me guess," Wedge said. "Jedi hunch?"

Corran nodded. "Jedi hunch."

Wedge smiled. "Good," he said, already feeling better about this whole mission. "In that case, we don't have anything to worry about."

"Well, no," Corran said slowly. "I don't think I'd go so far as to say that."

CHAPTER

4

[Beware to the starboard,] the Togorian female at the Wild Karrde's sensor station called, her normally fluid mewling speech now clipped and harsh. [At the two-five by fourteen angle.]

"I'm on it," another tight voice came over the bridge comm unit. The edges of a hundred asteroids rolling sedately past the viewport flickered with reflected light as one of the Wild Karrde's turbolasers flashed, then blazed even more brightly as the target asteroid shattered into dust and fire. Seated in the back of the bridge out of the way, Shada D'ukal mentally shook her head. Negotiating an asteroid field was never an easy task, but it seemed to her the Togorian and at least one of the turbolaser gunners were getting themselves far too worked up over the whole operation. Either they were naturally excitable, or else young and inexperienced. Neither possibility exactly filled her with confidence; both made her wonder about their captain's wisdom in bringing the two of them along in the first place.

Perhaps the captain was feeling the same way. "Calm down, H'sishi," Talon Karrde cautioned the Togorian from his seat behind the helm and copilot stations. "You, too, Chal. Just because this asteroid field is larger than others you've encountered doesn't mean it has to be treated any differently. A light touch, blast only the rocks that are of immediate danger to us, and let Dankin maneuver the ship around the others."

The Togorian's ears twitched. [I obey, Chieftain,] she said.

"Yes, sir," the gunner's voice added.

Not that the admonition made any appreciable difference, at least not that Shada could see. H'sishi still continued to snap out her targeting locks, and Chal still fired full-power turbolaser blasts whether the target warranted that much of a kick or not.

But then, maybe it wasn't just them. Maybe they were merely sensing and reacting to the nervousness Karrde himself was feeling.

Shada shifted her gaze to focus on his profile. He was hiding it well, actually, with only cheek and jaw muscles betraying the tension there. But Mistryl training included the reading of faces and body language, and to her eyes Karrde's steadily growing apprehension was as obvious as a navigational beacon.

And the upcoming stopover at Pembric 2 was only the first leg of their trip. What would he be like, she wondered uneasily, by the time they actually reached Exocron?

There was a particularly bright flash outside as a particularly large asteroid was blown to dust.

"Oh, my," a gloomy, metallic voice murmured from Shada's right. She turned to look at the C-3PO protocol droid strapped into the seat next to her. He was staring at the viewport, wincing with every turbolaser blast. "Trouble?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, Mistress Shada," he said, managing to sound prim and miserable at the same time.

"I've never entirely enjoyed space travel. And this in particular reminds me of a rather unpleasant incident in the past."

"It should be over soon," she soothed him. "Just try to relax." The Mistryl shadow guard had never used droids all that much, but one of Shada's uncles had had one when she was growing up and she'd always had something of a soft spot for them.

And in Threepio's case, she felt a particularly personal sympathy for his position. Leia Organa Solo's personal translator droid, he had been suddenly and summarily offered to Karrde for this voyage—no notice, no questions, no apologies. In many ways, it echoed Shada's own long and unquestioning service to the Mistryl.

A service that had come to a sudden and permanent end a month ago on the windswept roof of the Resinem Entertainment Complex, where Shada had dared to put her personal honor above direct orders from the Eleven, the rulers of her shattered world of Emberlene.

Would the rest of the Mistryl be hunting her now? Her old friend Karoly D'ulin had hinted that that would be the case. But with the New Republic simmering toward self-destruction in a flurry of petty wars and revived grudges, surely the Mistryl had more important things to do than hunt down even a perceived traitor.

On the other hand, if Karoly had reported Shada's reasons for her defiance—had repeated the words of scorn for leaders who had now forgotten the proud and honorable tradition the Mistryl had once held to—then the Eleven might indeed consider her worth the effort to track down. Of all motivations to action, she had long since learned that injured pride was one of the most powerful. And one of the most destructive, as well. To both the victim and the hunter. A motion caught her eye: Karrde half turning in his seat to look at her. "Enjoying the ride?" he asked.

"Oh, it's great fun," she told him. "Nothing I like better than doing tight maneuvers with a cold crew."

The Togorian's fur expanded, just a little. But she didn't comment, and she kept her eyes on her displays. "New experiences are what give zest to life," Karrde said mildly.

"In my line of work, new experiences usually mean trouble," Shada countered. "I hope you weren't planning on sneaking in, by the way. The way your people are lighting up the field, all of Pembric 2 knows we're coming by now."

As if to underline her words, the asteroids outside flickered with a multiple sputter of turbolaser fire. "Actually, according to Mara, most ships have to do some blasting on the way in," Karrde said. His fingers, Shada noted, were tapping gently but restlessly on his armrest. "Even the locals who supposedly know the routes in and out."

[We have cleared the asteroid field, Chieftain Karrde,] the Togorian mewled. Shada looked back at the viewport. There were still some asteroids floating past, but for the most part the sky was indeed clear.

[The planetary landing beacons are in sight,] H'sishi added, turning her head and fixing her yellow eyes on Shada. [Your junior crew drone may now cease her nervousness.]

Shada held that gaze for another two heartbeats. Then, deliberately, she turned away. Most of the Wild Karrde's crew had been verbally poking at her, in one way or another, ever since their departure from Coruscant. Mazzic's people had done the same back when she first joined his smuggling group—the usual reaction, she had long ago realized, of a tight-knit crew who have just had a stranger thrust into their midst.

One of Mazzic's techs had unwisely crossed the line from verbal to physical jabs, and as a result had spent a month in a neural reconstruction facility. Out here, at the edge of civilization, she hoped the Wild Karrde's crew wouldn't have to learn the lesson the same way. The pilot half turned around. "What now, Chief?"

"Take us into orbit," Karrde told him. "There's only one place on the planet that can handle a ship this size, the Erwithat Spaceport. They should be calling with landing instructions anytime now." Right on cue, the comm crackled. "Bss'dum'shun," a sharp voice snapped. "Sg'hur hur Erwithat roz'bd bun's'unk. Rs'zud huc'dms'hus u burfu."

Shada frowned. "I thought you said they spoke Basic here," she said.

"They do," Karrde said. "They must be trying to throw us." He cocked an eyebrow at the droid beside Shada. "Threepio? Do you recognize it?"

"Oh, yes, Captain Karrde," the droid said with the first sign of enthusiasm Shada had seen in him since the trip started. "I am fluent in over six million forms of communication. This is the dominant Jarellian dialect, a language whose antecedents date back to—"

"What did he say?" Shada interrupted gently. Protocol droids, in her limited experience, would go running on side trails all day if you let them, and Karrde didn't look like he was in the mood for a linguistics lesson.

Threepio turned around to face her. "He has identified himself as Erwithat Space Control, Mistress Shada, and asks our identity and cargo."

"Tell him we're the freighter Hab Camber," Karrde said. "We're here to buy some supplies and power."

