Vision of the future

CHAPTER

17

With one final truncated lightsaber sweep, the last of the chunks came away from the opening and crashed hollowly to the rocky floor. "There," Luke said, peering into the hole. "What do you think?" Mara stepped close to his side and shined her glow rod into the opening. "Still going to be tight for the droid," she said. "But I think it'll do."

Luke glanced back over his shoulder, to the eight Qom Jha hanging from the passageway ceiling. Yes, it would do. More importantly, now that Splitter Of Stones and Keeper Of Promises had returned with the Qom Jha hunters Eater Of Fire Creepers had promised, they should get moving before they lost any prestige in their guides' eyes.

Or to put it another way, before they lost so much confidence in Master Walker Of Sky that they decided to back out of this trip entirely. They hadn't said much about Builder With Vines's violent death, but they were definitely avoiding the area where their friend had died. And they weren't going out of their way to be nice to Child Of Winds, either. If he and Mara didn't get moving, there was likely to be more of the same trouble they'd already had too much of.

"I agree," he said, returning his lightsaber to his belt and stepping over to the shrunken collection of items that had been his pack before the fire creepers had gotten to it. Aside from the food bars in their metal case, the spare blaster power packs and glow rods, and some of the syntherope, there wasn't much left. The bedrolls, survival tent, medpacs, even the detonator casings on the grenades had all been ravaged into useless shreds. "I guess we just take whatever we can salvage of this stuff?"

"That's what I'm doing," Mara said. She had one of her ration boxes open and was sorting out the bars between the various pockets in her jumpsuit. "Soldiers' first rule: concentrate on the food."

"Understood," Luke said, starting to fill his own pockets. Artoo rolled unsteadily up to him on the uneven ground and with a beep of invitation slid open the hidden compartment in his dome. "I'm putting what's left of the syntherope in Artoo," Luke called to Mara, stuffing the coil into the compartment. "In case you need it."

"Fine," Mara said. "I'm ready."

"Me, too," Luke said, gazing into the darkness. "You want to stay with the same marching order?"

"You mean with you in front and me behind handling the luggage?" Mara asked, nodding toward Artoo.

Luke felt his face warming. "I meant—"

"I know what you meant," Mara said, giving him a wry smile. "But you're the Jedi; and if there's anything in there with big teeth, you've got the best chance of toasting it before it draws blood. So. After you."

Luke looked up at the waiting Qom Jha. "Sure," he said, shifting his glow rod to his left hand and drawing his lightsaber. "We're ready, Splitter Of Stones."

Follow me, the Qom Jha said, dropping off the ceiling and fluttering into the darkness. It was quickly evident that their route wasn't so much a passageway as it was a narrow, V-shaped crack in the rock. Within the first three steps Luke was forced to return his lightsaber to his belt and wedge his glow rod into his tunic to free up his hands to help pull himself along. Behind him he could hear Artoo's continuous nervous twittering and the occasional muted thunk where Mara bumped him into one of the side walls.

Each time that happened, he had to fight back the impulse to offer his help. If Mara needed him, she would ask. Probably.

Fortunately, the crack was only no more than three meters long, with a yellowish wall blocking the far end. This is the way inside, Splitter Of Stones said from a perch at a small gap that broached the yellow wall near the top. Beyond this wall is the High Tower.

"I'd say we're here," Mara commented. "That wall's definitely artificial."

"Agreed," Luke said, wedging himself into a more or less steady position in front of the wall and drawing his lightsaber. "You and Artoo keep back."

The wall was quite thin and, more importantly, not made of cortosis ore. Three quick slices of the green blade, and they had their entrance.

Luke dropped through the opening, lightsaber and Jedi senses at the ready. Beyond the wall was a dark, high-ceilinged room, incredibly dusty, that extended out beyond the range of his glow rod beam. Spaced along the walls at two different heights were elaborately tooled wall sconces that looked like they had once held torches or torchlike lights. Above the sconces, at perhaps a dozen other points around the room, other gaps showed where sections of the yellow wall had crumbled away from the ceiling. Aside from the sconces, there were no other decorations or furnishings.

"Doesn't look like Hijarna," Mara muttered from behind him, waving her own glow rod around.

"What?" Luke asked.

"There's a ruined fortress on the planet Hijarna," she explained. "Karrde sometimes uses it as a meeting place."

"Yes, he said something about that when I saw him on Cejansij," Luke said. "He said if this fortress was like that one it could probably shrug off any attack he could throw at it."

"Him, or the New Republic in general," Mara said grimly. "The Hijarna fortress was made of some incredibly hard black stone that could eat massed turbolaser fire for breakfast." She gestured with her glow rod. "My first look at the High Tower from outside the cave mouth reminded me of that one. But the wall material here isn't anything like it." Artoo whistled, his sensor unit extended and rotating back and forth as if searching for something.

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Luke pointed out, squatting down in front of the droid and peering at the datapad they'd rigged up to serve as translator for his more complicated comments.

"They could have been built by two different groups of the same people."

"Maybe. What's he saying?"

"He says that from the fastenings he doesn't think the wall sconces were part of the original furnishings," Luke said. "For whatever that's worth."

He straightened up and pointed toward the unseen part of the room. "He also says there's a very strong power source operating somewhere over there."

"Really," Mara said with interest, taking a step in that direction and shining her glow rod into the darkness. "Let's go take a look."

No! Keeper Of Promises said sharply from above Luke.

"Hang on," Luke said to Mara, looking up. Keeper Of Promises was perched on one of the wall sconces, his wings quivering with agitation. "What's wrong?" he asked. That way lies destruction, the Qom Jha said. Others have searched that direction. None have ever returned.

"He says there's danger that way," Luke translated for Mara. "Specifics unknown."

"Except that it eats Qom Jha, I presume," Mara said. "On the other hand, the only way out of here has to be that direction."

No, there is another way, Splitter Of Stones said from one of the other sconces. Come. He flew across to the wall to their left and settled to a perch in one of the other gaps beneath the ceiling. Here, he said. Here is the entrance to the hidden passage.

"Really," Luke said, feeling his eyes narrow. The Qom Jha hadn't said anything about a hidden passage before. "And this hidden passage leads into the High Tower?" Come, Splitter Of Stones said. You will see.

"Hidden passage, huh?" Mara commented as they crossed the room, Artoo rolling along behind them. "I don't recall that being mentioned before."

"Me, neither," Luke said. "It could have been just an oversight."

"Or an awkward but conveniently forgotten fact," Mara said darkly. Artoo twittered questioningly. "Awkward because hidden passages usually also have hidden exits," Mara said to the droid over her shoulder. "And unless the Qom Jha have found a way through those exits, they won't know any more about the layout of the High Tower than we do."

"How about it, Splitter Of Stones?" Luke asked. "Have you and your people been inside, or haven't you?"

We have traveled all through the hidden passage was the somewhat sullen reply. There are places where we can see the Threateners and hear what they are saying.

"Let me guess," Mara said. "They've never actually been in the High Tower, but they're sure they'll be able to find their way around once we get them in."

"Basically," Luke said heavily. "Apparently, for all their talk, no one's actually been inside the place."

Some of the Qom Qae have been inside, Child Of Winds spoke up. I know of some who have done so.

Luke frowned at him. "They have? Who? When?"

Friends from other nestings have entered from above, Child Of Winds explained. But they have always been quickly driven out, and have seen very little.

"Still, that's apparently more than the Qom Jha have done," Luke said, looking at Splitter Of Stones again. The Qom Jha was maintaining a stiff silence, but Luke could tell he was not at all pleased with this revelation. "Have you yourself been inside, Child Of Winds?" No, he said. Only friends from the nesting nearest here.

"What's the debate?" Mara asked.

"Child Of Winds says some of the younger Qom Qae of the region have poked around inside the upper areas of the High Tower," Luke said. "But how is it you're in contact with these others, Child Of Winds? I thought Hunter Of Winds said matters outside your nesting were of no concern to you." They are of no concern to adult Qom Qae, Child Of Winds said. But all children may fly freely wherever they wish.

"Ah." So adult Qom Qae were territorial, but their children mixed together across nesting boundaries however they wanted.

And in the process played the role of informal ambassadors and information gatherers? Possibly. Something to remember if and when the New Republic decided to make official contact with them. Beside him, Mara cleared her throat. "Is any of this no doubt fascinating conversation helping us get inside the High Tower?"

"Not really," Luke agreed, pushing the glimpse into Qom Qae social structure aside for now. Stepping to the yellow wall beneath where Splitter Of Stones was sitting, he ran an exploring hand across the surface. If there was a hidden door there, it was very well hidden. "You think we should look for a release, or open it the easy way?"

Mara's answer was the snap-hiss of her lightsaber. "Get out of the way," she said. "You, too, Qom Jha."

Splitter Of Stones fluttered hastily to one of the wall sconces. Three quick slashes, and Mara had a man-sized opening cut in the wall. Lightsaber held ready, she jumped into the gap and ducked to her right. Luke was right behind her, ducking to the left.

They were in a narrow passageway, no more than a meter and a half across, which like the room behind them extended to the right beyond the range of their glow rods. In the other direction, the passageway ended in a wall only a few meters away.

And leading up over their heads from that end was a set of stairs.

"Over here, Mara," Luke called quietly over his shoulder as he headed that direction. The stairs were narrow, and like the passageway itself extended past the range of his glow rod beam. Overhead to the left he could see just the hint of an angled and rising ceiling: another flight of steps, he decided, probably connecting with this set at some unseen landing ahead. Rising vertically along the inside edge of the stairway were a series of thick cylinders that ran from below the level of the passageway up into the darkness above.

"That's our way up, all right," Mara said from his side. "Uh-oh."

"What?" Luke asked, frowning as he stretched out with the Force. There was no danger he could detect.

"The stairs," Mara said, her glow rod shining downward on the lowest steps. "Now that looks like Hijarna building material."

Luke frowned down at it. "Any way to tell for sure?"

"A couple of blaster bolts ought to do it," she said. "But the noise would probably travel farther than we'd like. Anyway, at the moment it's irrelevant—we're not launching a full-scale assault on the place."

"Right—we're trying to sneak in," Luke agreed. "Looks like we'll have to go single file."

"I think we're all used to that by now," Mara said, playing her glow rod up and down the steps.

"Reminds me of that secret passageway Palpatine had in the Imperial palace."

"Reminds me of the service shaft in Ilic on New Cov," Luke said, remembering that long walk he and Han had taken up those stairs to a landing area crawling with Imperials.

"You'd think just one of these secret-stair-builders would have the courtesy to install a turbolift," Mara said, shaking her head. "Or at least a droid carrier."

"It would be nice," Luke agreed. "Well, nothing for it but to start climbing. Let's go."

* * *

With the narrow but relatively open area ahead and above them, Luke decided to let Splitter Of Stones and his cadre of Qom Jha take the point, flying up and ahead of them. Luke went next, carrying the droid for a change, leaving Mara and Child Of Winds to bring up the rear. Mara had groused a little about that, arguing that she wasn't tired and could handle the droid just fine. But Luke had declared the staircase safe enough for him to take droid duty, and had ignored her complaints.

Not that she'd complained too hard or too long. The droid had been getting heavier and heavier lately, and she was just as glad to be rid of the burden for a while.

"Any idea what these are?" she asked Luke, running her fingertips across the first of the thick vertical cylinders as she passed it. From this position on the stairs she could now see to the first landing, and a quick count showed there were twenty of the cylinders rising through the gap. "They don't look like ventilation shafts."

The droid warbled. "Artoo says they're power lines," Luke told her. "Probably bringing energy to the High Tower from that big power source he picked up."

"That's one blazing lot of capacity," Mara said, eyeing the cylinders uneasily. "Are all twenty of them pulling power?"

The droid twittered again. "Only three are active at the moment," Luke said. "But the others are still functional. Running to weapons or shield generators, maybe?"

"I was just wondering that myself." Mara felt her lip twitch. "From near the mouth of the cave you can see three towers rising from the fortress: three intact and one broken."

"Yes, I remember that from the record the Starry Ice brought back," Luke said, his voice and emotions tight. "You suggested that the shot that took out that tower might have also gouged out some of the ravine you flew in through. Is Hijarna stone that tough?"

"I don't know," Mara said grimly. "But Hijarna stone plus seventeen power lines' worth of shield generators might do the trick."

Luke whistled softly, shaking his head. "You know, this place is starting to look more and more impregnable by the minute. I don't think I like that."

"I'm sure I don't like it," Mara retorted grimly. "Especially in potentially unfriendly hands. It'd be worse than Mount Tantiss."

They reached the landing and the expected switchback and continued on up. For a while Mara tried to keep track of the stair count, but somewhere in the mid-two hundreds she gave up the exercise as useless.

They had passed the fourth landing when she began to detect the alien presence. She kept at the sensation for the next few minutes until she was sure. Then, as they started to round the fifth landing, she leaned over and caught Luke's eye. "Luke?" she murmured. "Company."

"I know," he murmured back. "I've been picking them up for a while now. We must be getting close to the inhabited parts of the High Tower."

"The sensation seem at all familiar to you?"

"Very," he assured her. "They're the same species as the pilots who tried to shoot me down on my way in."

"I've never gotten that close to any of this particular group," Mara said, a sudden shiver running through her. "But I've definitely felt this sense before."

Luke seemed to brace himself. "Thrawn?"

She nodded. "Thrawn."

For a long moment they stood there in silence. "Well, you called it," Mara reminded him. "You said that might be a group of his people in there."

"It's starting to look that way," Luke said, looking up and waving toward him. "Splitter Of Stones?"

There was a rustling of wings, and the Qom Jha fluttered to a landing on one of the stairs ahead of Luke. "You said there were places where you could see or hear into the High Tower," Luke said.

"How close are we to the nearest of those?"

Splitter Of Stones began to speak. Suddenly tired of this second-class status of hers, Mara reached over and took Luke's hand.

— not too far away, she heard the Qom Jha's voice echoed through Luke's mind. Two and a portion more turns.

"A portion?" Mara asked, frowning.

"The spot must be partway up one of the stairways," Luke said, glancing at the cylinders running alongside them. "At least these power lines should help mask our life-form readings if anyone's looking. That's convenient."

"It also means Artoo won't be able to pick up much of anything, either," Mara pointed out. "Not so convenient."

But that will surely not be a problem for you, Child Of Winds spoke up. You have the Force.

"True," Luke agreed.

"Some of us more than others, of course," Mara added, suppressing a grimace. As he had on that trek across Wayland ten years ago, Luke had been giving her more or less nonstop Jedi instruction during the trip through these caverns. But despite those efforts, she was apparently no closer to hearing this weird Force-driven communication of the Qom Jha and Qom Qae than she'd been when she first arrived on the planet.

And it was starting to bug her. It was starting to really bug her. What did she have to do to break through this invisible barrier to full Jedi powers, anyway?

She didn't have an answer. Luke might, but she didn't. And there was no way in the galaxy she was going to ask him. Not anytime soon, anyway.

Disgustedly, she let go of his hand. "Well, come on," she growled. "If we're going to do this, let's do it."