Threepio turned back to him, his posture indicating uncertainty. "But, sir, this ship is named the Wild Karrde," he objected. "Its engine transponder code—"

"Has been carefully altered," the pilot interrupted sharply. "Come on, they're waiting."

"Patience, Dankin," Karrde said. "We're in no particular hurry, and I doubt Erwithat Control has anything better to do right now. Just deliver the message as stated, Threepio. No, wait," he interrupted himself, a sly smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You said this was the dominant Jarellian dialect. Are there any others?"

"Several, sir," Threepio said. "Unfortunately, I am versed in only two."

"Good enough," Karrde said. "Deliver our answer in one of them." He settled himself back in his chair. "Let's see how far they're prepared to go with this game." Threepio delivered the message, and for a long moment the comm was silent. "Attention, unidentified freighter," a voice growled reluctantly in Basic. "This is Erwithat Space Control. State your identity and cargo."

Karrde smiled. "Apparently, not very far," he commented, keying his transmit key. "Erwithat Control, this is the freighter Hab Camber," he said. "No cargo; we're just passing through and hoped we could buy some supplies and power."

"Yeah?" the controller said. "What sort of supplies?"

"Do you handle merchandising duties as well as space control?" Karrde countered.

"No, I just do the traffic," the other growled, sounding more annoyed than ever. "Let's hear your bid for landing rights."

Shada blinked. "Landing rights?" she muttered.

The controller had sharp ears. "Yes, landing rights," he snapped. "And that little crack is going to cost you an extra three hundred."

Shada felt her mouth drop open. Crack? What crack? She filled her lungs for a nasty retort of her own—

"We'll bid a thousand," Karrde said, warning her with a glance. The controller snorted audibly. "For a freighter that size? You're either joking or a fool." H'sishi hissed something under her breath. "Or perhaps merely a poor independent trader," Karrde suggested. "What if I make it eleven hundred?"

"What if you make it fifteen?" the controller countered. "That's New Republic currency, too."

"Of course," Karrde said. "Fifteen hundred; agreed."

"Landing Pad 28," the controller said, his grudging annoyance replaced now by open gloating. Briefly, Shada wondered how much of that fifteen hundred would be going directly into his pocket.

"Beacon'll guide you in. The money's due on arrival."

"Thank you," Karrde said. "Hab Camber out." He keyed off the comm. "Chin?"

"Beacon come on, Cap't," the older man at the comm station reported, squinting at his displays.

"They guiding us in."

"Key the vector over to the helm," Karrde instructed. "Dankin, take us in. Watch out for fighters—Mara said they sometimes send escorts for unfamiliar ships."

"Right," the pilot acknowledged.

Karrde looked at Shada. "You game for a little walk around once we're down?" Shada shrugged. "We junior crew drones are only here to serve. Where are we going?"

"A tapcafe called the ThrusterBurn," Karrde told her. "Assuming my map is correct, it's only a couple of blocks from the landing pad we've been assigned. The man I'm hoping to meet should be there."

"I didn't think we needed any supplies this soon," Shada said. "Who are we meeting, and why?"

"A vicious yet cultured Corellian crime lord named Crev Bombaasa," Karrde said. "He runs most of the illegal operations in this part of Kathol sector."

"And we need his help?"

"Not particularly," Karrde said. "But getting his permission to travel through the area would make things easier."

"Ah," Shada said, frowning at his profile. This didn't sound like the casually fearless Talon Karrde she'd heard so many stories about from Mazzic and other smugglers. "We're worried about things being easy, are we?"

He smiled. "Always," he said. His tone was light, but Shada could hear an odd hollowness behind it.

"Ah—Captain Karrde?" Threepio spoke up hesitantly. "Will you be needing my services on this visit?"

Karrde smiled. "No, Threepio, thank you," he assured the droid. "As I said, Basic is the official language down there. You can stay on the ship with the others."

The droid seemed to wilt with relief. "Thank you, sir."

Karrde shifted his attention back to Shada. "We'll go lightly armed—sidearm blasters only."

"Understood," Shada said. "But I'll let you carry the blaster."

"Worried about things getting violent?" Dankin put in.

"Not at all," Shada said coolly, getting up from her seat and heading for the bridge door. "I just prefer that my opponents not know what direction the violence is going to come from. I'll be in my cabin, Karrde—let me know when you're ready."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were down. Fifteen minutes after that, upon payment of their landing fee and a brief negotiation regarding additional "protection" costs with a trio of white-uniformed Pembric Security Legionnaires, Karrde and Shada were walking down the streets of the Erwithat Spaceport.

It was not, to Karrde's mind, what one would exactly call an inspiring place. Even at midday a haze seemed to shroud the whole city, diffusing the sunlight and adding a dankness to the occasional breezes that stirred the hot air without any perceptible cooling effect. The ground was composed of wet sand, molecular-compressed where walkways were needed, a far cry from the permacrete that was the modern construction standard. The buildings lining the walkways were made from some kind of plain but solid-looking white stone, its onetime cleanliness now marred by the brown and green mottlings of dirt and mold. A sprinkling of pedestrians roamed the streets, most showing the same general deterioration as the spaceport itself, and here and there a hurrying swoop or landspeeder could be glimpsed between the buildings.

It was, in short, very much the way Mara's report from seven years ago had painted it. Except probably a little shabbier.

"Terrific place," Shada commented from beside him. "I get the feeling I'm a little overdressed." Karrde smiled. Dressed in a form-fitting dress glittering with subdued blue lights, she did indeed stand out dramatically against the general drabness. "Don't worry about it," he assured her. "As I said earlier, Bombaasa is a cultured sort of crimelord. You can never be too overdressed for that type." He glanced at her. "Though personally, I have to say I prefer the silver and dark red outfit you wore when we first met at the Whistler's Whirlpool on Trogan."

"I remember that outfit," she said, her voice oddly distant. "It was the first one Mazzic bought me after I became his bodyguard."

"Mazzic always did have good taste," Karrde agreed. "You know, you still haven't told me why you left his service so suddenly."

"You haven't told me anything about this Jorj Car'das character we're looking for," Shada countered.

"Keep your voice down," Karrde said sharply, glancing around them. There didn't seem to be anyone within earshot, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. "That's not a name you want to casually toss around here."

Even staring straight ahead, he could feel Shada's eyes on him. "He's really got you spooked, hasn't he?" she said quietly. "You weren't exactly thrilled about all this when Calrissian talked you into hunting him down; but he's really got you spooked."

"You'll understand someday," Karrde told her. "After I'm able to tell you the whole story." She shrugged, her shoulder brushing briefly up against his arm with the motion. "Let's compromise," she suggested. "Once we're off Pembric, you can tell me half the story."

"Interesting proposal," Karrde said. "Agreed; but only if you in turn tell me half the reason why you left Mazzic."

"Well..." She hesitated. "Sure."

They turned a corner, and Karrde felt his mouth twitch. A long block away, fronting onto an open square, was the entrance to the ThrusterBurn tapcafe. Parked in front of it were perhaps twenty stripped-down speeder bikes. "On the other hand," he said quietly, "getting off Pembric may not be quite as easy as we hoped."