"Right," Luke said. If he'd picked up on her sudden sour mood, he didn't comment on it. "Okay, Splitter Of Stones, let's go. And warn your people to be especially quiet from this point on." They resumed their climb, Mara followed along behind Luke, putting one foot in front of the other strictly on autopilot, her full attention turned outward as she stretched out to the alien presences growing steadily closer. None seemed to be very close, but from past experience she knew that with unfamiliar alien minds apparent distances could be misleading.

Two and a third flights of stairs later, as promised, they reached Splitter Of Stones's observation post.

"That's an exit, all right," Mara muttered, peering into the alcove that opened off to the side of the stairway. Roughly three meters wide and one deep, it ended in a door-shaped panel made of black stone equipped with a locking wheel and a pair of hand-grip releases. In the center of the panel was a tiny hole through which an equally tiny ray of reddish light shone through. "Looks like it swings outward."

"Yes," Luke murmured back, stepping into the alcove for a closer look. "Interesting, this locking wheel. Why lock it from this side?"

"Maybe it was for the exclusive use of certain high-ranking parties who wanted everyone else kept out," Mara said, stretching out with the Force. The alien presence was still pervasive, but still muted. "If you want to give it a try, this is probably as good a time as any."

"Right." For a moment Luke held his face against the door, peering through the peephole. Then, gripping the wheel, he turned it to the left.

Mara winced in anticipation, but the screech of rusted metal she'd expected didn't happen. In fact, the muted sound struck her as more like pieces of polished stone sliding smoothly against each other. Luke finished turning the wheel, then took hold of the two grip releases. "Here we go," he muttered, and squeezed.

Whoever had designed the self-lubrication for the locking wheel had apparently also designed the hinges. Again with only the faint rumble of stone against stone, the door swung open. Mara was through the opening before the door had finished its swing, blaster in hand, her senses stretched fully alert.

They were at the end of a fairly wide corridor, she saw, that stretched for perhaps twenty meters before opening into an open, atriumlike area with a wide central pillar running vertically through it from which pale reddish light was streaming. Spaced along each side of the corridor were five recessed doors, each flanked by two of the wall sconces that they'd seen in the underground room below. Unlike those, though, the upper sections of these sconces were glowing with a muted white light, the illumination adding to the dimmer red coming from the pillar in the atrium. The corridor's floor and ceiling were covered in an intricate pattern of tiny interlocked tiles, while the walls were a contrasting plain silvery metal.

From the entryway behind her came a soft twitter. "Artoo says the red light is the same spectrum as the sun," Luke said from her side. "Either we're near the top or they're piping the light down here."

"I'd guess the latter," Mara said. "The decor's a surprise—the Hijarna fortress is nothing but plain black stone. Feel like a little reconnoiter?"

"Sure," Luke said. "Splitter Of Stones, if you or the others know anything about the High Tower you haven't told us, this is the time to do it."

There were more of the Qom Jha chirps and almost-speech; and abruptly all eight of them flapped past Mara and headed down the corridor. Reaching the end, they split up and vanished off in different directions. "He said they don't know anything more," Luke told Mara, "but that they're eager to learn."

"As long as they don't bring the locals down on us," Mara said, flicking off her glow rod and sliding it away into a pocket. "You'd probably better leave the droid here."

"I was planning to," Luke said. "Artoo, get back in the alcove out of sight and close the door. Child Of Winds—no, you stay here with Artoo."

There was an obvious complaint from the young Qom Qae. "Not now," Luke said firmly. "Later, maybe, but not now. Come on, Mara."

They headed out along the corridor, Child Of Winds still fussing behind them. "Looks like a residential area," Luke commented, nodding toward the doors they were passing.

"Yes," Mara said, frowning at the central pillar they were approaching. As they neared it she could see that it was shaped like a giant circular stairway, except with a smooth ramp instead of a staircase spiraling around it. And the edge—"Is that ramp moving?"

"It does look like it," Luke said, craning his neck. "Like a spiral slideway going up." They reached the end of the corridor, and Mara eased an eye around the corner. More corridors like the one they were in were visible, spreading out like sunburst rays centered on the open area around the spiral slideway. "Definitely a barracks section," she said. "I wonder where the down ramp is."

"It's on the inside half of the up ramp," Luke said, pointing. "See—that inner section is going down?"

"I see it." Mara nodded. "Must be tricky getting across the up ramp when you want to get off."

"We'll probably get a chance to try it," Luke said, stepping close to Mara and putting his arm around her shoulder. She frowned at him, opened her mouth to ask what he was doing—

— no one, Keeper Of Promises's voice came as the Qom Jha fluttered into sight from one of the other corridors. Some of the other passages end in walls, but most continue on into other such caverns.

"Did you see anyone?" Mara asked.

We saw no one, Keeper Of Promises said in the slightly miffed tone of someone who's been asked a question he's already answered.

"Thank you." Luke tilted his head to look at Mara. "What do you want? Up or down?"

"Up," Mara said, easing away from him. It was always a little disconcerting to look at someone whose face was barely fifteen centimeters away. "All the command rooms and other interesting stuff at Hijarna were on the upper floors."

"Up it is," Luke said, releasing his grip on her and crossing to the spiral slideway. "Looks clear," he added, looking cautiously up into the opening as Mara joined him. "You picking up any danger?"

"No more than I have been for the past ten minutes," Mara said. "Sure, let's try it."

"Right." Luke waved at Keeper Of Promises. "Come on, Qom Jha—we're heading up." They stepped onto the outer section of the slideway, both of them stumbling slightly as their bodies were forced to catch up with suddenly moving feet. "It definitely feels like we're getting closer to the aliens," Luke commented as the group of Qom Jha flapped past on their way to the next level.

"I just wish I had a better benchmark for the species."

"Yes, it'd be nice to know how close they actually were," Mara agreed, watching above them as the Qom Jha split up again and headed off in all directions. One of the reinforcements—Flyer Through Spikes, Mara tentatively identified him—reappeared overhead as she and Luke reached the level, jabbering away. "He says they've found no one up here, either," Luke reported. "Splitter Of Stones has suggested—"

The flare of her danger sense was Mara's only warning. "Luke!"

"Down!" Luke snapped, igniting his lightsaber.

Mara was already dropping to one knee, spinning around as her eyes and blaster searched for a target. A movement just inside one of the corridors caught her eye—she tracked her blaster toward it—

And abruptly the world exploded into a flash of brilliant blue.

Instinctively, she ducked away from the bolt, her blaster spitting return fire. Another blue flash changed to green as Luke's lightsaber slashed across it, deflecting the bolt across the room. There was another blue flash, again caught by the lightsaber blade. Mara fired twice, had the satisfaction of seeing the half-hidden gunman duck back—

"Behind you!" Luke barked.

Mara dropped from her kneeling crouch to land flat on her stomach on the ramp, twisting around to face the other direction as she did so. Two burgundy-uniformed gunmen were visible back there, sprinting from the end of one of the corridors toward the protection of something that looked like a small service vehicle. She fired two shots—missed with both—

And abruptly one of the gunmen stopped dead in his tracks, raising his weapon toward her in a two-handed grip. Mara tracked her blaster toward him, a small part of her mind noting the blue skin of his face and hands and the glowing red eyes glaring out at her—

"Watch out!"

But the warning came too late. Even as Mara fired again and then twisted around to search out the new threat there was another flash of blue—

And a lance of agony jabbed into her right shoulder.

She might have gasped in pain; she wouldn't remember later whether she had or not. But suddenly Luke was crouching on the slideway beside her, his surge of fear dimly sensed through the waves of pain hammering at her. His hand briefly probed the area of the wound, and she could feel the pain ease somewhat as the Force flowed from him into her. "What do you think?" she managed through clenched teeth. "We seen enough for this pass?"

"Sounds good to me," he said, his lightsaber humming angrily as he swatted more of the blue blasts.

"Then—"

She blinked in surprise. Above her was the edge of one of the fortress floors; but it was pulling up and away from her. Even now, she could see, they were coming down to the level they'd started from. "How'd we get to the down part of the slideway?" she asked.

"You rolled onto it when you were hit," he told her, shifting his hand from her neck to a supporting grip cradling her shoulders. "Don't you remember?"

She shook her head. The movement sent a fresh surge of agony through her shoulder. "Combat reflex, I guess. Wait—my blaster!"

"It's all right—Keeper Of Promises picked it up," Luke assured her, shutting down his lightsaber. He half rose from his crouch, and she could feel herself also rising in the eerily intangible grip of the Force. "Here we go."

The level they'd come in on was starting to move past them now. Stretching out to the Force, carrying Mara with him, Luke leaped over the up section of the slideway to land on the solid floor beyond. Cradling her in both arms, he hurried down the corridor toward their hidden door.

"Look, I can walk on my own," Mara growled, glancing back over Luke's shoulder as he ran. Some of the Qom Jha were visible coming up behind them, but so far there was no sign of other pursuit. "You don't have to carry me—"

"Don't argue," Luke bit out, his mind frothing with concern and worry. "I just hope Artoo didn't lock the door—ah."

Ahead, the door was swinging ponderously open toward them, pushed by an obviously straining Child Of Winds. Trying to work past her pain, Mara stretched out to the door with the Force, giving him as much assistance as she could manage. The droid, rolling forward to help, squawked in surprise and hastily backed up just in time as Luke and Mara charged in, followed by four of the Qom Jha. Seal the door, Mara heard Splitter Of Stones's order through Luke's mind as the Qom Jha flapped madly to a halt.

"What about the others?" Luke asked as two of the Qom Jha landed on the hand grips and began tugging.

They have gone into the other passages, Splitter Of Stones said. They will try to lead the Threateners away from this area.

"We can hope," Luke said as the door swung back into place. "Seal the door—I'm going to take Mara down to that last landing."

"No—go up," Mara said, digging out her glow rod with her left hand as Luke started down the stairs. "If they find the door, they'll probably assume we went down."

"Makes sense," Luke agreed, turning and heading up. "Artoo, you make sure they get it sealed and then stand guard."

A minute later they'd reached the landing. "I wish we still had our bedrolls," Luke said as he laid her carefully down on the cold stone and took the glow rod from her. "How does it feel?"

"Like someone's roasting an Ewok in there," Mara told him. "Not as bad as it was, though. Is that a pain-suppression trick you're using on me?"

"For what it's worth," Luke said, sticking the glow rod between his teeth and stripping off his jacket. "It's not nearly as effective on someone else as it is on yourself," he added, talking around the glow rod as he bunched the jacket and slid it under her head as a pillow.

"I knew there was something else I should have stuck around the academy long enough to learn," she said, hissing between her teeth as Luke set the glow rod down on her chest and began carefully pulling the burned edges of cloth away from the wound. "I don't suppose you offer a crash course."

"I usually like to ease into that lesson a little more gradually." Luke's lip twitched. "Ouch." Mara looked down at her shoulder, and immediately wished she hadn't. " 'Ouch' doesn't even begin to cover it," she told him, feeling a little sick as she resolutely turned her eyes away. The burn was a lot nastier than she'd guessed. "I think I've just decided I'm going to miss the medpac more than I am the bedrolls."

"Don't give up just yet," Luke soothed. His fingers were stroking the skin of her shoulder and neck; and as they did so the pain again decreased. "I know a couple more tricks."

"That feels good," Mara said, closing her eyes.

"I'm putting you into a healing trance," Luke explained, his voice sounding oddly distant. "It can be a little slow, but sometimes it's as effective as a bacta tank."

"I hope this is one of those times," Mara murmured. Suddenly she was feeling very tired. "Yet another wonderful Jedi trick you'll have to teach me sometime. 'Night, Luke. Don't forget to wake me if the bad guys crash the party."

* * *

"Good night, Mara," Luke said softly. Softly, and uselessly—she was already sound asleep. Is she going to die? an anxious voice asked from beside him.

Engrossed in Mara's injury and the setting up of the healing trance, he hadn't noticed Child Of Winds's arrival. Some Master Jedi. "No, she'll be all right," he said. "The wound isn't dangerous, and I have some healing abilities."

Child Of Winds sidled a little closer, peering with unblinking eyes at the woman stretched out at Luke's side. Was it my fault, Jedi Sky Walker? he asked at last. Did I not open the door quickly enough?

"No, not at all," Luke assured him. "It had absolutely nothing to do with you." Then it was the Qom Jha who failed you.

Luke frowned at the young Qom Qae. Given the annoyingly persistent rivalry between the two groups, he would have expected a note of condemnation or at least lofty superiority in Child Of Winds's judgment. But there was nothing there but regret and sadness. "Perhaps," Luke said. "But it may not really be their fault, either. The Threateners may have detected our arrival and put together an ambush. And don't forget that cave-dwellers like the Qom Jha probably don't see as well in lighted rooms as you or I would."

Child Of Winds seemed to consider that. If the Threateners laid a snare, they may enter this place to search for you.

"They might," Luke agreed. "If they even know about it, of course. They might not—all the dust in here would indicate it hasn't been used for quite a while."

Still, they may know even if they do not use, Child Of Winds reminded him. Your friend-machine and the Qom Jha watch and wait below. Should not someone also watch and wait above?

"That's a good idea," Luke agreed. "Go tell Splitter Of Stones I want him to send two of his hunters to stand watch at the next stairway exit above us."

I will obey, the Qom Qae said, stretching out his wings. But he will need send only one hunter. I will go myself to watch with him.

Luke opened his mouth to object; closed it again. Child Of Winds had been chafing under the casual contempt of the Qom Jha ever since they'd reached the cave. This was something useful he could do that probably wouldn't be too dangerous. "All right, Child Of Winds. Thank you." There are no thanks needed, Child Of Winds said. It is only what is right for me to do for the Jedi Sky Walker. He cocked his head for one final look at Mara. And for his beloved companion. Spreading his wings, he flapped away into the darkness of the stairway, leaving that last comment echoing uncomfortably in Luke's mind. Beloved companion. Companion. Beloved... He looked down at Mara, her familiar features thrown into starkly contrasting areas of light and shadow by the beam of the glow rod. Beloved...

"No," he murmured to himself. No. He liked Mara, certainly. Liked her very much. She was smart and resourceful, with a mental and emotional toughness he could rely on, plus a sharp humor and irreverence that made for a refreshing contrast with the automatic and unthinking awe too many people held him in these days. She'd been a trusted ally through some very hard and dangerous times, sticking with him and Han and Leia even when the rest of a hostile New Republic hierarchy had declared her untrustworthy.

And perhaps most important of all, she was strong and capable in the Force, with the ability to share his thoughts and emotions in a way that even a couple as close as Han and Leia couldn't experience.

But he wouldn't love her. He couldn't take that risk. Every time in the past that he had allowed himself the luxury of caring that deeply about a woman something terrible had happened to her. Gaeriel had been killed. Callista had lost her Jedi abilities and finally left him. The list of tragedies sometimes seemed endless.

Still, if Mara's theory was right, all of those disasters had happened while he was still under the lingering effects of his brush with the dark side. Would things be different now? Could they be different?

He shook his head firmly. No. He could try all the logic in the world—could come up with reason after reason why he could perhaps allow himself to have feelings like that again. But not now. Not with Mara.