"Looks like a swoop gang's having a meeting in there," Shada commented. "There are the sentries—to the left, under the overhang."

"I see them," Karrde said. There were four of them: large, tough-looking young men in reddish-brown jackets sitting astride their swoops. They were pretending to talk together, but it was clear that their full attention was aimed in the newcomers' direction.

"It's not too late to scrub this," Shada murmured. "We can go back to the ship, get out of here, and take our chances with whatever Bombaasa decides to throw at us." Karrde shook his head minutely. "We've been objects of official curiosity ever since we landed. If we try to leave now, Bombaasa's people will intercept us."

"In that case, our best bet is to walk right up to the place like we own it," Shada said briskly.

"Keep your hand near your blaster—that'll keep their attention on you. Not close enough that they try to draw first, though. If it comes to a fight, let me throw the first punch; and if it looks like I'm losing badly and you get an opening, make a run for it."

"Understood," Karrde said, finding himself amused despite the seriousness of the situation. Shada had mostly kept to herself aboard the Wild Karrde, not joining into the normal shipboard camaraderie or showing any real interest in getting to know the crew. But yet here she was, slipping back into the role of bodyguard, preparing to defend Karrde's life even at the cost of her own. What struck him the most was the sense that, down deep, she genuinely meant it. The four sentries let them get to within a few meters of the rows of parked swoops before saying anything. "Tapcafe's closed," one of them called.

"That's all right," Karrde said, not breaking stride as he glanced incuriously over at them. "We're not thirsty."

The swoopers had looked like they were lounging casually on their vehicles. They weren't. Before Karrde and Shada had taken two more steps they'd zoomed across the square and skidded to a halt between the newcomers and the parked swoops. "I said the place is closed," the one who'd spoken repeated darkly, the long maneuvering vanes of his swoop pointed with unsubtle threat directly at Karrde's chest. "Go away."

Karrde shook his head. "Sorry. We have business with Crev Bombaasa that can't wait." One of the others snorted. "Listen to him," he said derisively. "He thinks he can just walk in on Bombaasa anytime he wants. Pretty funny, huh, Langre?"

"Hilarious," the spokesman agreed, his face not showing any evidence of humor. "Last chance, murk. Leave in one piece or in a bunch of 'em."

"Lord Bombaasa is going to be very displeased if you don't let us in," Karrde warned.

"Yeah?" Langre sneered, nudging his swoop forward. "Like I'm really scared."

"You should be," Karrde said, taking a step backward as the maneuvering vanes poked perilously close to his chest. Shada, he noted peripherally, hadn't moved backward with him but was still standing where he'd left her, shrinking wide-eyed back from the swoop snorting and vibrating its way alongside her as if terrified by its presence. "Lord Bombaasa doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Then I guess we ought to hurry up and put you in a box for him," Langre said, sneering a little harder. He nudged the swoop forward another meter, forcing Karrde to take another rapid step backward. Not quite rapid enough; the tips of the maneuvering vanes jabbed sharply against his chest before he could get out of the way.

One of the other swoopers chortled. Grinning maliciously, Langre gave the swoop another burst of the throttle, clearly intent on knocking Karrde down this time. The movement brought him directly alongside Shada—

And in that instant, she struck.

It was doubtful Langre even saw it coming. One moment Shada was standing there, transfixed like a frightened animal in a hunter's sights; the next moment she had swung her left leg back, rotated her upper body toward the swoop, and slammed her right fist into the side of his neck. There may have been a distinctive "pop" accompanying the flat crack of the blow; Karrde wasn't sure. What he was sure of, as Langre did a sideways cartwheel off his swoop onto the ground, was that this one was definitely out of the fight.

The other three had excellent reflexes. Before Langre even hit the sand they had twisted their handlebars around and roared off in different directions across the square, forestalling any attempt Shada might have made to similarly take them down. Cutting close to the surrounding buildings, they curved around and stopped short, turning their swoops around to point toward Shada.

"Get out of the way!" Shada snapped to Karrde, moving to the center of the square and dropping into a low combat stance. Turning her head back and forth, she looked at each of the swoopers in turn as if daring them to take her on.

For a few seconds they seemed to ignore her challenge as they discussed the situation in a hand-signal code Karrde didn't recognize. Taking advantage of the lull, he backed up until he reached the edge of the square. So far the swoopers hadn't shown any inclination to draw the weapons they were undoubtedly carrying, but that could change at any time. Watching them closely, he dropped his hand to his blaster—

"I don't think so," a gruff voice said in his ear.

Carefully, Karrde turned his head, the caution dictated by the hard muzzle suddenly pressed against the small of his back. Three hard-faced men in Security Legion uniforms were standing there, the last of them in the process of closing the concealed doorway that had opened up in the building behind him. "You're just in time, Legionnaire," Karrde said to the leader. This was probably futile, but he had to try. "My friend's in danger out there."

"Yeah?" the other said, pulling Karrde's blaster from its holster. "Looked to me like she was the one who started it. Anyway, trying to bluster your way in to see Bombaasa is a crime all by itself around here."

"Even if Bombaasa decides he's glad we dropped in to visit?" Karrde countered. "You'd be in serious trouble."

"Nah," the Legionnaire said, sticking the appropriated blaster into his belt and coming around to Karrde's side. "That's why we got these," he added, hefting his weapon as he stepped a prudent meter away from his prisoner. It was, Karrde saw now, not a blaster but an old Merr-Sonn tangle gun. "If Bombaasa decides he wants to see you, hey, we just cut you loose. If he doesn't"—he grinned evilly—"then you're already wrapped for burial. Real convenient." He gestured with the tangle gun. "Now shut up. I want to watch this." Throat tight with frustration, Karrde turned back to the square. The Wild Karrde's crew wouldn't be able to get here fast enough to help, even if he could get to his comlink to alert them. He could only hope that Shada was as good as she claimed.

And at that moment, their private consultation finished, the swoopers attacked. They didn't all charge at once, as Karrde had rather expected them to. Suspecting perhaps that Shada would try to maneuver them into head-on collisions if they did that, two of them instead began tracing out a loose encircling ring around her while the third drove hard and straight directly in. Shada stood her ground, but just before the maneuvering vanes reached her chest she dropped back flat onto her back. The thug whooped with glee as his swoop shot past over her, a triumphal shout that turned into a squawk of surprise as Shada tucked her legs to her chest and kicked hard straight up, catching the swoop just forward of the directional thrust nozzles and bucking the swooper right out of the saddle.

It only took a second for him to get himself reseated and regain control. But in the enclosed area of the square that was a half second too long, and with a horrendous crash both swoop and thug slammed full-bore into one of the buildings.

The Legionnaire beside Karrde whistled softly. "That's two," he commented. "She's good." Karrde didn't reply. Shada was back on her feet now, and the two remaining swoops had pulled their circle a little farther back as if afraid to let her get too close. If they decided that she wasn't worth the risk of another wreck and pulled their blasters...