Because hanging like a dark specter over all of this was the memory of that vision he'd had barely a month ago on Tierfon. The vision where he'd seen Han and Leia in danger from a mob; where he'd seen Wedge and Corran and Rogue Squadron in the heat of battle; where he'd seen himself on the Cejansij balcony from which he would later be taken to Talon Karrde and learn of Mara's disappearance.

And where he'd seen Mara surrounded by craggy rock and floating motionlessly in a pool of water. Her eyes closed; her arms and legs limp. As if in death.

He gazed down at her again, a quiet ache in his heart. Perhaps that was her destiny, an end to her life that he could do nothing to prevent. But until that was proved, he would tear his own life apart if necessary to prevent it from happening. And if part of that sacrifice was to keep her out of the shadow of destructive dark side influence he had had on so many others, then that was a sacrifice he would have to make.

But for now what she needed most was to be healed. And that would take no sacrifice, merely time and attention. "Good night," he said again, knowing she couldn't hear him. On impulse, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. Then, stretching out on the cold stone next to her, he rested his head beside hers on a corner of his folded jacket and laid his arm across her chest where his fingertips could touch the area around her burned shoulder. Easing himself into a sort of half trance to aid in concentration, he stretched out to the Force and set to work.

CHAPTER

18

It took a few minutes' searching, but Wedge finally found the others at a small, open-air tapcafe half a block down from the space traffic registration office. "There you are," he said a little accusingly as he dropped into the third seat at the table.

"What's the problem?" Moranda asked, sipping at the pale blue-green liqueur that had been her constant tapcafe companion ever since they'd met her. "I told you we'd be down the street here."

"You're right—I should have guessed where exactly down the street you meant," Wedge countered, throwing a sour look at her drink. "Aren't you starting a little early in the day?"

"What, this?" Moranda asked, lifting the glass and turning it this way and that in the morning sunlight. "This is nothing. Anyway, you wouldn't be so heartless as to deny an old woman one of the last remaining pleasures of her declining years, would you?"

"That 'old woman' excuse is starting to wear a little thin." Wedge shifted his attention to Corran and the aromatic mug he was cradling. "And what's your excuse?" Corran shrugged. "I'm just keeping her company. I take it the incoming-ship search went badly?"

"It didn't go at all," Wedge growled, glaring at Corran's mug. Now that he thought about it, a drink actually sounded pretty good. But after that rather self-righteous tirade he could hardly beckon a droid over and order something himself—

There was a movement at his side, and a mechanical hand set a mug down on the table in front of him, spilling a few drops first in the ancient annoying Bothan custom. "What's this?" he asked.

"We ordered it when we saw you coming down the street," Moranda said. "Figured that after dealing with Bothan bureaucracy you'd want something a little stronger than hot chocolate." Wedge grimaced. So much for the grand mystique of command. "Thanks," he said, taking a sip.

"So what happened?" Moranda asked. "They wouldn't let you look at the records for incoming ships?"

"Not without fifteen forms of authorization," Wedge told her. "It's crazy. Doubly crazy given that everything on those lists is technically a matter of public record. If I wanted to sit at the spaceport and write down the names of every ship as it came in, I could do it."

"They're getting nervous," Corran murmured, swirling his mug. "Worried that Vengeance might start taking potshots at their best customers."

"Whatever, there's no point in kicking against a bureaucracy," Moranda said. "Let's think this through logically."

Wedge waved a hand in invitation. "We're listening."

"All right." Moranda took a sip of her drink. "I think we can all agree that if someone is after the Drev'starn shield generator, a frontal assault is out. Unless they brought a portable proton torpedo launcher with them, that building is far too well protected."

"Which means they'll have to rely on subterfuge," Corran agreed. "Fairly obvious so far."

"Don't rush me," Moranda admonished him. "Now, we can also assume they won't be able to suborn any of the techs or other people who work inside. But how about planting something on one of them?"

"You mean like a bomb?" Wedge asked doubtfully. "I doubt it. That's a big area down there. Any bomb strong enough to do any serious damage would be easily detected."

"Besides, if they have any brains at all, they have the workers change clothes before they go into the actual generator areas," Corran added. "That also protects against spy monitors being slipped onto anyone."

"So the workers are out," Moranda said. "What about the various underground conduits that bring in power and water?"

"There aren't any water conduits," Wedge said thoughtfully. "Water and food are supposedly brought in from outside and triple-scanned for contaminants." He looked at Corran. "Power, though, is another matter entirely."

"You might be onto something," Corran agreed, frowning as he drummed his fingers softly on the table. "Each shield generator is supposed to have its own self-contained power supply. But it's referred to as a backup supply, which implies the primary power source comes in from the outside."

"Where are you getting all this stuff from, by the way?" Moranda asked. "Not Bothan propaganda, I hope."

"No, we pulled it from New Republic military files," Wedge told her. "Unfortunately, what we had was a little skimpy on details."

"Typical Bothan paranoiac closemouthness," Moranda grunted. "I don't suppose you'd have any idea where exactly the conduits are located."

"Not even a guess," Wedge told her.

"Well, that's our second order of business, then," Moranda said. "Getting the complete schematics of that building."

Corran cocked an eyebrow. "I hope you're not expecting the Bothans to just give them to us." Moranda snorted. "Of course not," she said. "That's why it's our second order of business. We can't very well go visit the construction records building during the day." Wedge exchanged looks with Corran. "The building's only open during the day," he pointed out carefully.

"That's right," Moranda said, smiling encouragingly. "You catch on fast." Wedge looked at Corran again. "Corran?"

The other made a face, but then he shrugged. "We do have our orders," he reminded Wedge.

"And this isn't just to protect the Bothans, remember."

"I suppose," Wedge said reluctantly. So much for the mystique of command; so much for command at all. Still, Moranda was making sense. Unfortunately. "So if that's the second order of business, what's the first?"

"I thought we'd go pull the records for the last few days' worth of outgoing transmissions," Moranda said. "If Vengeance is plotting something, their group here probably has to report in every now and again."

Wedge felt his mouth drop open. "You want to go check message traffic? Do you have any idea how much of that there is from this planet?"

"That's exactly why they won't worry about it," Moranda said cheerfully. "They'll figure no one would be crazy enough to bother sifting through it all."

"Present company excepted, obviously."

"Well, of course." Moranda held up a hand. "Now, wait a minute, it's not as bad as it sounds. We can cut out all transmissions from major or established corporations—even if one of them was involved, they wouldn't send out anything under their own name. We can also cut out any nonencrypted messages, and we can cut out any message over, say, fifty words. That ought to give us something manageable."

Wedge frowned. "Why everything over fifty words?"

"The shorter the message, the harder it is to decrypt," Corran explained, sounding as dubious as Wedge felt. "One of the things I learned in CorSec. My question is, if we aren't going to be able to read it, why bother looking for it in the first place?"

"To find out where it's going, of course," Moranda said, draining the last of her liqueur. "The guys at this end can be as cagey as they want; but if they've got a sloppy contact down the line, we can still nail them. All we need is a likely system and I can call Karrde's people down on them from that end."

"It still sounds crazy," Wedge declared, looking at Corran. "What do you think?"

"It's no crazier than breaking into the construction records building after hours," Corran pointed out.

"Thanks for the reminder," Wedge sighed. "Sure, let's give it a try. I just hope the computer on our shuttle is up to a job like this."

"If not, the one on my ship can handle it," Moranda assured him, getting to her feet. "Come on, let's get moving."

* * *

"Captain?"

Nalgol turned away from the unremitting blackness hanging in front of the Imperial Star Destroyer Tyrannic. "Yes?"

"Relay spark from the strike team, sir," Intelligence Chief Oissan said, coming to a parade-ground halt and handing the captain a datapad. "I'm afraid you're not going to like it."

"Really," Nalgol said, giving Oissan a long, hard look as he took the datapad. Given the Tyrannic's blindness out here, it was unarguably nice to receive these brief reports from the Imperial Intelligence strike team on the Bothawui surface. But on the other hand, any secret transmission, even an innocuous one sent to an unobtrusive relay buoy, simply gave the enemy one more handle to latch on to.

And for that potentially dangerous transmission to contain bad news...

The message was, as always, brief. Now ten days to completion of flash point. Will keep timetable updated.

"Ten days?" Nalgol transferred his glare from the datapad to Oissan. "What is this ten days nonsense? The report two days ago said it would only be six days."

"I don't know, sir," Oissan said. "All messages to us have to be kept short—"

"Yes, I know," Nalgol cut him off, glowering at the datapad again. Ten more days in this clytarded blindness. Just exactly what the crew of this twitchy ship needed. "They just blazing well better be keeping Bastion better informed than they are us."

"I'm sure they are, Captain," Oissan said. "Paradoxically, perhaps, it's much safer to send out a long transmission on a commercial frequency via the HoloNet than it is to send a short-range spark to us out here."

"I'm fairly well versed in communications theory, thank you," Nalgol said icily. A prudent man, he reflected darkly, would have found a way to beat a hasty retreat after delivering news like this. Either Oissan wasn't as prudent as Nalgol had always assumed, or he was twitchy enough himself to be spoiling for a fight with his captain.

Or else this was part of a private evaluation of his captain's mental state. And much as he would like to deny it, Nalgol had to admit this idleness and isolation were getting on his nerves, too. "I was simply concerned that the delay not upset Bastion's master plan," he told the other, forcing calmness into his voice. "I also wish I knew how in blazes they could lose six whole days out of a two-month timetable."

Oissan shrugged. "Without knowing what exactly their job is down there, I can't even hazard a guess," he said reasonably. "As it is, we'll just have to rely on their judgment." He lifted his eyebrows slightly. "And on Grand Admiral Thrawn's own genius, of course."

"Of course," Nalgol murmured. "The question is whether all those armed hotheads around Bothawui will be able to hold off another ten days before they start shooting. What's the warship count up to, anyway?"

"The latest probe ship report is in that file, sir," Oissan said, nodding toward the datapad. "But I believe the current number is one hundred twelve."

"A hundred and twelve?" Nalgol echoed, frowning as he pulled up the report. There it was: a hundred and twelve. "This can't be right," he insisted.

"It is, sir," Oissan assured him. "Thirty-one new warships have come in, apparently all in the past ten hours."

Nalgol scanned the list. A nicely matched set, too: fourteen pro-Bothan Diamalan and D'farian ships to seventeen anti-Bothan Ishori ships. "This is unbelievable," he said, shaking his head. "Don't these aliens have anything better to do?"

Oissan snorted under his breath. "From the news reports the probe ships have been bringing in, it's only because most of the New Republic does have better things to do that we haven't been buried by three times as many ships," he said. "But don't worry. I have faith in the New Republic's diplomatic corps. I'm sure they'll keep things calm until we're ready to move."

"I hope so," Nalgol said softly, turning to gaze out at the blackness again. Because after all this waiting, if he didn't get a clear shot at this alien-loving Rebel scum, he was going to be very angry. Very angry, indeed.

* * *

The annoyingly cheery door chime of the Exoticalia Pet Emporium rang, and Navett stepped in through the back-room doorway to see Klif close the door behind him. "Business is booming, I see," he commented, glancing around the customer-free store as he walked between the rows of caged animals to the service counter.

"Just the way I like it," Navett said, leaning an elbow on the counter and gesturing the other to a chair. "You get those messages off?"

"Yeah." Klif circled behind him and dropped into one of the seats. "But I don't think any of them are going to like it."

Navett shrugged. "They can join the club. It's going to be awkward for us, too, you know—we're going to have to delay the delivery date for those three mawkrens. But there's not a lot any of us can do about it. It was the Bothans' idea to start keeping their techs locked in the shield building for six days at a time, not ours."

"Yeah," Klif said heavily. "I suppose we can't be expected to send our little time bombs in with the next shift any earlier than the next shift goes on duty."

"Don't worry about it," Navett soothed him. "Our cover is plenty secure, and it won't hurt Horvic and Pensin to wash dishes for the Ho'Din awhile longer. We can hover an extra six days without any trouble."

"Maybe not," Klif said darkly. "Guess who I spotted at the comm center while I was checking for messages."

Navett felt his eyes narrow. "Not our two New Rep military types?"

"In the skin and twice as pompous." Klif nodded. "And they had company: some old woman in a hooded cloak who seemed to know her way around better than they did. A fringe type, no doubt about it."

Navett scratched his cheek. "You think she's the one who got their wallets back from the Bothan lifters?"

"Well, they had their wallets with them," Klif said. "So I'd say, yeah, she's probably the one."

"Um." New Rep military types with a fringe lifter. Interesting. "Were they picking up or delivering?"

"Neither," Klif told him. "They were pulling a list of all outgoing transmissions for the past five days."

"Interesting," Navett said, drumming his fingers gently on the countertop. "Analysis?"

"They're on to us," Klif growled. "Or at least, they know someone's here." He lifted an eyebrow.

"And they suspect it has to do with the Drev'starn shield generator, or they wouldn't have spent so much time hanging around there."

"Recommendation?"

"We vape them," Klif said bluntly. "Tonight."

Navett shifted his eyes past him to the display window across the store, gazing at the hundreds of pedestrians and dozens of vehicles hurrying past. Drev'starn was an immensely busy city, made all the more frantic by the presence of those warships overhead. Humans and aliens rushing around all over the place... "No," he said slowly. "No, they're not on to us. Not yet. They suspect something is in the works, but they don't know for sure. No, our best plan right now is to lay low and not let them draw us out."

Klif's lips puckered, but he nodded reluctantly. "I still don't like it, but you're the boss. Maybe all they're trying to do is get a handle on Vengeance; and they're not going to look for a group that big in a little pet store."

"Good point," Navett agreed. "We could even consider staging another riot for their benefit if they seem to be getting too close. If you're up to another performance, that is." Klif shrugged. "Two riots on Bothawui might be pushing our luck," he said. "But I can get one going if we have to."

Across the room, one of the animals squawked twice and then fell silent again. Probably one of the pregnant mawkrens, Navett decided, muttering in her sleep. He'd better get those injections started if he didn't want a mess of tiny lizards running around underfoot six days before he needed them. "I just wish we knew who our opponents were," he commented.

"Maybe we can find out," Klif said, pulling out a datapad. "I followed them back to the spaceport and their ship. A surplused Sydon MRX-BR Pacifier, as it turns out." Navett grimaced. The Pacifier had been the Empire's scout vehicle of choice, able to seek out new worlds and deliver a devastating pounding to them if it proved necessary. Considered by the New Republic to be too provocative for the delicate sensitivities of frightened primitives, their use had been summarily discontinued. Just one more reminder, if he'd needed it, of how badly things had been falling apart since Endor. "You get a name?"

"And a registration code," Klif said, handing him the datapad. "It's the woman's ship, unfortunately—she was the one who unlocked it—but we might still be able to backcheck them through it."

"Excellent," Navett said as he took the datapad. "The Fingertip Express, eh? Sounds like a lifter's ship, all right. A smart-mouth name for a smart-mouth lifter." He handed the datapad back. "There should be a Bureau of Ships and Services office somewhere in Drev'starn. Find it and see what you can pull up."

* * *

"Aha," Moranda said from her ship's tiny computer alcove. "Well, well, well." Sitting in the lounge just off the alcove, Wedge turned his eyes away from the expensive contour sculp on the wall in front of him, and his thoughts away from contemplation of how Moranda might have come into possession of such a prize. "You found something?" he asked.