And then he noticed one of the swoopers glaring at the trio of Legionnaires; and with that single look he realized that the use of blasters was now completely out of the question. With this many witnesses watching, pride alone dictated that they deal with her without weapons. The two swoops were still circling. "Come on, Barksy," the head Legionnaire called. "Not afraid, are you?"

"Scrub it, murk," one of the swoopers snapped back.

"That's Lieutenant Murk to you, scum," the Legionnaire murmured under his breath. Abruptly, Barksy swung his swoop out of the circle and charged inward. The same basic technique his predecessor had tried, and Karrde found himself holding his breath as Shada again fell back onto the sand ahead of its advance. Surely the swooper couldn't be so stupid as to try the same trick again.

He wasn't. Even as Shada hit the ground he pulled back hard on his handlebar controls, the swoop's nose rearing up as the vehicle slid a couple of meters farther before pulling to a hard stop. With a triumphal shout, he swiveled a hundred eighty degrees and brought the swoop's nose down hard on the spot where Shada had landed.

But Shada was no longer there. Instead of simply hitting the sand and staying there as she had the last time, she had instead thrown her body into a convulsive, wavelike movement as she hit the ground, her arching back and legs bouncing her off the sand and up into an impossible-looking hand-and-foot grip on the underside of the swoop. Somehow she managed to hold on through the spin and nose-slam; and as the swooper leaned over, open-mouthed, for a closer look at the empty ground where his victim should have been, she unhooked one of her feet from its perch and landed a solid kick against the side of his head.

Beside Karrde, the lieutenant clucked his tongue. "I don't believe it," he muttered, clearly as stunned as Barksy had been before Shada's kick cleaned all confusion from his mind. "Who is this bahshi, anyway?"

"One of the best in the business," Karrde assured him, pitching his voice in the sort of low, confidential tone that just naturally seemed to go along with the half step he took toward the man. Another step the same size, he estimated, and he would be close enough. "Actually, that was nothing," he added, lowering his voice still more and simultaneously taking that extra half step. "Wait till you see what she does to this one."

He threw a careful glance to his side. The lieutenant was hooked, all right, staring in glassy-eyed fascination at the drama in the square, waiting to see what magic the mysterious woman would pull next from her sleeve.

The last swooper seemed to make up his mind. Pulling out of his circle at the far end of the square, he leaned low over his handlebar controllers and charged. Shada feinted left and then dodged right, the end of the jutting thrust nozzles missing her hip by bare centimeters. The swooper spun the vehicle hard around, clearly hoping to catch her from the side with the long nose of the swoop. But he had misjudged his speed, and the swinging maneuvering vanes scythed past her with plenty of room to spare. It took him a few more meters to kill his spin and momentum, bringing himself to a halt no more than three meters from Karrde and the Legionnaires. He swiveled around again to face Shada, shoulders hunched with anticipation—

And with a smoothly casual movement, Karrde plucked the tangle gun from the Legionnaire's hand and fired.

The swooper screeched an air-blistering curse as the semi-plastic webbing slammed into his back, whipping around him and pinioning his arms solidly to his sides. "As you were, gentlemen," Karrde said mildly, taking a long step away from the Legionnaires and shifting his aim to cover them.

"Cute," the lieutenant said. Oddly enough, he didn't seem particularly upset. "Real cute."

"I thought you'd like it," Karrde said, nodding to the other two Legionnaires. "Your weapons on the ground, please."

"That won't be necessary," a suave voice said from somewhere above him. Karrde risked a quick glance, but he could see no one. "No, I'm not there," the voice assured him, a touch of amusement in his tone. "I've been watching your performance from inside my casino, and I must admit to being impressed by your work. Tell me, what is it you want here?"

"To see you, of course, Lord Bombaasa," Karrde said to the hidden speaker. "I had hoped to collect on an old debt."

The lieutenant made an uncomfortable-sounding noise in his throat. But Bombaasa merely laughed. "I'm aware of no debt I owe you, my friend. But by all means let us talk about it. Lieutenant Maxiti?"

"Sir?" the lieutenant said, straightening automatically to attention.

"Give the gentleman back his blaster and escort him and the lady to the casino. And have your men clean the garbage out of the square."

* * *

The interior of the ThrusterBurn was a sharp contrast to the climate outside—a sharp contrast, for that matter, with nearly every low-rent cantina and tapcafe Shada had ever been in. The air was cool and comfortably dry, and while the booths lining the walls were dark enough to ensure privacy, the rest of the tapcafe was bright and almost cheerful.

Not that the current clientele was the sort that would appreciate such homey touches. There were about twenty of them, stamped-templet copies of the four she'd disposed of outside, all glaring balefully at the newcomers from their group of tables in one of the corners by the curved bar. Briefly, Shada wondered if Bombaasa had told them their sentries were being unceremoniously carted out of the square outside, but quickly dismissed the thought. A man who owned this kind of tapcafe would be unlikely to risk it by deliberately inviting a fight inside.

Nevertheless, she kept an eye on the swoopers as Lieutenant Maxiti led them across the main area to an unobtrusive door at the back of the dance floor.

The door opened as they approached, giving them a glimpse of a small back room, and a large, dark-eyed human stepped out. He threw a measuring glance at Karrde, an even longer look at Shada, and then nodded to the Legionnaire. "Thanks," he said to the latter, dismissing him with that single word, then looked back at Karrde. "Come on in," he invited, stepping aside to let them pass. The back room had been fitted out as a compact casino, with four tables around which a dozen or so beings of various species were busily engaged in a variety of card and dice games. With their minds and hopes pinned to their money, it was doubtful any of them even realized anyone new had come in.

All except one. A short, pudgy human with thin, sticklike arms, he sat alone at the largest table, his slightly bulging eyes focused unblinkingly on Karrde and Shada as they stepped into the room. Two large men with the same bodyguard look as the one now closing the door behind them stood at attention beside the pudgy man's chair, also eyeing the newcomers.

Shada grimaced, not liking this at all. But Karrde didn't hesitate. "Good day, Lord Bombaasa," he said, stepping right up to the edge of the table. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice." The two bodyguards seemed to tense, but Bombaasa merely smiled thinly. "Like the legendary Rastus Khal, I am always available to those who intrigue me," he said smoothly. "And you do indeed intrigue me."

His insectlike eyes shifted to Shada. "Though for a moment there I thought you had run out of tricks," he added. "If your companion hadn't snatched the lieutenant's tangle gun, you would have been in trouble."

"Hardly," Shada told him coolly. "I caught a reflection of him moving toward the Legionnaires and guessed he was about to try something. If it didn't work, he was going to need my help right away, and the swooper would keep."

Bombaasa shook his head admiringly. "An amazing display, my dear, truly amazing. Though I'm afraid that in the process you've ruined your gown. Perhaps I can arrange to have it cleaned before your departure."

"That's most generous of you, my lord," Karrde said before she could answer. "But I'm afraid we won't be able to stay on Pembric that long."

Bombaasa smiled again, but this time there was a distinct glint of menace to the expression. "That remains to be seen, my friend," he warned darkly. "And if you're another New Republic or Kathol sector emissary seeking to annex my territory, you may find your departure considerably delayed."

"I have no ties to any governmental group," Karrde assured him. "I'm merely a private citizen here to ask a favor."

"Indeed," Bombaasa said, toying idly with the subtly glittering throat pendant around his neck. "I have the distinct impression you don't realize what my favors cost."

"I believe you'll find this one has already been paid for," Karrde countered. "And it is only a small favor, after all. We have an errand to run inside your cartel's territory, and we'd like safe passage through your various pirate and hijacking gangs until we've completed it." Bombaasa's eyes widened politely. "Is that all," he said. "Come, come, my dear sir. A large, tempting target like your freighter, and you want safe passage?" He shook his head sadly. "No, you don't understand my fee scale at all."

Shada felt her muscles tensing, consciously relaxed them. All three bodyguards were armed and competent-looking; but if nudge came to punch, she doubted any of them had ever faced a Mistryl before.

Unfortunately, unlike the case with the swoopers, she wouldn't have the luxury of leaving them damaged but alive. She would have to take out the one behind them first...

"My mistake," Karrde said, his tone almost offhanded. "I assumed that when someone had saved your life you would be more grateful."

Bombaasa had been in the process of lifting a finger toward the bodyguards standing beside him. Now, at Karrde's words, he froze, the finger poised in midair. "What are you talking about?" he demanded cautiously.

"I'm talking about a situation that occurred here a little over six years ago," Karrde said. "One in which a rather dapper gentleman and a young lady with red-gold hair foiled an assassination plot against you."

For a pair of heartbeats Bombaasa continued to stare at Karrde. Shada threw a surreptitious glance at the two bodyguards, mentally plotting out her attack plan—

And with a suddenness that startled her, Bombaasa burst out laughing.

The other gamblers in the casino paused in their activities, turning to gape momentarily at what was apparently an uncommon sound in their quietly desperate little world. Bombaasa, still laughing, gave a hand signal, and the bodyguards visibly relaxed. "Ah, my friend," he said, still chuckling. "My friend, indeed. So you're the mysterious chieftain the young lady spoke of when she refused to accept any payment."

"I'm the one," Karrde said, nodding. "I believe she also suggested that a man of your obvious breeding wouldn't mind carrying the debt until it could be properly repaid."

"She did indeed." Bombaasa waved a thin hand at Shada. "And now you bring this one. I would never have expected there to even exist two such beautiful yet deadly ladies, let alone loyal to the same man."

He cocked an eye toward Shada. "Or are you committed to this man, my dear?" he added. "If you would be interested in discussing a change of career, I could make it well worth your while."

"I'm not committed to anyone," Shada said, the words hurting her throat as she said them. "But for the moment, I'm traveling with him."

"Ah." Bombaasa peered closely at her, as if trying to gauge her sincerity, then shrugged. "If you should change your mind, you have merely to come see me," he said. "My door will always be open to you."

He returned his attention to Karrde. "You are right: I do indeed owe you," he said. "Before you leave, I'll provide you with a special ID overlay for your ship that will identify you as being under my protection."

His lips compressed. "However, though it will certainly protect you from members of my cartel, it may at the same time create extra danger for you. Over the past year a vicious new pirate gang has relocated to this area, one which we have so far been unable to either eliminate or bring under our control. I suspect they would consider a freighter under my protection to be a particularly intriguing challenge."

Karrde shrugged. "As you pointed out earlier, we would be a tempting target regardless of that. We are, of course, not nearly as vulnerable as we appear."

"I have no doubt of that," Bombaasa said. "However, the enemy is quite well equipped, with a sizable fleet of SoroSuub Corsair-class assault starfighters as well as a number of larger ships. If you can spare the time, perhaps you would allow my people to do some quick upgrades of your weaponry or shields."

"I appreciate your offer," Karrde said, "and if circumstances were otherwise I would be all too happy to accept. But I'm afraid our errand is a pressing one, and we simply can't afford to take the time."

"Ah," Bombaasa said. "Very well, then. Leave when you must—the ID overlay will be ready when you are." He smiled slyly. "And of course, for you there will be no exit visa required."

"You are most generous, my lord," Karrde said, bowing slightly at the waist. "Thank you; and the debt is now paid." Taking Shada's arm, he turned to go—

"One other thing, my friend," Bombaasa called them back. "Neither of your associates gave me their names when they were here, nor would they tell me yours. I would appreciate it if you would satisfy my curiosity."

Beside her, Shada sensed Karrde brace himself. "Of course, Lord Bombaasa. My name is Talon Karrde."

The pudgy figure seemed to sit up a little straighter. "Talon Karrde," he breathed. "Indeed. Some of my, ah, business associates have spoken of you. Often at great length."

"I'm sure they have," Karrde said. "Particularly those Hutt agencies with whom your cartel has ties."

For a moment Bombaasa's eyes narrowed. Then his expression cleared and he smiled again. "The Hutts are right: you indeed know far more than is healthy for you. Still, as long as you don't seek to extend your organization into my territory, what have I to fear?"

"Nothing at all, my lord," Karrde agreed. "Thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps we shall meet again someday."

"Yes," Bombaasa said softly. "There is always that chance."

* * *

The Legionnaire lieutenant, Maxiti, offered to get them a ride back to their landing pad. But Karrde declined. It was only a short walk, after all, and after a taste of the Pembric climate the somewhat austere conditions aboard the Wild Karrde would seem that much more pleasant. Besides, after the tone of that last exchange with Bombaasa, it wouldn't do to look as if they were hurrying to get away from him.

"Who's Rastus Khal?" Shada asked.

With an effort, Karrde brought his mind back from dark visions of vengeful crimelords having second thoughts. "Who?"

"Rastus Khal," Shada repeated. "Bombaasa dropped the name right after we were shown in."

"He was a fictional character from some masterpiece of Corellian literature," Karrde said. "I forget which one. Bombaasa is quite literate, or so I've heard. Apparently, he likes to consider himself a cultured sort of cutthroat."

Shada snorted. "Cultured. But he deals with Hutts."

Karrde shrugged. "I agree. One reason the Hutts and I don't get along, I suppose." For a minute they walked in silence. "You knew he was connected with the Hutt syndicates," Shada said. "Yet you told him who you were. Why?"

"I'm not expecting Bombaasa to renege on his deal with us, if that's what you're worried about," Karrde said. "Cultured beings always repay their debts, and Mara and Lando did indeed save his life."

"The question wasn't so much about Bombaasa as it was about you," Shada countered. "He didn't need to know who you were, and I've seen your expertise at dodging questions you don't want to answer. So why did you tell him?"

"Because I'm guessing word of this encounter will get back to Jorj Car'das," Karrde said quietly.

"This way, he'll know it's me who's coming to see him."

He sensed Shada frown. "Excuse me? I thought the idea was for us to sneak up quietly on him."

"The idea is to see if he has a copy of the Caamas Document," Karrde corrected her. "If we appear suddenly, without any warning, he's liable to simply kill all of us before we have a chance to talk to him."

"And if he does know we're coming?" Shada retorted. "Sounds to me like all it does is give him more preparation time."

"Exactly," Karrde said soberly. "And if he feels ready for us, he may be more inclined to listen before he shoots."