"Could be," Corran said. Arms crossed and leaning against the wall, he'd been watching over Moranda's shoulder for the past two hours. "Three messages, all short and encrypted, have gone out in the past five days." He looked over at Wedge. "The last one just this morning."

"What time this morning?" Wedge asked, getting to his feet and crossing to the others.

"About ten minutes before we got there," Moranda said, peering at the display. "I guess we shouldn't have lingered over that drink. Too bad."

Wedge grimaced, a bad taste in his mouth. Too bad wasn't the half of it. With Corran and his Jedi skills along, they might actually have been able to identify and tag the sender if they'd been there in time.

If. "Where were the transmissions headed?"

"Toward Eislomi sector," Moranda said. "Specifically, in the direction of the Eislomi III HoloNet relay station."

Wedge suppressed a sigh. "In other words, a dead end."

"Looks like it."

"Still, if they've already sent three messages, they might send more," Corran pointed out. His voice was calm and controlled, without any trace of the frustration and disappointment Wedge knew he must also be feeling over this near-miss. "If worse comes to worst, we could always stake out the place."

"A waste of time," Moranda sniffed. "If they've got any brains at all, they'll spot a loiterer upwind from sixty paces away with their eyes closed."

"That depends on how the loitering is done," Corran countered stiffly. "And on who's doing it."

"What, you?" Moranda scoffed, looking him up and down. "Right. Like you wouldn't stand out like a stormtrooper at an Ewok roast."

"I thought it was like a Wookiee at a Noghri family reunion."

"No, no—you're versatile enough to do both."

"Oh, thank you," Corran growled. "Thank you very much."

"Both of you simmer down," Wedge interrupted sternly. "Corran's right, Moranda—he's exceptionally good at stakeouts. However, Moranda's right, too, Corran—we don't have the time or the troops to cover all outgoing transmissions, even if we were sure they'd use the same center again."

"At least we now know for sure that someone's operating here," Moranda offered. "That's something."

"Not much, though," Corran muttered.

"It occurs to me, though," Wedge said, raising his voice, "that there's still one route we haven't tried. Assuming Vengeance isn't homegrown—and considering its anti-Bothan sentiment, I think we can assume that—they'll have to have found some place local to set up shop. Question: where?" Moranda snapped her fingers. "A business. Has to be some kind of business."

"She's right," Corran agreed, his frustration and miffed professional pride suddenly forgotten. "An apartment wouldn't work—too risky to have lots of people coming and going at odd hours. With a business, you can always cover it as deliveries or cleanup crews."

"And working for someone else doesn't give you enough privacy when you need it," Moranda added. "And it'll have to be something fairly recently set up, and probably as close to the shield generator building as they can get."

"My thoughts exactly," Wedge said. "And since we can't hit the construction records building until later anyway...?"

"What are we waiting for?" Corran demanded, detaching himself from the wall and heading for the hatchway. "Someone in Drev'starn must have a list of all new businesses. Let's go find him."

CHAPTER

19

"No," Captain Ardiff said, jabbing his fork for emphasis. "I don't believe it. Not for a minute."

"What about the news reports?" Colonel Bas countered. "Even stuck out here we've pulled in, what, five of them? If this thing's a hoax, it's a kriffing good one. If you'll pardon the language, sir," he added belatedly, looking with some embarrassment at Pellaeon.

"Language pardoned, Colonel," Pellaeon said, suppressing a smile. Bas had clawed his way up through the TIE pilot ranks to become the Chimaera's fighter commander; and though he tried hard to fit in with the generally more cultured men who made up the officer corps, the saltier language of his youth did periodically intrude.

Personally, Pellaeon rather liked that. Not the expletives per se, but the fact that the man's language was an outward sign of honest and straightforward opinions or emotions. Unlike some Pellaeon had dealt with, Bas seldom if ever tried to hide his thoughts or feelings behind polite slip-talk.

"They're rumors, Colonel—that's all," Ardiff said, shaking his head. "Face the facts: Thrawn died. Admiral Pellaeon was there to see it. Now, if that was some trick—" Pellaeon lowered his eyes to his plate and forked another bite of the braised bruallki, mentally tuning out the discussion. It was the same endless argument, with the same opinions and speculations, that had been playing its way around the ship in the week since Lieutenant Mavron had returned with the story of Thrawn's supposed appearance in the Kroctar system. Everyone from Ardiff on down had his own opinion on whether or not it was true, none of them could prove their opinion to anyone else, and the entire ship was about as tense as an overwound throwbow.

But the waiting, at least, was about to come to an end. He'd given General Bel Iblis a full month and a half to make his plans, and the Chimaera itself had been here at Pesitiin for two weeks. Clearly, for whatever reason, Bel Iblis wasn't coming.

And it was time to go home. To return to the Empire, and to Bastion. And, on several levels, to find out what exactly Moff Disra was up to. He would give the order to prepare for departure as soon as he was finished with his meal. If Bel Iblis didn't arrive in the hour after that—

"Admiral Pellaeon, Captain Ardiff, this is the bridge," Major Tschel's voice came from the mess table speaker. "Report, please."

Ardiff got to the switch first. "Captain here," he said. "The Admiral's with me. What is it?"

"A ship's just entered the system, sir," Tschel said, his voice tight. Ardiff flashed Pellaeon a sharp look. "A repeat performance by our pirates?"

"I don't think so, sir," Tschel said. "So far, at least, it's only a single ship: YT-1300 light freighter, minimally armed. They're transmitting a request to come aboard and speak with the Admiral." Pellaeon took a deep breath. "Is there a name attached to the transmission?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Tschel said. "She claims to be New Republic High Councilor Leia Organa Solo."

* * *

With the four TIE fighters riding escort positions on both flanks, the Falcon rose up out of sight of the distant sun, up into the shadow of the Star Destroyer's hangar bay. "We're committed now," Elegos said softly from the seat beside Leia.

"Yes," Leia agreed, her hands resting on the controls, watching as the Chimaera's tractor beam reeled them steadily into itself. "We are indeed."

"Does that disturb you?" the Caamasi asked. "What are you thinking?" Leia shrugged, a quick movement of tense shoulders. "On one level, of course it disturbs me," she told him. "Risks are always something a rational being prefers to avoid. But not all risks are bad. All in all, this is a good risk."

She half turned and tried a smile. "As to the other part of your question, I was just thinking that if Threepio were here, he'd probably be saying 'We're doomed' about now." Elegos chuckled, a uniquely Caamasi sound. "Very good," he said. "I have not known much about you, Councilor, save what I have read and heard from others. This voyage, short though it has been, has been greatly instructive. Whatever happens next, I will always consider myself honored to have had these few days together with you."

Leia took a deep breath. The words themselves, taken alone, could be construed to have an ominous ring to them. But spoken with the Caamasi's quiet warmth, all potential threat or fear vanished. What came across instead was courage and hope and resolve; an inspiration and strength that came not so much from Elegos as it did from hidden reserves of her own. Reserves his words and presence were somehow able to draw out of her.

It was small wonder, she thought with distant ache, that the power-insatiable Senator Palpatine had wanted such a dangerous people destroyed.

There was a lone figure waiting at the foot of the Falcon's ramp as Leia and the other three started down: a white-haired man of medium height, his face lined with age but with the parade-ground-straight back of a professional military officer. He wore the Imperial uniform well, Leia thought; he wore the chest insignia of a Fleet admiral even better. "Councilor Organa Solo," he said, nodding gravely as she approached. "I'm Admiral Pellaeon. Welcome aboard the Chimaera."

"Thank you, Admiral," Leia said, nodding back. "It's been a long time." His forehead wrinkled. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," he said. "I wasn't aware we'd met."

"It wasn't a formal introduction," Leia told him. "But I remember my father pointing you out to me as one of the Fleet's most promising officers during the annual Grand Alderaanian Gathering at the Royal Pavilion when I was ten."

Pellaeon's lip twitched. "I remember those days well," he said quietly. "In some ways, I'd prefer not to."

His eyes shifted to Elegos, standing at Leia's left. "Perhaps you'll introduce me to the rest of your delegation?"

"Certainly," Leia said, passing over for the moment the distinctly unofficial status of the group.

"This is Elegos A'kla, Trustant for the Caamasi Remnant."

Pellaeon smiled faintly as he nodded. "Trustant A'kla."

"Admiral Pellaeon," Elegos said, lowering his head in a Caamasi bow.

"On my right is Sakhisakh clan Tlakh'sar," Leia continued, gesturing to the Noghri beside her. Pellaeon's smile remained, but Leia could sense a new brittleness behind it. "Of course," the Admiral said. "Alderaanian, Caamasi, and Noghri. Three beings with the most reason to hate the Empire."

Sakhisakh stirred— "We hold no anger toward you personally, Admiral," Elegos said calmly before the Noghri could speak. "Nor have we animosity toward the people of the Empire. Each of our worlds was destroyed by the hand of Emperor Palpatine, and he too is now dead. Continuing to nurture the fires of hatred would gain us nothing."

"Thank you, Trustant," Pellaeon said. "I appreciate your generosity and your wisdom." His eyes flicked briefly to Sakhisakh, then turned to Ghent, standing nervously at Elegos's other side. "And what particular grievance do you represent, sir?"

"Me?" Ghent asked, starting. "Oh, no, I'm not part of this group. I mean—I'm just the slicer who reconstructed Vermel's message for General Bel Iblis."

The last hint of a smile vanished from Pellaeon's face. "What do you mean, reconstructed?" he demanded. "Didn't the colonel present his message in person?"

"I'm afraid he didn't get that far," Leia said. "According to General Bel Iblis, his Corvette was intercepted by a Star Destroyer while on approach to Morishim."

Pellaeon's eyes had gone deadly. "Intercepted and destroyed?"

"No, or at least not at that time," Leia said. "The Star Destroyer brought his ship into its hangar bay and then escaped."

"I see." For a long moment Pellaeon stood there, his eyes gazing at nothing, his face hard and almost cruel, his emotions edged with simmering anger. Leia stretched out to the Force, trying to read past the emotion and wondering if she should break the silence or wait for him to do so. Elegos took the decision out of her hands. "I take it Colonel Vermel was a close friend," he commented quietly.

Pellaeon's eyes and attention came back. "I will hope that he still is," he said. "If not, someone will pay heavily for his death."

He exhaled. "But you came to talk peace, not vengeance. If you'll follow me, I have a room prepared for us off the hangar bay."

"I'd prefer to hold our discussion aboard my ship, if you don't mind," Leia said. "I'm afraid my bodyguards insist on that."

For a fraction of a second there was a flicker of uncertainty, even fear, in Pellaeon's emotions. But then the fear faded, and he again smiled. "You have more Noghri aboard, of course," he said, glancing up at the Falcon looming over them. "No doubt watching even now with weapons at the ready."

"There will be no danger to you, Admiral," Elegos spoke up. "Not unless you yourself bring it aboard."

Pellaeon waved a hand at the ramp. "In that case, Councilor, I accept. Please; lead the way." A minute later Leia, Pellaeon, and Elegos were seated around the Falcon's game table—a distressingly informal place for such a momentous occasion, Leia thought with some embarrassment, but the only place on the ship where they could all sit comfortably together. Sakhisakh, without comment, had taken up a guard position where he could watch both their discussion and the entrance ramp. Ghent, also without comment, had gone over to the tech station and was busying himself with the Falcon's computer.

"I'll get right to the point, Councilor," Pellaeon said, his eyes flicking briefly to Ghent and the Noghri. "The war that began twenty-odd years ago is effectively over... and the Empire has lost."

"I agree," Leia said. "Is this opinion shared by others in the Empire?" A muscle in Pellaeon's cheek twitched. "I'm sure the average Imperial citizen has recognized that truth for quite some time," he said. "It's merely been the leadership who have clung to the hope that the inevitable could somehow be prevented."

"And does that leadership now agree with the two of us and the average Imperial citizen?"

"Yes," Pellaeon said. "Reluctantly, but yes. I've been authorized by the eight remaining Moffs to open peace negotiations with the New Republic."

Leia felt her throat tighten. She had heard Vermel's message; had come aboard and seen Pellaeon waiting alone for her... but only now did it suddenly seem truly real.

Peace. With the Empire.

"Yet as you have already said, the Empire has lost," Elegos spoke into the silence. "What then remains to be negotiated?"

Leia resettled her shoulders, sending a silent word of thanks in Elegos's direction for his subtle reminder of her duty here. She was representing the New Republic, and could not allow the emotional lure of peace to blind her to the hard intellectual realities of the situation. "Trustant A'kla makes a good point," she said. "What you would gain from a peace treaty is obvious. What would we gain?"

"Perhaps what we would gain is not as obvious as you think," Pellaeon said. "The New Republic is after all struggling with internal turmoil, with every indication that matters are getting worse." He looked pointedly at Elegos. "Several of the Moffs, in fact, believe you're on the verge of collapsing into total civil war over this Caamasi issue. In the midst of such anarchy, the remnants of the Empire could easily be overlooked. Why then should we bother with the humiliation of a treaty at all?" Leia's mouth felt dry. It was an all too reasonable question. "If you really believed we were about to destroy ourselves, you wouldn't be here," she pointed out.

"Perhaps," Pellaeon said. "Perhaps I merely don't believe the more virulent haters of the Empire would forget about us." He paused. "Or perhaps I may be able to keep that civil war from happening."

Leia frowned. "How?"

"Let me first state what the Empire would want included in any treaty between us," Pellaeon said.

"We would want our current borders confirmed and accepted by Coruscant, with guarantees of free travel and trade between our worlds and those of the New Republic. No harassment; no border skirmishes; no propaganda pressure against us."

"What about the nonhumans living under Imperial rule?" Sakhisakh demanded. "Are we to merely accept their slavery?"

Pellaeon shook his head. "The Empire which once enslaved and exploited thinking beings is dead," he told the Noghri. "The human domination of Palpatine long ago became full cooperation between all the beings within our borders."

"Do all your subjects agree that they're now equals?" Leia asked.

"Probably not," Pellaeon conceded. "But once we had the security of a peace treaty, any Imperial system wishing to join the New Republic would be offered the chance to do so." He lifted his eyebrows. "By the same token, we would expect systems within your borders who wish to rejoin the Empire to also be allowed to make that choice, with the same security and free trade guarantees extended to them."

Sakhisakh bit out a Noghri curse. "What people would be so foolish as to give you their freedom?" he demanded contemptuously.

"You might be surprised," Pellaeon said. "Freedom, after all, is a highly relative and subjective thing. And as I say, we're not the Empire you knew."

The Noghri rumbled under his breath again but remained silent. "Of course, all guarantees of safety would work the other direction as well," Pellaeon said, turning back to Leia. "No attacks by Imperial forces; no provocation; no hired privateers." His face twitched in an almost-smile. "And, of course, if we should happen to stumble across another superweapon Palpatine had hidden away, we would work with you to dismantle it."

Leia braced herself. "And what about the superweapon you're already using?" Pellaeon frowned. "What superweapon?"