"You seem convinced he'll shoot."

Karrde hesitated. Should he tell her, he wondered, exactly why he'd allowed her to come on this trip?

No, he decided. Not yet. At best she would probably feel insulted or offended. At worst, she might refuse to go along with it at all. "I think there's a good chance he will, yes," he said instead.

"Knowing that it's you."

Karrde nodded. "Knowing that it's me."

"Uh-huh," Shada said. "What did you do to this guy, anyway?" Karrde felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. "I stole something from him," he told her. "Something he valued more than anything else in the universe. Probably more than he valued his own life." They walked in silence for another few steps. "Go on," Shada prompted. Karrde forced a smile. "I only promised you half the story today," he reminded her, trying to put some lightness into his tone. "That was it. Your turn."

"What, why I left Mazzic?" Shada shrugged. "There's not much to tell. I left because a bodyguard who becomes a target herself can't do much good for anyone else."

So Shada had become a target. That was very interesting indeed. "May I ask who's suicidal enough to be gunning for you?"

"Sure, go ahead and ask," Shada said. "You're not going to get an answer, though. Not until I get the rest of the Car'das story."

"Somehow, I was expecting you to say that," Karrde murmured.

"So when do I get it?"

Karrde looked up through the haze at the dim glow of Pembric's sun. "Soon," he promised. "Very soon."

CHAPTER

5

"The sixth sumptuous hour of the fifteenth glorious day of the yearly Kanchen Sector Conference now begins," the herald intoned, his deep voice echoing across the bowl-shaped field where the various delegates sat, squatted, lay, or crouched, according to their species' particular physiological design. "Let us all hail and magnify the Grandiose Elector of Pakrik Major, and bid him express his sublime and all-encompassing wisdom in his leading of this gathering." The assembled beings called or growled their agreement with the herald's sentiment. All but Han; and lounging beside him on the feathery matgrass, Leia had to smile in private amusement. Coming out here had been Han's idea, after all: a temporary respite from the bitter dissension and the gnawing suspicions that had been churning through the New Republic government ever since that partially destroyed copy of the Caamas Document had come to light.

And it had been a good idea, too. In the half day since their arrival Leia had already begun to feel the tension draining out of her. Getting away from Coruscant was exactly what she'd needed, and she'd taken great pains to mention that to her husband at least twice now and to thank him for his thoughtfulness.

At the moment, unfortunately, all her reassurances were falling on deaf ears. Once again, Han had failed to take into account what Leia privately referred to as the Solo Embarrassment Factor.

"And let us similarly hail and magnify our glorious visitors from the New Republic," the herald continued, waving his hand in an expansive gesture toward where Han and Leia were stretched out.

"May their sublime wisdom, awesome courage, and magnificent honor enlighten the sky above our gathering."

"You forgot our uplifted eyebrows," Han muttered under his breath as the assembly roared out their greetings.

"It's better than Coruscant," Leia chided him gently as she half rose and waved. "Come on, Han, be nice."

"I'm waving, I'm waving," Han grumbled, leaning up on one arm and waving reluctantly with the other. "I don't know why they have to do this every hour."

"Would you rather have people accusing us of helping cover up attempted genocide?" Leia countered.

"I'd rather they just left us alone," Han said, giving one last wave and then dropping his hand back down. Leia lowered hers as well, and the approving roar of the delegates died away.

"Patience, dear," Leia said as the herald bowed deeply and yielded the podium to the elaborately dressed Grandiose Elector. "It's only for the rest of the day—you can put up with it that long. Tomorrow we'll head over to Pakrik Minor and get all that peace and quiet you promised me."

"It just better be real peaceful and quiet," Han warned, looking around at the crowd of delegates.

"It will be," Leia assured him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "They may be all pomp and pageantry here on Pakrik Major, but over there among the tallgrain farms we probably won't find anyone who even recognizes us."

Han snorted, but even as he did Leia could sense a lightening of his mood. "Yeah," he said. "We'll see."

* * *

"Carib?"

With a wince of tired knees Carib Devist got up from where he'd been crouching, careful not to bump into either of the two rows of tallgrain pressing close around him. "I'm over here, Sabmin," he called, waving his coring tool as high over the stalks as he could reach.

"I see you," Sabmin called back. There was the crackle of brittle leaves being brushed against; and then Sabmin emerged through a gap in the row. "I had to come right—" He broke off, frowning at the tool in Carib's hand. "Uh-oh."

"Save the uh-ohs for polite company," Carib said sourly. "Just say shavit and mean it." Sabmin hissed softly between his teeth. "How many colonies?" he asked.

"So far, just the one," Carib said, waving the corer toward the tailgrain stalk he'd been digging into. "And I did find an empress, so it's possible I got the whole infestation. But I wouldn't bet money on it."

"I'll alert the others," Sabmin said. "Probably should get word to the tri-valley coordinator, too, in case this isn't the only valley the bugs are moving into."

"Yeah." Carib eyed his brother. "And what wonderful news have you brought me?" Sabmin's lips compressed. "We just got confirmation from Bastion," he said quietly. "New Republic High Councilor Leia Organa Solo is definitely over on Pakrik Major. And the attack on her is definitely on."

Reflexively, Carib glanced up at the half-lit planet hanging in the sky overhead. "They must be crazy," he said. "Attack a New Republic High Councilor, just like that?"

"I don't think they really cared who they got to attack, so long as it was a New Republic official," Sabmin said. "Apparently, the Grandiose Elector sent out a blanket invitation to Coruscant asking for a representative. My guess is that the request was prodded by some Imperial plant, with an eye to the fact that we were already in place here and could act as backup. It was just luck that Gavrisom decided to send Organa Solo."

"Yeah," Carib said darkly. "Luck. Did this come over Grand Admiral Thrawn's personal authorization?"

"I don't know," Sabmin said. "The notice didn't say. But it has to have come from him, doesn't it?

I mean, if he's in command, then he's in command."

"I suppose so," Carib conceded reluctantly. So there it was. The war was about to be brought suddenly and violently to the Pakrik system. Right to their doorstep... and the long wait was over. The quiet existence of Imperial Sleeper Cell Jenth-44 was about to come to an end. "You say we're the backup. Who's the primary?"

"I don't know," Sabmin said. "Some tag team in from Bastion for the occasion, I'd guess."

"And when is it supposed to happen?"

"Tomorrow," Sabmin said. "Organa Solo and her husband are supposed to be coming over here to Minor once the conference breaks up."

"And there's no indication whether the attack is real or just supposed to look real?" Sabmin gave him a startled look, an expression that quickly turned knowing and thoughtful.

"Interesting point," he said. "With Thrawn involved you can't take anything for granted, can you? No, all I know is that there's an attack coming and that we're supposed to stand ready in case Solo's better or luckier than expected."

Carib grimaced. "I suppose even Solo's luck has to run out sooner or later."

"Yeah." Sabmin eyed him suspiciously. "What are you thinking?" Carib looked up at the sky again. "I'm thinking we have to play this by ear," he said quietly. "One thing's for sure, though: if the battle comes anywhere near our valley, no matter who's winning, we're definitely not going to just sit by and watch. We've invested too much here to let it go without a fight." Sabmin nodded. "Understood," he said soberly. "I'll pass the word to the others. Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll be ready."