"The one that nearly defeated us once before," Leia said. "Grand Admiral Thrawn." Pellaeon's lips compressed briefly, and Leia could sense the wave of uncertainty and quiet fear washing through him. "I don't know, Councilor. I have no idea at all what's going on there." Leia threw a glance at Elegos. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Pellaeon told her. "I've been here at Pesitiin waiting for General Bel Iblis for the past two weeks, and was running under a communications blackout for several days before that. I didn't even know Thrawn had been reported alive until a week ago."

Leia frowned, stretching out to Pellaeon with the Force. But there was no duplicity in his thoughts or emotions that she could detect.

"You say 'reported alive,' Admiral," Elegos said. "Does your choice of words imply you don't believe he has actually returned?"

"I don't know what to believe, Trustant," Pellaeon said. "Certainly I had every reason to think he was dead. I was there on the Chimaera's bridge, standing at his side, when he appeared to die."

"Again, you say 'appeared' to die," Elegos persisted. "Did he or did he not truly die?"

"I truly do not know," Pellaeon said with a sigh. "Thrawn was an alien, with an alien physiology, and..." He shook his head. "Has he actually been seen by anyone from the New Republic? Someone whose word and judgment you trust?"

"My friend Lando Calrissian was intercepted and taken aboard the Relentless, along with the Diamalan Senator," Leia said. "Both of them claimed it was indeed Thrawn."

"The Relentless," Pellaeon murmured, frowning. "Dorja's ship; and he was one of those who did meet Thrawn personally. Hard to believe he would be easily taken in by a trick. Or, for that matter, that he would risk his ship without exceptionally good reason."

Leia hesitated; but there was no easy way to say this. "It occurs to me, Admiral, that these talks may be somewhat premature," she said. "If Thrawn is alive, then you are presumably no longer head of the Imperial military."

"If he's alive, he will most certainly relieve me of supreme command," Pellaeon said evenly.

"However, at the moment that consideration is irrelevant. The military is subordinate to the Moffs; and the Moffs have authorized me to negotiate this treaty."

"Wouldn't that authority be rescinded, though, in the face of Thrawn's return?" Leia countered.

"It may," Pellaeon acknowledged. "But until I'm informed of such a decision, my authority stands."

"I see," Leia murmured, gazing at the old Admiral with a sudden new understanding. He had learned about Thrawn's return a full week ago; yet, instead of rushing back to learn more, he had deliberately remained here under communications blackout. Not just to wait for Bel Iblis, but to make sure he still had the authority to negotiate if and when Bel Iblis arrived. To start the ball rolling, perhaps beyond the ability of the Moffs or even Thrawn to easily stop it. This was not a game, or at least not a game he was helping to run. Admiral Pellaeon, Supreme Commander of Imperial forces, genuinely wanted peace.

"Did Thrawn say anything to Calrissian and the Senator?" Pellaeon asked into Leia's musings. "I presume they were allowed to leave—very few people simply escape from an Imperial Star Destroyer."

"Actually, in some respects his message was similar to yours," Leia said. "He warned that the New Republic was headed for self-destruction and offered to help us avoid that."

"Are you considering his offer?"

"Unfortunately, his proposed method was deemed unacceptable by the Senate," Leia said. "He wanted to speak privately with the Bothan leaders, and from those conversations determine who had sabotaged the Caamasi shields."

"Interesting," Pellaeon said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder how merely talking with them would accomplish that. Unless the clan leaders do indeed know the truth."

"They claim they don't," Leia said. "And considering the growing threat to the entire Bothan species, I think they would give us that information if they had it."

"You suggested you might also have a way to prevent civil war," Elegos reminded the admiral.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

Leia could sense Pellaeon pulling his attention back from his own thoughts. "I'm sure it's occurred to you that the crisis could be resolved by finding a complete version of the Caamas Document," he said. "In exchange for favorable peace terms, the Empire would be willing to offer you a copy of that record."

Leia shot a glance at Sakhisakh, saw the Noghri's own subtle reaction. If they were on schedule, Han and Lando should be right now conducting their own search for that record on Bastion. "Just like that?" she asked Pellaeon. "You'd simply turn it over to us?"

"Once we have it in hand, yes." He paused. "There is, however, one problem. If it does indeed exist, it would be located in the Special Files section of the archives, which is severely restricted and heavily encrypted. I don't have any way into those files; neither does anyone I know. If we're going to get to the document in time, the New Republic will need to loan us a top-rate decryption expert." There was a sort of choked-off gurgle from the direction of the tech station. Ghent was still facing the control board, but his back had suddenly gone rigid. "Where would he need to go?" she asked Pellaeon, her eyes still on Ghent. "To Bastion?"

"No, to the Ubiqtorate base at Yaga Minor," Pellaeon said. "The commander there is a personal friend, and there's a somewhat isolated computer access station he could use. Bastion itself would be far too dangerous."

Leia looked back at him, her heart catching suddenly in her throat. "How do you mean, dangerous?"

"Bastion is the home base and stronghold of one of the most vehemently antipeace officials in the entire Empire," Pellaeon said grimly. "Moff Disra. He also appears to be up to his neck in a private little war using mercenary pirate gangs and illegally obtained funds."

"Yes, we've noticed all the pirate activity," Leia said, fighting to keep her voice steady. Han and Lando on Bastion... "You don't think Moff Disra would appreciate having a New Republic representative on his world?"

Pellaeon snorted. "Digging into private Imperial files? Hardly. Your expert wouldn't be there six hours before Disra would know about it. It wouldn't be six hours more before some convenient accident would happen to him. But he'd be safe enough on Yaga Minor."

"I'm glad to hear that," Leia said, looking again at Sakhisakh. The Noghri's face was rigid with the same ache and fear she herself was feeling. Han on Bastion, in the middle of a vengeful Moff's stronghold...

"Would it be possible for you to supply such an expert?" Pellaeon asked. With a supreme effort, Leia pushed her fears away. "I don't know," she said. "I don't think so." Pellaeon seemed taken aback. "You don't think so?"

"No," Leia said, glancing over at the tech station again. Ghent was still facing the control board, but his head was turned just enough to let him surreptitiously watch the conversation around the game table. "Perhaps later, after we have an official agreement. But not yet."

"By the time there's an agreement it might be too late," Pellaeon warned. "Our scout ships are picking up only occasional news reports, but even from what I know the situation in the New Republic is clearly getting worse. Even with an expert slicer at work, the project is going to take some time."

He grimaced. "And there's one other factor, as well. We suspect that one of Moff Disra's agents may already have found his way into those Special Files once. We don't know what he was looking for, but the Caamas Document is definitely one possible target. If we delay too long and he's able to get in again to erase the file, we may never learn the truth. Only if we act immediately—"

"All right," Ghent interrupted, swiveling abruptly around in his chair to face them. "All right. I'll go." Leia blinked. Once again, he had taken her completely by surprise. "You don't mean that," she said. "This could be dangerous."

"The danger would be extremely small," Pellaeon insisted.

"Doesn't matter," Ghent said. His voice was trembling, but his jaw was set firmly. "On the way from Coruscant Elegos told me all about what happened to his world. It was terrible—everyone killed, all the animals, too. I hated the people who'd done it—I really hated them. And I hated the Bothans for making the whole thing happen in the first place."

He looked over at Elegos. "But he told me hatred was wrong, that it was one of those things that hurt the hater more than the people he hated. He told me there can be justice without hatred, and punishment without revenge. He said we were all responsible for what we do and what we don't do, and no one should have to pay for someone else's crimes."

He locked eyes with Leia. "I'm a slicer, Councilor Organa Solo. I'm a good slicer. And I'm responsible for what I do and what I don't do, just like you or Elegos. If I can help and I don't, I'm just as guilty as anyone else." He waved a hand helplessly. "I'm not too good at stuff like this. You understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I understand perfectly," Leia assured him. "And I very much appreciate your offer. The question is whether I can allow you to put yourself at risk this way."

"It would seem that should be a straightforward question for you to answer, Councilor," Elegos said. "As a Jedi, does Crypt Chief Ghent going to Yaga Minor seem the correct path?" Leia hid a grimace. Once again, the Caamasi's perception had come through, reminding her of the true source of her insight and guidance.

Except that for once that source had failed her. Or perhaps more correctly, she had failed it. No matter how hard she stretched out to the Force, all she could see was the turmoil of her own fears for Han's safety. Fears that she'd managed to suppress until now; guilt that she'd allowed him—even encouraged him—to step onto a hostile world in the first place; resentment and anger that after all their years of sacrifice she and Han were still the ones who always seemed to be called on to risk everything for others.

Blinking back tears, she tried to push back the sudden surge of emotion. But it remained a restless churning pool washing across her mind and spirit.

And as the Jedi calm eluded her, so did any hope of reading Ghent's path.

"I don't know," she admitted at last. "I can't seem to get any kind of reading."

"Does that mean you can't guarantee his safety?" Pellaeon asked, frowning.

"No one's safety is ever guaranteed, Admiral," Elegos said. "Not even by a Jedi." He smiled faintly, an oddly melancholy expression. "Though, of course, most of us travel through our entire lives without any assurance at all that the path we are on is the correct one. No assurance except that of our own spirits within us."

"Elegos has been spouting that sort of stuff ever since we left Coruscant," Ghent said with a weak attempt at a grin. "I guess some of this nobleness stuff must have rubbed off on me." Unsteadily, he got to his feet. "This is the right path. And I'm ready. When do we leave?"

"At once," Pellaeon said, sliding around the end of the table and standing up. "I'll put together a letter of introduction for General Hestiv and detail one of my most trusted pilots to fly you to Yaga Minor." His eyes flicked across Ghent's outfit. "I think we'll also put you in an Imperial uniform. Disra may have informers on Yaga Minor, and there's no point in drawing unnecessary attention by bringing an obvious civilian onto a military base."

"You won't be taking him there yourself in the Chimaera?" Leia asked. Pellaeon shook his head. "Once you and I have finished our discussions, I'll be heading directly to Bastion. There are some rather pointed questions Moff Disra owes me answers for." Leia swallowed. "I see."

"With your permission, then, I'll go arrange for Crypt Chief Ghent's transport." Pellaeon smiled faintly at Ghent. "I mean Imperial Lieutenant Ghent's transport. Come with me, Lieutenant." Stepping past Sakhisakh, he headed for the Falcon's exit. "Sure," Ghent said, starting after him.

"So long, Elegos. You too, Councilor."

"Go in wisdom and courage," Elegos said gravely.

"May the Force be with you," Leia added. "And thank you."

* * *

Captain Ardiff was waiting in the aft bridge when Pellaeon emerged from the turbolift. "The Millennium Falcon has cleared the sentry perimeter and jumped to lightspeed," he reported.

"Good," Pellaeon said, looking past him to the viewport. In the distance, he could see the faint flickers of reflected sunlight from the solar panels of the TIE fighter escort as they headed back to the Chimaera. "And Lieutenant Mavron?"

"He and his passenger left half an hour ago." Ardiff lifted his eyebrows slightly. "May I ask...?"

"How the talks went?" Pellaeon shrugged. "As well as preliminary talks ever go, I suppose. Organa Solo isn't about to commit the New Republic to a course of action based on my word alone, and I made it similarly clear that I can't accept her word as guaranteeing Coruscant's future actions. So there's a great deal of careful verbal dancing yet to be done."

"But she's willing to talk."

"She's very willing to talk." Pellaeon hesitated. "At least, about most things." Ardiff frowned. "What do you mean?"

Pellaeon gazed out at the stars again. "There's something she wasn't telling me," he said.

"Something important—that much I'm sure of. But what exactly it was..." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Private information having to do with the Bothans, perhaps?" Ardiff suggested. "Or something more personal? She's been in political trouble on Coruscant before—could it be that she's about to lose her influence there entirely?"

"I hope not," Pellaeon said. "Political problems between her and Coruscant would make this process far more difficult than it already is. They might reject any proposal simply because she was involved with it."

"Or might support it because she was involved," Ardiff pointed out. "The polarization we're already seeing over the Caamas issue could easily bleed over into something like this."

"That's one of my biggest concerns," Pellaeon agreed grimly. "That peace will be rejected by some for no better reason than that their political enemies are for it." He stepped past Ardiff onto the command walkway. "But all of us have only the cards the universe has dealt us," he said. "If Organa Solo refuses to show us some of her cards, we'll just have to play the game that way.

"And in the meantime," he added, "we have other matters to attend to. Set course for Bastion, Captain. It's time Moff Disra and I had a long, serious talk."

* * *

In front of the Falcon, the stars flared into starlines, and Leia slumped a little in her seat. "Do you think he really meant it?" she asked, turning to look at Elegos.

Elegos gave one of his full-body Caamasi shrugs. "I believe Admiral Pellaeon himself is sincere," he said. "As I presume you know with more certainty than I do. I suspect the question you really wish to ask is whether his sincerity can be trusted."

"I don't know," she said. "You're right, I don't sense any duplicity in Pellaeon himself. But with Thrawn back on the scene..." She shook her head. "Nothing was ever the way it seemed with him, Elegos. He could maneuver you into doing exactly what he wanted you to do, despite the fact that you knew he was trying to do it. Thrawn may be using this peace initiative of Pellaeon's for some other end entirely."

"Is that why you didn't tell him that Captain Solo was on Bastion?" Elegos asked. Leia started. "How did you know about that?" she demanded. "I didn't tell you Han had gone there."

Elegos shrugged again. "You've dropped hints," he said. "As have the Noghri. It hasn't been difficult to put the pieces together." His blue-on-green eyes bored into her face. "Why didn't you tell Admiral Pellaeon that?"

Leia turned away from that gaze, pretending to study the Falcon's engine monitor. "We know that Imperials are encouraging at least some of the violence that's been occurring in the New Republic," she said, fighting through the sudden dryness in her throat. "That riot on Bothawui, for one—my Noghri guard found evidence that the shots that started it came from a rare Imperial sniper weapon."

"Interesting," Elegos murmured. "You didn't tell Pellaeon about that, either."

"The problem is we have no real proof of any of it," Leia said, shaking her head tiredly. "And even if we did... fighting Thrawn is like fighting a shadow, Elegos. He's never where you think he is, doing what you expect him to do. Everything he does is circles within circles within circles."

"Yet you cannot allow uncertainty to paralyze you," Elegos pointed out. "That path allows him to win by default. At some point, right or wrong, you must take action." His eyes seemed to bore into hers. "You must decide who you can trust."

Leia blinked back sudden tears. "I can't trust Pellaeon," she said bluntly. "Not yet. If Thrawn is orchestrating this whole operation, Han would be a terribly useful hostage or bargaining chip for him. I couldn't take the chance he'd find out from Pellaeon that Han was there."

"Yet you trusted him enough to allow him to take Ghent into a situation of potentially equal danger," Elegos pointed out.

"Ghent wanted to go," she said, knowing even as she spoke that such an argument was dangerously slippery ground. "Besides, he wouldn't be of any use to Thrawn."

"You know better than that, Councilor," Elegos said, the soft reproach in his voice a painful jab in Leia's heart. "Ghent is highly knowledgeable about New Republic encrypt and decrypt techniques. In a war situation, such knowledge would be of immense value to the Empire."