* * *

Ahead, through the alien greenery, a stand of gnarled trees brushed past the screen to Pellaeon's left, and the AT-AT simulator bucked to the right in response. "Watch those trees, Admiral," Major Raines's voice warned in his helmet headphone. "You probably won't knock yourself over that way, but I've seen walkers get hung up so bad you had to send a couple of troopers down to blow the tree off at the roots. Takes time, and you're a sitting flink until you get free."

"Acknowledged," Pellaeon said, easing over away from the trees. Simulated AT-AT combat, frustrating though it could be sometimes, was far enough outside his normal command duties that it was actually a form of relaxation for him.

Though of course nothing that included combat was ever truly outside a Supreme Commander's duties. The better Pellaeon understood how mechanized equipment handled on difficult terrain, the better he would know how to deploy them in future operations.

Assuming, of course, the Empire ever again had occasion to launch ground assaults. Firmly, he shook the thought away. One of the reasons for coming down here, after all, had been to distract himself from the continued and frustrating lack of response to his peace offer on the New Republic's part.

He was past the stand of trees now. Easing back on his speed, he keyed for a side view to see how Raines was handling the jungle.

Very straightforwardly, actually. Keeping an eye farther ahead than Pellaeon was doing, he was using his forward laser cannon to cut down potential obstacles well before they became a problem. A fairly noisy technique, of course, and one that gave any enemies that much more advance warning. On the other hand, AT-ATs were hardly the weapon of choice where stealth was required, and Raines's method was definitely moving him through the jungle faster than Pellaeon. Lifting his gaze, trying to stifle the reflexive impulse to watch where his AT-AT was about to step, he squeezed off a few tentative shots.

"That's the way, Admiral," Raines said approvingly. "Just try to anticipate where the trouble's going to be before you're too close to aim the guns where they can do any good." Pellaeon grunted. "Better yet, avoid using AT-ATs entirely in this situation."

"Whenever we can," Raines said. "Unfortunately, troublemakers like to hide themselves in places like this and then put up energy shields over their heads. Besides, there's nothing like an AT-AT

clumping through the trees to scare the sneer off someone's face."

There was a click from the headset. "Admiral, this is Ardiff," the Chimaera's captain's voice came. "Lieutenant Mavron is on his way in." There was just the briefest pause. "He reports, sir, that he has a vector."

Pellaeon felt his eyes narrow. Mavron's mission had been a long shot, one last attempt to find out something about the force that had hit them six days ago. If he said he'd found a vector... "Have him report to Ready Room 14 as soon as he docks," he instructed Ardiff, shutting off the simulator. "I'll meet you there."

Ardiff was waiting alone in the ready room when Pellaeon arrived. "I assumed this was to be a private meeting, so I cleared the other pilots out," he explained. "Is this about that HoloNet search?"

"I hope so," Pellaeon said, waving him to one of the chairs around the central monitor table and sitting down himself. "Ah—Lieutenant," he added as the door slid open and Mavron stepped inside.

"Welcome home. A vector, you said?"

"Yes, sir," Mavron said, setting a datapad down on the monitor table and easing himself into a chair with the peculiar stiffness of a man who has been sitting in a starfighter cockpit for too long. "The HoloNet relay at Horska did indeed still have their records for transmissions from this area just after that raid against us."

"You were able to pull them all, I presume?" Pellaeon asked, picking up the datapad.

"Yes, sir," Mavron said. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get any names, but I did get endpoints for the transmissions." He nodded toward the datapad. "I took the liberty of sifting through them on the way back. The one I marked struck me as the most interesting."

Pellaeon felt his jaw tighten as he found the lieutenant's mark. "Bastion." Ardiff rumbled deep in his throat. "So it was an Imperial behind that attack."

"There's more," Mavron said. "The original endpoint was Bastion; but then it got relayed a few more times and wound up somewhere in the Kroctar system."

"Kroctar system?" Ardiff said, frowning. "That's deep in New Republic territory. What would someone from Bastion be doing there?"

"I wondered that, too," Mavron said, his voice suddenly grim. "So I stopped off at Caursito on the way back here and pulled a copy of the TriNebulon for that day. If the timings are correct, a few hours after that transmission the Unified Factions of Kroctar announced that a treaty had been negotiated between themselves and the Empire. The mediator of record—well, according to Lord Superior Bosmihi, it was Grand Admiral Thrawn."

An icy chill ran up Pellaeon's back. "That's impossible," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "Thrawn is dead. I watched him die."

"Yes, sir," Mavron said, nodding. "But according to the report—"

"I watched him die!" Pellaeon thundered.

The sudden outburst surprised even him. It certainly startled Ardiff and Mavron. "Yes, sir, we know," Ardiff said. "Obviously, it's some kind of trick. Lieutenant, I imagine the rest can wait until you file your complete report. Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up."

"Thank you, sir," Mavron said, clearly glad to be given the opportunity to escape. "I'll have my report filed within an hour."

"Very good." Ardiff nodded. "Dismissed."

He waited until Mavron had gone and the door was once again closed before speaking. "It is a trick, Admiral," he said to Pellaeon. "It has to be."

With an effort, Pellaeon pulled his thoughts back from the memories of that awful day at Bilbringi. The day the Empire had finally and irrevocably died. "Yes," he murmured. "But what if it's not? What if Thrawn really is still alive?"

"Why, in that case..." Ardiff trailed off, his forehead wrinkled in sudden uncertainty.

"Exactly," Pellaeon said, nodding. "The time when Thrawn's tactical genius could have done us any good was—when? Five years ago? Seven? Ten? What could he possibly do now except bring the New Republic down on us in panic?"

"I don't know, sir." Ardiff paused. "But that's not what's really bothering you." Pellaeon looked down at his hands. Old hands, gnarled with age and darkened by the sunlight of a thousand worlds. "I was with Thrawn for just over a year," he told Ardiff. "I was his senior fleet officer, his student"—he hesitated—"perhaps even his confidant. I'm not sure. The point is that he chose the Chimaera and me when he returned from the Unknown Regions. He didn't just pick us at random; he chose us."

"No, there wasn't much Thrawn did at random," Ardiff agreed. "From which it follows that if he's back...?"

"That he's chosen someone else," Pellaeon finished the other's sentence, the words a sharp ache in his heart. "And there can be only a very few reasons why he would do that."

"It can't be position," Ardiff said firmly. "You are Supreme Commander, after all. And it certainly can't be competence. What's left?"

"Vision, perhaps," Pellaeon suggested, tapping the datapad gently with a fingertip. "This peace proposal was my idea, you know. I came up with it, I argued for it, and I crammed it down the Moffs'

throats. Moff Disra was one of those who loudly and strongly opposed it. Moff Disra of Bastion. Coincidence?"

For a moment Ardiff was silent. "All right," he said. "Even if we grant all that—which I don't, by the way—why send a pirate or mercenary group out here to attack us? Why not simply come here and tell you directly that the treaty idea is off?"

"I don't know," Pellaeon said. "Perhaps it isn't off. Perhaps this is exactly where Thrawn wants me to be. Either preparing to talk to Bel Iblis, for whatever reason, or else—" He pursed his lips. "Or else simply out of his way. Where I can't interfere with whatever he's planning."

The silence this time stretched out painfully. "I don't believe he would do that to you, sir," Ardiff said at last. But the words carried no genuine conviction that Pellaeon could hear. "Not after all you went through together."

"You don't believe that any more than I do," Pellaeon said quietly. "Thrawn wasn't human, you know, no matter how human he might have looked. He was an alien, with alien thoughts and purposes and agendas. Perhaps I was never more to him than just one more tool he could use in reaching his goal. Whatever that goal was."

Almost hesitantly, Ardiff reached over and touched Pellaeon's arm. "It's been a long road, sir," he said. "Long and hard and discouraging. For all of us, but mostly for you. If there's anything I can do..." Pellaeon forced a smile. "Thank you, Captain. Don't worry; I'm not going to give up. Not until I've seen this through."

"We're staying here, then?" Ardiff asked.

"For a few more days," Pellaeon said. "I want to give Bel Iblis every possible chance."

"And if he doesn't show?"

"Whether he does or not, we'll be going to Bastion next," Pellaeon said, hearing a touch of grimness in his voice. "For this and other matters, Moff Disra has some explaining to do."

"Yes, sir," Ardiff said, standing up. "We'll hope that this whole Thrawn appearance is just some trick of his."

"We most certainly will not," Pellaeon reproved him mildly. "Thrawn's return would revitalize our people and bring nothing but good to the Empire. I would never want it said that I valued my own pride above that."

Ardiff colored slightly. "No, sir, of course not. My apologies, Admiral."

"No apologies necessary, Captain," Pellaeon assured him, getting to his feet. "As you said, it's been a long, hard road. But it's nearly over. One way or another, it's nearly over."

* * *

The entry procedures at the Drev'starn Spaceport were considerably tighter today than they'd been the last time Drend Navett had landed here on the Bothan homeworld. Hardly surprising, considering the events of the past five days. With the surprise Leresen attack against their orbital manufacturing plant and the subsequent multispecies military buildup in the sky overhead, tensions were growing at a rapid and eminently satisfying pace.

And the Bothans' normally business-friendly procedures had suffered as a result. Once little more than a formality, exit from the spaceport quarantine area now required a complete ID check and cargo scan.

Not that that mattered to Navett. This time through, there was nothing in his cargo that would raise even a paranoid Bothan's fur. And his ID was as perfect as only Imperial Intelligence could make them.

"Your identification and personal effects appear to be in order," the Bothan customs official said after the fifteen-minute procedure that seemed to be the norm today. "However, the Importation Department will have to run further tests on your animals before they can be allowed into the city proper."

"Sure, no problem," Navett said, waving his hand in one of the expansive gestures typical of the Betreasley district on Fedje where his ID claimed he'd been born. He had no idea whether the Bothan would notice subtleties of that sort, but the first law of infiltration was to wear a role the way a stormtrooper wore his armor. "Hey, I done this on dozens of planets," he added. "I know how this quarantine thing works."

The Bothan's fur rippled, just noticeably. "On many worlds, you say?" he asked. "Is there some problem you have with maintaining ownership of your shops?"

Navett frowned, as if trying to decipher his way through a complicated sentence, then let his face clear. "Naw, you got it all wrong," he said. "I'm not tryin' to set up a place I can settle down in. 'Sides, unless you got a bunch of guys to run the racks for you, you can't make a go of the exotic pet business unless you keep movin'. Lot of potential stock you'll never even hear about unless you go where they come from."

"Perhaps," the Bothan murmured. "But I suspect you will not find much of a market on Bothawui in these troubled times."

"You kiddin'?" Navett said, letting some oily smugness show through. "Hey, this place is perfect. A planet under siege—lots of tension—that's exactly where folks are going to need a pet to get their minds off their troubles. Trust me—I seen it happen dozens of times."

"If you say so," the Bothan said with a ripple of his shoulder fur, obviously not caring whether this slightly uncouth alien made a profit here or not. "Leave me your comlink frequency and code and you'll be notified when the quarantine is ended."

"Thanks," Navett said, collecting his documents together. "Make it fast, okay?"

"It will be as quick as regulations require," the Bothan said. "A day of peace and profit to you."

"Yeah. Same to you."

Five minutes later Navett was walking down the street, jostling his way through the mass of travelers hurrying in and out of the spaceport. Passing up the rows of for-hire landspeeders, he put his back to the setting sun and headed off on foot toward a row of cheap hotels bordering the spaceport area.

With his back to the sun, he spotted the shadow coming up behind him a few seconds before Klif dropped into step at his side. "Any problems?" the other asked quietly.

"No, it went real smooth," Navett said. "You?"

Klif shook his head. "Not a one. He took the bribe, by the way, but he wouldn't promise we'd get the animals out any sooner."

"Not with a bribe that small," Navett agreed, smiling to himself. An insultingly small gratuity from the pet dealer's assistant, and none at all from the dealer himself, ought to nicely reinforce their carefully constructed image as small-timers trying to turn a fast profit without the slightest idea how the game was played.

And with the Bothans, an image like that practically guaranteed them to be the focus of private amusement, back-room contempt, and complete official disinterest.

Which meant that when the time was right for the Drev'starn section of the Bothawui planetary shield to come down, it would.

"You see Horvic or Pensin in there?" Klif asked. "I didn't spot either of them."

"No, but I'm sure they got in all right," Navett said. "We can tap the rendezvous point tomorrow if we can find a shop fast enough."

"I picked up a rental listing," Klif said. "Most of them come with apartments above them."

"That'll be handy," Navett said. "We'll look through it tonight and see if there's anything in the right area. If not, we can always check with a rental agent in the morning." Klif chuckled. "Don't worry—we've got plenty of bribe money left."

"Yes," Navett murmured, looking around. Fifteen years ago, according to rumor, it had been information from Bothan spies that had led the Rebel Alliance to Endor and resulted in the death of Emperor Palpatine and the destruction of the second Death Star. In the years since then, Bothans had been involved with the Black Sun organization, the destruction of Mount Tantiss, and any number of other blows against the Empire.

He didn't know the full scope of the plan that was under way here; but of all the worlds Grand Admiral Thrawn might have chosen for destruction, few would have given him more personal satisfaction than this one.

They had reached their chosen hotel now, and as they started up the steps an ancient droid standing warden beside the door stirred himself. "Good even, good sirs," he wheezed. "May I call for a baggage carrier?"

"Naw, we can handle 'em," Navett said. "No sense wasting good money on a droid."

"But, sir, the service is free," the droid said, sounding confused. But by then Navett and Klif were past him, pushing through the doors and strolling into the lobby. They were, he noted, the only hotel guests carrying their own bags.

But that was all right. Let the Bothans and their more sophisticated guests snicker at them behind their backs, if they chose, When the fire began to rain from the sky, the laughter would turn to screams of terror.

And Navett would be enjoying every minute of it.