"We've already been over this," Leia reminded him, the first stirrings of anger coloring the guilt rumbling within her. Who was this Caamasi to tell her what was right or not right for her to do?

"There's no way for us to avoid taking risks here."

"I agree," Elegos said. "And I don't suggest that your decisions were necessarily wrong." Leia frowned, the growing anger turning to suspicious uncertainty. "What are you suggesting, then?" she demanded.

"That you're worried you used your power and authority to protect your husband more than you did a relative stranger," Elegos said. "That you're worried you've betrayed the trust that is yours as a High Councilor, a diplomat, and a Jedi."

"She does not need to answer to you, Trustant A'kla," a harsh Noghri voice came from behind them.

Leia turned her head to see Sakhisakh standing in the open cockpit door. "Trouble?" she asked him.

"No trouble," the Noghri assured her, stepping forward and taking up a position just behind her.

"I came to report that no one is in pursuit, and that Barkhimkh is shutting down the weapons systems." He turned his dark eyes on Elegos. "If she chooses to protect her clan from danger, that is no concern of yours."

"I agree," Elegos said calmly. "As I've already said, I'm not here to pass judgment."

"Then why do you press her about it?" Sakhisakh demanded.

"Because as I also said, she herself is not convinced she did right," Elegos said, turning his gaze back to Leia. "It's important that she think this matter through and come to a conclusion, one way or another. Either to accept her decisions as right and continue on, or to acknowledge them as wrong and also continue on."

"Why must she do this?" Sakhisakh asked.

The Caamasi smiled sadly. "Because she is a High Councilor, and a diplomat, and a Jedi. Only when she is at peace with herself will she have the insight and wisdom we will all need to rely on in the days ahead."

For a long moment none of them spoke. Leia stared out at the mottled sky of hyperspace rushing past, the acrid bite of shame adding to the rest of the emotions swirling within her. Once again, Elegos was right. "You should have been a Jedi, Elegos," she said with a sigh as she unstrapped from her seat and stood up.

"I do not have a Jedi's ability to touch the Force," Elegos said, an odd note of regret in his voice.

"And yet, you speak more truly than perhaps you know. It is a legend among my people that, at the very dawn of their age, the first of the Jedi Knights came to Caamas to learn from us the moral use of their power."

"I don't doubt the legend is true," Leia said, gesturing to the seat she'd just vacated. "Sakhisakh, if you'd take control here, I'll be in the cargo hold. I have some serious thinking and meditating to do."

CHAPTER

20

"Good day, citizen-scholars of the M'challa Order of the Empire," the ancient SE2 service droid behind the reception desk wheezed its usual greeting. "How may I and the Imperial Library serve you this morning?"

"Just assign us a computer station," Han said, putting a firm restraining bolt on his already grouchy mood. Already it was shaping up to be a hot, muggy day, and he felt both uncomfortable and stupid parading around the city streets in the traditional M'challa scholar's robe he and the others had been wearing ever since landing here on Bastion. The last thing he wanted to do was waste time trading banter with an SE2 droid. "We can handle our own data search, thanks."

"Certainly." The droid peered at him, then at Lando, then at Lobot. His gaze lingered on the latter, as if wondering why he was wearing his hood so close about his head on such a warm day. "You citizens have been in here before," he said. "Each of the past three days, if my memory has not degraded."

"We're doing a long-term study," Lando stepped in smoothly. "It takes a great deal of time."

"Would you like assistance?" the droid asked helpfully. "We have several research droids and interface counterparts available for hire at a purely nominal fee."

"We're doing fine," Han told him, striving mightily to keep from shouting in the droid's metal face.

"Just assign us a station, all right?"

"Certainly, citizen-scholar," the droid said affably. "Station 47A. Go through the double doors to your left—"

"We know where it is," Han said, turning on his heel and stalking toward the indicated doors.

"And thank you," Lando added.

He and Lobot caught up with Han just inside the double doors. "You think you can draw a little more attention to us?" Lando growled as Han headed off through the maze of individual and group booths that filled the huge room, only a handful of which were currently occupied. "Maybe you should try kicking the droid back and forth across the desk a few times—that ought to do it."

"A lot of Imperials don't like droids," Han growled back. "Even scholars. Let's just get on with it, okay?"

Lando didn't answer, and Han felt a twinge of guilt for snapping at his friend that way. After all, Lando was doing him a big favor by even being here in the first place.

But his mood was already too sour for the guilt to make much headway against it. Three days of softfooting around the Imperial capital city having to put up with smarmy Imperials, overcharging tapcafe owners, and idiot SE2 droids was starting to get to him.

Especially considering how much progress they'd made so far in getting into the Special Files section. Namely, none.

They reached Station 47A and Han snagged a third chair from an unused booth to supplement the two already there. "All right," Lando said, activating the booth's privacy field as he sat Lobot down in front of the keyboard and then took the chair beside him. "You have a good contact with Moegid?" Lobot's answer was to place his fingers on the keyboard. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, he began tapping the keys.

Hitching his chair up behind Lando, stifling a sarcastic remark that wouldn't have done anyone any good and was probably uncalled for anyway, Han sat down and tried to settle in. Maybe this time, they'd get lucky.

* * *

The ship had been quiet for nearly an hour before Karoly decided that, once again, she had guessed wrong.

It was aggravating. No, actually, it was infuriating. To have come all this way with Solo and Calrissian—to have spent days buried alive in this cramped smuggling compartment beneath the elegant living section of Calrissian's yacht—and then to not even find Karrde and Shada waiting at the end of the ride was maddening.

She took a deep breath in the darkness, ordering herself sternly to settle down. Maybe Karrde and Shada had simply been delayed, and were still on their way. She would just have to be patient and wait them out.

In the meantime, there was clearly nothing to be gained by hanging around in this hole feeling sorry for herself. Reaching above her, she worked the catch that popped the hidden access panel and eased it carefully to one side.

For a moment she remained motionless in a half crouch, listening for any indication that she might have been heard. Then she eased up and out into the corridor, breathing deeply as she flushed the stale air of the compartment out of her lungs.

No one was visible. Not that that was surprising, really. Solo, Calrissian, and that biocomp-wired cyborg they called Lobot had all gone off together that morning, leaving the Verpine presumably in his usual place in the aft control room. That had been the procedure every day since they'd landed here, and there'd been nothing in the snatches of conversation she'd overheard that might indicate the routine had been changed. Briefly, she considered sneaking aft to again try to figure out what the Verpine was doing, but decided against it. Her last two efforts in that direction had failed to discover anything useful, and she couldn't see wasting any more time on it.

Which left her with the question of what exactly she should be wasting her time doing. There weren't all that many options, actually. For the past three days, she'd followed Solo and the others to what the SE2 on desk duty had identified as an Imperial Library. The first two days she'd sneaked in behind them to watch; yesterday, tired of staring through a privacy field watching them punch computer keys all day, she'd left them inside and scouted around the building and neighborhood.

Now, having sneaked back aboard the ship last night, she had tested the theory that Shada might actually be meeting with the Verpine while Solo and the others were out. But that one had fallen through, too... and as far as Karoly could see, she was out of options. For all the evidence to date, Shada might not be coming here at all.

And that was an immensely irritating thought. It would mean she had completely misinterpreted that conversation she'd eavesdropped between Solo and Calrissian, and had come out here on a total wild tresher hunt.

Wherever "here" actually was. It was Imperial space—that much had been obvious from the all-human populace even before she'd spotted her first Imperial Security uniform. But where in the Empire it actually was, she didn't know.

Not that it mattered all that much, except for the fact that if Solo and Calrissian managed to give her the slip it might mean trouble getting back home. Unlikely, though—from the way they'd been talking this morning, whatever their objective was they were still a long way from achieving it. Still, Karrde had been mentioned in that conversation, so maybe he was just being cagey. Another quick scout around the library's neighborhood, she decided, then tag Solo again when they took their usual early-afternoon meal break.

And maybe this time they would actually say something worth listening to. Easing down the corridor, alert for any sounds, she headed for the hatchway.

* * *

"Another report from your new Empire, Your Excellency," Tierce said, laying a pair of datacards on Disra's desk. "The Ruurian governments have forwarded a copy of the fully executed treaty between their systems and the Empire."

"Systems?" Disra asked, picking up the datacard and frowning at it. "I thought our treaty was only with their home system."

"It was," Tierce said smugly. "Apparently, our little demonstration against those Diamalan Marauders convinced three of their independent colonies that they wanted to be on the winning side, too."

"Did it, now," Disra said, looking at the datacard with new interest. The Ruurian independent colonies were joint efforts with a half-dozen other species. "Did the other co-owners of those worlds agree?"

"Apparently so," Tierce said. "The treaties speak of the colony systems in their entireties, with no mention of specific regions or districts." He smiled. "Of course, the Ruurians are quite good at persuasion."

"They're not the only ones," Disra said, looking across the room to where Flim was hunched over in a chair, staring moodily out a window. "Congratulations, Admiral. You've picked up three more systems."

Flim didn't answer, and Disra felt his lip twist with contempt. Apparently, the con man was still sulking.

"Don't worry," Tierce said, following Disra's glare. "He'll get over it soon enough."

"Or else he'll soon find himself impaled on a sharp pole somewhere out in Unknown Space," Flim growled without turning around. "Right next to the two of you." Disra looked up at Tierce. "What's his problem?"

"Nothing serious," Tierce said, dismissing the con man with a wave of his hand. "He's worried about that alien ship, that's all."

"Ah," Disra said, smiling tightly. Yes—the mysterious alien ship which that sleeper cell pilot had spotted and made a recording of off Pakrik Minor. "What's the status on that, anyway?"

"The analysts should be finished anytime," Tierce assured him. "I have a feeling this may be it, Your Excellency."

Disra felt a shiver ripple up his back. "You really think that was the Hand of Thrawn in that ship?"

"You saw the design," Tierce pointed out. "Part TIE fighter, part something else. Yes, I think that's the Hand, or else his agent, or else someone from Captain Parck. Whichever, I think we may finally have lured our target into the open."

Flim made a rumbling noise in the back of his throat. "Like you might lure out a Death Star," he muttered.

"You're overdoing the melodrama just a bit, Admiral," Tierce said, his patience starting to sound a little strained. "Whoever they are, there are a dozen ways we can keep them from getting close enough to figure out you're a fraud."

"And what if they want to say hello?" Flim countered. "What are you going to say then? That I've got laryngitis? That I just stepped out for a week?"

"Hold it, both of you," Disra cut them off as the comm light on his desk began to blink. "This may be it."

He keyed the comm. "Moff Disra," he said.

The man on the display was middle-aged, with the slightly nearsighted look of someone who has spent long years staring at a computer display. "Colonel Uday, Your Excellency: Imperial Intelligence Analysis. I have the final report on that record you sent me."

"Excellent," Disra said. "Send it immediately."

"Yes, sir," Uday said, glancing down and working keys off-camera. Another light on Disra's display winked on and then off again, marking the transfer. "I'm afraid there wasn't much we could get on the ship itself," Uday continued. "But what there was is in there."

"Thank you," Disra said, trying not to sound too impatient. The sooner he could cut off this garrulous fool, the sooner he and Tierce could start going over the report line by line. "You'll be receiving a commendation for your quick work."

"Two points, first, if I may, Your Excellency," Uday said, holding up two fingers.

"I'm sure it's all in your report," Disra said, reaching for the off switch. "Thank you—"

"According to the note that accompanied the file, the sighting was made by a TIE fighter off Pakrik Minor," Uday said. "That turns out not to be the case." Disra froze, finger poised over the switch. "Explain."

"The file is actually a compilation of two separate sightings," Uday said. "One was made in the Kauron system, we think, the other either in the Nosken or Drompani systems. Neither was made by a TIE fighter, either."

Disra threw a hard look at Tierce. The Royal Guardsman's face had turned to stone. "How do you know?" he demanded.

"That they didn't come from TIE fighters?" Uday asked. "The sensor profiles are all wrong. I'd guess an X-wing or A-wing for the first one, some kind of well-equipped warship for the second. Not a New Republic ship—the verification signature is wrong for that." The colonel shrugged. "As to where they were made, that's easily pulled from the background star patterns." Disra took a careful breath. "Thank you, Colonel," he said. "You've been most helpful. As I said, a commendation will be forthcoming."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Uday said.

Disra stabbed the comm switch, and the colonel's face vanished. "Well," the Moff said, looking at Tierce again. "It seems we've been lied to."

"It does indeed," Tierce said, his voice soft, his expression gone suddenly deadly. "I think, Your Excellency, that we have been betrayed."

Disra swore viciously. "That kriffing clone. That kriffing clone. We should never have trusted them. Thrawn should never have started this kriffing project in the first place."

"Calm down," Tierce said, his tone suddenly sharp. "Thrawn knew what he was doing. And don't forget that a good many of those clones died fighting for the Empire."

"They're still an abomination," Disra snarled. He'd spoken with clones; had ordered them into battle; had even sold them to the Cavrilhu Pirates in exchange for Zothip's precious Preybird starfighters. They still made his skin crawl. "And you can't trust any of them."

"Can we get off Carib Devist and clone treachery for a minute?" Flim put in tautly. "Seems to me the question ought to be why he sent us a faked record in the first place. What did he have to gain?" Tierce took a deep breath, clearly forcing calmness into himself. "That is indeed the question. Disra, how did the record come in?"

"Aboard a drone probe from the Ubiqtorate contact station at Parshoone," Disra told him. "Sent by the agent in charge—"

"Sent directly here?" Tierce cut him off. "No handoffs or course changes?"

"No," Disra said, one hand curling into a fist as it suddenly and belatedly struck him. "They wanted Bastion's location."

"And they got it," Tierce said darkly, his comlink already in his hand. "Major Tierce to Capital Security: full background alert. Possible spies in the city; locate and put under surveillance. Do not—repeat, do not—detain at present. Confirmation from Moff Disra will be forthcoming." He got an acknowledgment and keyed off. "You need to send them a confirmation, Your Excellency," he said.

"I know," Disra said, frowning at him. "Excuse me if I seem unusually dense today; but you don't want them detained? Spies or saboteurs in my city, and you don't want them detained?"

"I don't think they're saboteurs," Tierce said. "After all, they've been here at least a couple of days and nothing has blown up."

"Oh, that's comforting," Disra said icily. "Why don't you want them detained?"

"As Thrawn often said, within every problem lies an opportunity." Tierce shifted his gaze to the side. "It occurs to me we have an extremely interesting opportunity here." Frowning, Disra followed his gaze...

"You'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinking," Flim warned, his eyes flicking uneasily back and forth between Tierce and Disra.

"Of course we are," Tierce assured him. "A Rebel spy team, being confronted personally by Grand Admiral Thrawn? It would be the perfect cap to your performance."

"The perfect slab under my funeral pyre, you mean," Flim shot back. "Are you crazy, Tierce?

They get one glimpse of me, and you're going to have a martyred Grand Admiral on your hands."

"Which might not be such a bad idea," Disra growled, keying confirmation of Tierce's security alert into his board. "Tierce is right—this is a perfect chance to demonstrate your omniscience."

"I can hardly wait," Flim said sourly, crossing his arms.

"Calm down, Admiral," Tierce said, nudging Disra aside and keying the display for a search grid overview. "We'll have them spotted in fifteen minutes, and the whole thing will be over in thirty." There was a beep from the display. "Your Excellency?"

Muttering a curse, Disra keyed the comm switch. "Yes, what is it?" A young, earnest-looking man appeared on the display. "Major Kerf, Your Excellency: spaceport control," he identified himself. "I thought you'd like to know that his shuttle has just landed." Disra shot a look over the display at Tierce, got a shrug in response. "Whose shuttle has just landed?"

"I thought you knew, sir," Kerf said, looking a little bewildered. "He said he was on his way to the palace to see you, and I just assumed—"

"Never mind your assumptions, Major," Disra snapped. "Who is it?"

"Why, the admiral, sir," Kerf stammered. "You know—Admiral Pellaeon."

* * *

The waiter at the open-air tapcafe set the plate of mesh-cooked trimpian slices down on the table, accepted payment with a not-quite sneer, and strolled his way back toward the overhang where the bar was located. "He's a real gem, isn't he," Lando grumbled, glaring after him.

"Probably figures M'challa scholars wouldn't know good service if it fell over them, so why bother," Han said, picking up one of the slices and dipping it into the yellow-swirled miasra sauce, being careful not to let the sleeve of his robe drag into it. Despite the fact they again had no progress to show for their morning's work, he was actually feeling better than he had earlier. Lando, on the other hand, seemed to have caught his bad mood. "So what, that means our money's no good?" he growled. "I tell you, Han, they're getting cocky again."

"Yeah, I know," Han said, taking a bite as he looked out at the people hurrying along the streets bordering the tapcafe. Hurrying about their business, with a light step and an optimism they probably hadn't had in years. And it didn't take a genius to figure out why.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had returned.

"They have to realize they're still completely overmatched," he pointed out around his mouthful.

"They've got, what, a thousand systems left?"

"It's not a lot," Lando agreed, snagging a piece of the trimpian for himself and dabbing it delicately into the miasra sauce. Lobot, Han noted, without the distraction of conversation or moodiness to slow him down, was already on his second slice. "But you sure wouldn't know it by looking at them."

"Yeah," Han said, looking around some more. Happy people, cheerful people, confident that the universe was about to open up and rain wonders down on them again. It was enough to turn a bad mood really rotten...

He paused, the tangy bite of trimpian between his teeth suddenly forgotten. Beyond the pedestrians, the vehicular traffic had come to a momentary halt as a speeder truck halfway down the block maneuvered toward a loading ramp. And in one of the landspeeders a few meters back from the tapcafe—

"Lando—over there," he hissed, nodding toward the landspeeder. "That dark green open-top landspeeder. The guy with the thick blond beard?"

Lando pulled back the side of his hood for better visibility. "I'll be a scruffy nerfherder," he breathed. "That's not Zothip, is it?"

"Sure looks like him," Han agreed grimly, fighting the impulse to pull his own hood a little tighter around his face. Captain Zothip, head of the Cavrilhu Pirates, and one of the nastier forms of semi-intelligent rotscum he'd ever had the misfortune to cross paths with. Considering the bounty on Zothip's head, there shouldn't have been a civilized planet anywhere in the galaxy where he should have been able to show his ugly face.

And yet there he was, crammed into a landspeeder with five equally ugly bodyguards in the middle of the Imperial capital, shouting obscenities at the speeder truck as if he owned the whole town. "I'd say we've found the pirate-Empire link Luke and me have been looking for," he muttered.

"Clones and all."

"I'd say you're right," Lando said, his robe twitching as he shivered. "I sure hope you're not going to suggest we follow him and confirm it."

Han shook his head. "Not a chance, pal. I tangled with him once a long time ago. I haven't the slightest interest in trying it again."

"Me, neither." Lando exhaled audibly. "You know something, Han? We're getting old."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Han said. "Come on, let's eat up and get back to the library." He glanced up at the brilliant sunlight and blue, cloudless sky. "Suddenly this town seems a lot less friendly than it did five minutes ago."

* * *

The speeder truck finished its maneuvering, the traffic began to move again, and Solo and the others went back to their meal.

And setting a high-denomination coin down beside her own half-finished snack, Karoly left the tapcafe and slipped out into the stream of pedestrians. Suddenly, there was something more interesting than Solo and Calrissian and their library research to attract her attention. Something far more interesting.

The dark green Kakkran landspeeder hadn't made it more than a street away when she found what she was looking for: an old, beat-up Ubrikkian 9000, untended, parked at the side of the street. Palming her Mistryl-issue inciter, she hopped into the driver's seat, taking the control stick with one hand and sliding the inciter beneath the readout panel with the other. The motor coughed reluctantly to life, and with a glance over her shoulder she pulled out into a gap in the vehicular stream. A casual observer would have seen nothing unusual; she could only hope that the owner wouldn't miss his vehicle until she was finished with it.

She wove in and out of traffic until she had trimmed enough off Zothip's lead to be able to catch frequent glimpses of the dark green Kakkran. The more official-looking buildings, including what was obviously the local governor's palace, were situated on the higher ground at the northern edge of the city off to their left. If the Imperial connection Solo had mentioned was real, the pirates should be turning off anytime now.

But to her growing surprise, they didn't. Instead, the Kakkran continued east, angling northward only after the palace was far behind them. They reached the outskirts of the city and headed out into the wooded hills that bordered the area to the north, and Karoly found herself dropping farther and farther back as the traffic thinned out.

The pirates changed roads twice more, curving farther and farther north, and Karoly began to regret she'd never gotten around to picking up a map of the area. The road they were on seemed to be taking them in a circle around the city, which made no sense to her at all unless they were trying to come up on the palace from behind.

She was still toying with that thought when the Kakkran suddenly pulled to the side of the road and disappeared into the trees.

She pulled off, too, slipping out of her Ubrikkian and heading into the woods on foot. She'd gone only a little ways when the sound of the repulsorlifts ahead of her cut off.

"You sure this is it?" a rough voice drifted back toward her through the trees. "Doesn't look like any escape route I've ever seen."

"Trust me, Captain," a more cultured voice assured him. "I scoped the place out thoroughly the last time we were here." Karoly got a glimpse of movement through the trees, headed for the cover of a squat bush—

"Here it is," the cultured man said; and as Karoly dropped into a crouching position behind the bush she saw one of the six pirates reach out an arm and swing away some hanging branches from a tree growing out of the rocky cliff face. "Your typical Imperial rat-run." Zothip grunted, ducking down to peer inside. "Couple of landspeeders stashed away in there. The tunnel wide enough for 'em, Control?"

"I presume we'll find out," the cultured man said. "Grinner, get it started." The pirates disappeared beneath the hanging branches, and a minute later there was the sound of a repulsorlift powering up. The sound revved, then faded away into the distance. Karoly gave them a count of ten, then eased to the tree and ducked under the branches.

She found herself in a small room, no more than twice as wide as the tile-walled tunnel that extended into the hills from its rear wall, with a small Slipter landspeeder parked along the side. In the distance, she could see the reflected glow from the other landspeeder's lights receding rapidly down the tunnel.

Using her inciter, she started up the Slipter, hoping the sound of the pirates' own vehicle would cover up the extra noise. Swinging it around, leaving the lights off, she headed off in pursuit.

* * *

"Report from Security Team Eight, sir," the young trooper at the comm monitor said, his voice academy crisp. "Three possibles have been spotted in a landspeeder outside the Timaris Building. Security Team Two reporting two possibles have just entered a jewelry store on the fourteenth block of Bleaker Street."

"I've got data feeds from both teams," the trooper at one of the computer displays added.

"Running facial matches now."

"He'll be running them against the complete Fleet record system over at Ompersan, Your Excellency," the lieutenant standing beside Disra explained. "If they've ever crossed paths with the Empire, their faces will be in there."

"Very good, Lieutenant," Disra said, looking around the darkened palace situation room with a mixture of satisfaction and envy. Satisfaction, because the command team he'd installed here a year ago was working with the kind of speed and efficiency that had once been the proud hallmark of the Imperial military. Envy, because it wasn't him they were performing for. "Any suggestions, Admiral?" Standing behind the main comm monitor station, Thrawn lifted his eyebrows politely. In the dim lighting his glowing red eyes looked even brighter than usual. "I suggest, Your Excellency," he said, the word "suggest" carrying just the barest emphasis, "that we first allow the analysis staff to do their work. There's nothing to be gained by showing our hand until we're sure who the spies are."

"Maybe they all are," Disra countered, suddenly tired of the polite condescension. In character or not—dangerous or not—it was high time he took the con man down a stroke or two. "Coruscant has been trying to learn Bastion's current location for a good two years now. I doubt they would waste that hard-fought knowledge just to drop one or two spies on us."

He could feel Tierce's eyes on him, and the heat of the Guardsman's disapproval of his verbal challenge. But Thrawn's blue-black eyebrows merely lifted politely. "What do you suggest, then, Your Excellency? That a saboteur team has been sent in to bring down our planetary shields in preparation for a major attack?"

Disra stared at him, the sudden jolt momentarily sidetracking his irritation. That was precisely the scheme they themselves were working against the Bothan homeworld of Bothawui. What in the Empire was Flim doing talking openly about such a thing here?

He was saved from his sudden confusion by the trooper at the computer console. "Report from Ompersan, Admiral," the other announced. "Suspected possibles have been cleared. All are listed as Imperial citizens."

"Very good," Thrawn acknowledged. "Continue the search. Your Excellency, I presume you have not forgotten your appointment."

Disra looked at his chrono, suppressing a scowl. Yes, Pellaeon would be arriving at the palace any minute now. And between that time crunch and the confusion his barbed remark about saboteurs had caused, the con man had managed to blunt the Moff's verbal attack without saying anything that could be construed as insubordination.

Just the sort of thing the real Thrawn might have done. Disra supposed he ought to be pleased.

"Thank you for the reminder, Admiral," he said. "Carry on here. And let me know the minute—the minute—you find anything."

* * *

They had been back at work for half an hour when Lobot's fingers abruptly came to a halt. "What is it?" Han asked, the smell of the miasra sauce on his breath wafting by Lando's ear as Han leaned over his shoulder. "Are we in?"

"I don't know," Lando said, frowning at Lobot. The other's face had changed subtly, too, at about the same time his fingers had stopped typing. More importantly, the pattern of tiny lights on the frequency readout of his cyborg implant had changed. "Something's interrupted his contact with Moegid."

"Uh-oh," Han muttered under his breath. "You think they're on to us?"

"I don't know," Lando said again, studying Lobot's profile and wondering if he should try talking to him. Lobot's eyes seemed almost glazed over, as if he were in a trance or deep in thought. "I've never seen that comm pattern before."

"Um." Han reached out and experimentally touched Lobot's shoulder. There was no response.

"Backup frequency, maybe?"

"Could be," Lando agreed. "I didn't know they'd set up a second biocomm frequency, but that would make sense. I just wish—"

Abruptly, the pattern of tiny lights changed again. "Beware," Lobot croaked out, his voice an eerie parody of a Verpine's insectine speech. "Security frequencies very active."

"Moegid's talking through him," Lando said, a tight sensation in the pit of his stomach. As far he could remember, Lobot and Moegid had never done that before, either. "Moegid, can you hear me?" There was a long pause, as if some kind of awkward two-way translation was taking place. "I hear," Lobot said at last. "Beware. Security frequencies very active."

"They're on to us," Han said decisively, standing up. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"You think that's a good idea?" Lando asked, looking at the slightly blurred scene outside their privacy field. "At least here they'll have to come right up to us to get a good look at our faces."

"Only if they can't find a display unit to plug that droid out there into," Han said tartly. "Come on, give me a hand with Lobot—he might not be able to steer himself right now. Moegid, is there anyone snooping around the ship?"

They had made it halfway to the door, each of them gripping one of Lobot's upper arms, before Moegid's answer came back. "No one," Lobot assured them in the same Verpine croak.

"Instructions."

"Stay put," Han told him. "We'll be there as soon as we can. Better cut off your transmissions to Lobot, too."

"And don't touch anything," Lando added. "You start up the engines and they'll have you targeted in half a minute."

"They might anyway," Han warned as they continued toward the exit. "Two will get you the hand pot they figured out the record Leia and I gave Carib wasn't taken at Pakrik Minor. All they have to do is run the records for any ships that arrived after that drone probe did."

"Unless Moegid got into the spaceport computer and changed our arrival date," Lando grunted.

"Was he going to do that?"

"He was going to try. I don't know if he managed it or not."

The lights on Lobot's implant changed again; and suddenly, like a sleepwalker suddenly coming awake, he straightened up in their grasp, his tread becoming steady and firm. "We'll just have to get back as fast as we can," Lando said, letting go of Lobot's arm and reaching beneath his cloak to loosen the small, undetectable slugthrower hidden there. Theoretically undetectable, anyway. "And hope we get there before they do."

* * *

Ahead, the lights from the pirates' landspeeder stopped bouncing. Karoly took the cue and brought her own vehicle to a quick halt, shutting down the repulsorlifts as soon as it was safe to do so. Just in time. Even as the whine from her own repulsorlifts faded into silence she could hear the last echoes of sound as the vehicle ahead also powered down.

The lights were still pointed forward, away from her. Hopping out of her landspeeder, she headed that direction in a deceptively awkward-looking walk that struck a balance between speed and silence.

Not that the silent part was all that necessary. Zothip, in particular, didn't seem at all worried about noise. "Typical Imp rat-run, all right," his gruff voice boomed, unnaturally loud in the confines of the tunnel. "Where does this turbolift go?"

"Up into the palace, I presume," Control replied. He seemed to be at least making an effort to keep his volume down. "I've never actually—"

"Then where does this other part of the tunnel go?" someone else cut in.

"I don't know," Control said patiently. "As I started to say, I've never actually been in here." Karoly was close enough to see them now, framed at the edge of the landspeeder's lights. "We'd better find out," Zothip grunted. "Grinner, call the turbolift and stay here with it when it gets here. The rest of you, let's go for a walk."

The five of them strode off through the illumination of the landspeeder's lights, Zothip in the middle with the four guards forming a protective box around him. The remaining pirate, Grinner, punched the turbolift call once, then turned back to watch his departing comrades.

Karoly had reached the rear of the landspeeder by the time the turbolift car arrived. She dropped down behind the rear quarter, freezing in place with blaster ready, as Grinner turned back around to where he'd be able to see her.

But with the lights blazing practically in his face, he didn't have a hope of spotting her back there in the shadows. He glanced once into the car, apparently confirming it was empty, and reached in to push the hold button. Then, satisfied that he'd carried out his orders, he turned back around to watch for Zothip's return.

There were, Karoly realized, not a lot of choices open to her at this point, and the ones she had weren't all that palatable. She could settle the Mistryl's score with Zothip right here and now, counting on surprise and her Mistryl training to make up for her numerical disadvantage. But from what she'd overheard, it seemed there was something very interesting going on between Zothip and someone in the palace above them. A planned assassination, perhaps? Or even a coup?

Not that she particularly cared what happened to Imperial governors. Or soldiers or Moffs, for that matter. The whole lot of them could crash and burn as far as the Mistryl were concerned. But pirates sneaking into a governor's palace on an Imperial world was just odd enough to have piqued her curiosity. Rising from her crouch, she eased silently up behind Grinner. With his attention down the tunnel, and his mind who knew where, he never heard a thing. Sidling around behind him, watching to make sure she wasn't coming into his peripheral vision, she slipped into the turbolift car.

It was, as she'd guessed from the glimpse she'd gotten of its interior, a transplanted military turbolift car, probably scavenged from an old Dreadnaught. And as was the case with all such turbolifts, the door she'd just entered by was mirrored by another one on the opposite side of the car. It hadn't been used recently; a single glance told her that much. But by the same token, it also looked like it hadn't been sealed.

There was only one way to find out for sure... and the time for that test was now. In the distance she could hear echoing footsteps, and as she looked back at the doorway she saw Grinner disappear in that direction as he took a few steps down the tunnel toward the returning pirates. It was the work of five seconds to pull her climbing claws from her hip pouch, open them, fasten them securely to her hands, and ease their points into the crack between the closed doors. Setting her teeth, she began to pull them apart.

For a moment nothing happened. She pulled harder, putting Mistryl-honed muscle behind it; and with a suddenness that startled her they came apart, sliding smoothly and almost noiselessly into the walls of the car.

Unlike the car itself, the turbolift shaft behind the doors hadn't been transplanted from anywhere. It had been carved out of solid rock, with only a light gridwork frame installed to support the repulsorlift and tractor equipment that powered the system.

The clearance between the gridwork and the car was minimal, but adequate. Stepping through the door, turning again to face into the car, she found a toehold on the doorframe lip and got a grip on the doors.

She had them pulled back down to a slight crack when Zothip rounded the corner and stomped into the car.

She froze, abandoning the rest of her effort, her eyes searching the outside of the car now. If Grinner noticed the doors were cracked more than they had been earlier there was going to be trouble. But Grinner hadn't struck her as the observant type, and there was nothing she could do about it now anyway. More important was the fact that if she didn't find a way to hang on, she was going to be left behind.

There were no convenient handholds that she could get to, which meant she was going to have to make some. Timing it to the exact moment when one of the pirates stomped into the car, she jabbed her climbing hooks into the grillwork behind two of the glow panels. She'd barely gotten them set when there was the vibration of the main doors closing, and they were off.

"So what was at the other end of the tunnel?" she heard Grinner's voice ask through the crack between the doors.

She'd expected the response to come from Zothip, but it was Control's voice that answered.

"Looked like some sort of apartment," he said. "Rather nicely appointed."

"Anyone in it?" Grinner asked.

"Not at the moment," Control said. "But whoever was living there liked having his own personal Star Destroyer captain's chair."

"His own what?" Grinner growled. "What in Vader's face would anyone want with something like that?"

"Very good," Control said archly. "You've got the question. Now if we had the answer, we'd have a complete set."

"I don't like this," Zothip rumbled. "I don't like any of it. He's playing something real close to the chest, and I don't like it."

"Whatever it is, we'll find out soon enough," Control assured him. "We might want to go in a little quieter than you'd planned, though."

"Oh, we'll go in quiet, all right," Zothip promised darkly. "Don't worry about that. He'll never hear a thing."

CHAPTER

21

They had made it five blocks—which was four blocks farther than Han had thought they would get—when the whole thing started to unravel.

"Han?" Lando murmured as the three of them hurried across a busy street with a crowd of other pedestrians. "That security landspeeder there to the left just slowed down."

"I know," Han said grimly, peering around the edge of his scholar's hood. Near as he could tell through the curved windows, there were two men in the vehicle. Alert young men, by the looks of them, undoubtedly armed to the teeth. "That's, what, the third one that's taken an interest in us?"

"About that," Lando sighed. "Where's Luke and his Jedi tricks when you need them?"

"Luke or Leia," Han added, wishing mightily now that he hadn't argued so successfully against her coming on this trip. They might well have been spotted a lot sooner; but at least when they were they would have had a Jedi here on their side. "He's turning back around—they're on us, all right."

"Well, don't give up just yet," Lando said, glancing around. "You still have official standing with the New Republic—we may be able to talk our way out of it. Especially if they know how Leia reacts when one of her family gets in trouble."

"You mean like when one of the kids gets kidnapped or her husband gets beaten to a pulp or something?" Han growled, feeling his face warm.

"I didn't mean it that way," Lando protested.

"Thanks anyway," Han said, looking around for inspiration. His gaze fell on a tapcafe across the street with a large sign reading SABACC TOURNAMENT TODAY prominently displayed in the privacy-glazed window... "Over there." He nudged Lando in the tapcafe's direction. "You have your slugthrower, right?"

"Uh... yes," Lando said cautiously. "What exactly have you got in mind?"

"What's the one thing security types can't ever resist?" Han asked. "Especially young, cocky ones?"

"I don't know," Lando said humorlessly. "Working prisoners over?" Han shook his head. "A good commotion," he said, nodding toward the tapcafe. "You take Lobot into the middle of the place and clear it out. I'll handle the rest."

"Right. Good luck."

They made it across the traffic in one piece and went into the tapcafe. Inside, it was just as Han had hoped: large, well lit, and crowded to the gills with sabacc players hunched over tables and kibitzers standing behind them gazing over their shoulders. Breaking to the right just inside the door, he sidled around behind a wall of observers as Lando and Lobot worked their way in toward the curved bar bulging out into the room from the center of the left-hand wall. By the time they reached it Han had managed to work his way out of his scholar's robe. Kicking it back out of the way against the wall, he rubbed the sweat off his palms and waited for Lando to make his move. He didn't have to wait very long. "All right, that's it!" Lando abruptly bellowed, his voice cutting through the low murmur of background conversation like a lightsaber through a block of ice. All heads turned toward the bar—

And jerked back in shock and fright as the slugthrower blew a gaping hole in the ceiling.

"We'll settle this right here and now, you mangy kowk brain," Lando shouted over the echoing thundercrack and a handful of gasping shrieks. "Everybody else— out!" It was as unclear to Han as it was to everyone else just who the mangy kowk brain was that Lando was referring to. But if the sudden panicked exodus from the room was any indication, no one seemed eager to accept the title. Drinks, cards, and dignity completely forgotten, the whole crowd made a concerted dash for the door.

Han let about half of them get past him. Then, shoving his way into the stream, he squeezed through the door and out into the street.

He'd been right about the two security men. Their quiet surveillance totally abandoned, they were pushing their way upstream against the crowd toward the sound of the slugthrower shots, their blasters drawn and ready. Elbowing his way crosswise against the flow, Han angled toward them. Concentrating on the tapcafe, the first one shoved past Han without a single glance. Han waited until the second was just passing him; then, grabbing the kid's gun hand, he swiveled on one heel and drove his elbow hard into the other's stomach. The air went out of him in a loud, agonized whoosh that clearly announced he was out of the fight.

Unfortunately, the sound also clearly announced trouble to his partner. Even as Han wrenched the blaster from his victim's limp hand the other security man, still enmeshed by the crowd, turned to see what had happened.

The kid was certainly young and agile enough. But he had turned around to his left, which left his blaster out of line for a quick shot behind him. Han, on the other hand, already had his appropriated weapon aimed. With a silent plea for the complete trappings of civilization to be in place here in the Imperial capital, he fired.

His plea was answered. Instead of the killing flash of full-power blaster fire, the weapon in his hand spat the brilliant blue rings of a stun jolt.

The security man dropped like a rock beneath the flow of the crowd, already scattering away from this new threat to their peace and quiet. Brandishing the blaster high, Han leaped over the prone body and dashed back to the tapcafe.

Inside, the place was deserted. Even the bartender had found somewhere to disappear to. "Not like the old days in the Outer Rim," Lando commented almost wistfully, stripping off his own scholar's robe with one hand as he kept his slugthrower ready.

"Lucky for you it isn't," Han reminded him. "On Tatooine or Bengely there'd have been fifteen blasters on you before you got your second shot off. Come on—back door's that way." Nevertheless, he felt a twinge of regret of his own as the three of them headed for the back of the tapcafe. Those had indeed been fine days...

* * *

Bracing himself, Disra lifted his eyes from the datapad. "I don't know what to say, Admiral," he said, careful not to overdo the hurt indignation in his voice and expression. "I categorically deny all of this, of course."

"Of course," Pellaeon echoed, his eyes cool and measuring. "I'm sure it's nothing more than a carefully orchestrated smear campaign against you by your political enemies." Disra bit down on his tongue in annoyance. That had indeed been the line he'd been planning to run with. Vader take the man, anyway. "I wouldn't go quite that far," he said instead. "I have no doubt that at least some of your sources have been sincere. Whatever their motivations or sincerity, though, their information is wrong."

Pellaeon exchanged glances with Commander Dreyf, seated beside him. Patient, knowing glances on both sides. "Really," Pellaeon said, looking back at Disra. "And what do you suggest is the motivation an sincerity of the official trading data Commander Dreyf uncovered on Muunilinst?"

"That's section fifteen on the file," Dreyf offered helpfully. "In case you missed it." Disra ground his teeth, looking back at the datapad. Vader take Pellaeon and Dreyf. "All I can suggest is that someone deliberately planted those numbers," he said. It was an unbelievably weak defense, and everyone in the office undoubtedly knew it. But even as Pellaeon opened his mouth to most likely point that out, there was a diffident tap from across the room and one of the double doors swung ponderously open. Disra looked up, ready to scorch the person who'd had the temerity to intrude on a private conversation—

"Your Excellency?" Tierce said, blinking with nicely underplayed surprise at the sight of the two armed troopers flanking the doorway, guards Pellaeon had had the effrontery to bring in here with him. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir—"

"No, that's all right, Major," Disra said. "What is it?"

"I have an urgent message for you, Your Excellency," Tierce said, hesitantly crossing toward the desk, his eyes on Pellaeon. "From the palace situation room."

"Well, let me see it," Disra growled, waving the other impatiently forward and trying to cover his sudden misgivings. Tierce could just as easily have called down on the comm with news of their spy search; the speaker focus was set so that no one but Disra could hear. To have come down personally implied that something had gone seriously wrong...

Tierce reached the desk and handed Disra his datapad. And something had indeed gone seriously wrong.

Enemy spies identified as former New Republic generals Han Solo and Lando Calrissian plus an unidentified man with cyborg head implant. Subjects were spotted and identified at the corner of Regisine and Corlioon, but have broken surveillance and escaped. Capital Security is currently attempting to reestablish contact.

Disra looked up at Tierce, saw the hard edge to the Royal Guardsman's eyes. "I don't like getting reports like this," he said darkly. "What exactly is the lieutenant doing about it?"

"They're all working on it," Tierce said. "They seem to be doing their best."

"Is there a problem?" Pellaeon spoke up. His question was addressed to Disra, but his eyes—and his attention—were clearly on Tierce. "Perhaps you'd like to see to it personally." Disra ground his teeth again. Yes, he very much wanted to see what was going on up there. But Pellaeon wouldn't have offered to let him squirm off the hook, even temporarily, unless he had some devious plan of his own in mind.

He suppressed a smile as it struck him. Of course—Pellaeon wanted the chance to pull a quick private interrogation on Tierce, and was trying to get the Moff out of the way. And it was now equally clear that the hope of dangling that precise bait in front of him was precisely Tierce's reason for delivering the message personally. "Thank you, Admiral," Disra said, getting to his feet. "I believe I will. Major Tierce, perhaps you'll keep the Admiral and his party company until I return."

"Me, sir?" Tierce asked, giving the visitors a simpleminded, wide-eyed expression. "Why, certainly, sir. If the Admiral doesn't mind."

"Not at all," Pellaeon said softly. "I'd be delighted."

"I'll be back soon," Disra promised. "Enjoy yourselves. Both of you." Thirty seconds later he was back in the situation room. "What in the name of Vader's teeth happened?" he demanded.

"Calm yourself, Your Excellency," Thrawn said, his eyes flashing warningly at Disra. "We've only lost them temporarily."

Disra glared at the other, biting back a blistering retort. If this mess was the con man's fault, he was going to nail him to the wall. "May I inquire how something like this could happen?"

"Solo and Calrissian are combat veterans, highly experienced at survival," Thrawn said calmly.

"The security men they came up against were neither." He shrugged, a subtle movement of shoulders beneath the white uniform. "Actually, it was rather instructive, pointing up as it did some obvious deficiencies in Capital Security's training procedures. We'll have to remedy that."

"I'm sure they'll be delighted to have your input," Disra said, looking over at the status board. An overview of the city was currently displayed, along with the locations of all the Capital Security forces scattered around it. "Wouldn't it make more sense to concentrate our surveillance on the spaceport?

They're probably trying to get back to their ship."

"I'm sure they are," Thrawn agreed. "However, if they arrive to find a ring of stormtroopers blocking their path, they'll simply find an alternative way off Bastion."

"I suppose you're right," Disra said reluctantly. Tierce's argument, undoubtedly. Most likely his exact words, too; Disra could practically hear the Guardsman's characteristic inflections in the con man's voice. "May I ask what you suggest we do, then?"

Thrawn turned his glowing red eyes toward the status board. "The first step in catching a sentient prey is to think as he does," he said. Again, words that sounded straight out of Tierce's mouth. "What was their mission here, and how did they intend to accomplish it?"

"How about sabotage?" Disra gritted. "That sound like a likely mission?"

"No," Thrawn said firmly. "They wouldn't send men like Solo and Calrissian in as saboteurs. Spies, perhaps, but not saboteurs."

"Admiral Thrawn?" one of the troopers spoke up from his station. "I've got a partial backcheck on the targets now. We've got a droid download that shows they've spent the past three days in the Imperial Library."

"Very good," Thrawn said, looking back at Disra. His head tilted fractionally toward an unoccupied corner of the room—

"I'd like to speak with you a moment, Admiral," Disra said, picking up on the cue. "Privately, if I may."

"Certainly, Your Excellency," Thrawn said, gesturing toward the corner. "Let's step over here." They crossed to the corner. "Don't tell me—let me guess," Disra muttered, keeping his voice low.

"They're here after the Caamas Document."

"What an amazing revelation, Your Excellency," Flim said, not quite sarcastically, his tone changing subtly out of his Thrawn character. "The interesting part is that I've never heard of either Solo or Calrissian having anywhere near the slicing training for a job like that." Disra frowned. Getting past the con man's impertinence, he had a good point. A very good point. Disra himself had worked his way into the Emperor's Special Files, but he'd had years to do it and any number of experts to call on for advice along the way. "Then the slicer must be the head-implant who's with them," he suggested.

Flim's mouth puckered slightly. "No, I don't think so," he said. "They didn't get a good enough look at him for a positive ID, but my guess is that that's Lobot, Calrissian's old administrator from his pre-Endor days on Bespin. As far as I know Lobot hasn't got any slicing expertise, either..." He trailed off, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "What is it?" Disra demanded.

"There's a trick I heard about once," Flim said slowly. "A slicing trick someone in the fringe came up with a few years ago. Now, how did that work? No, be quiet a minute—let me think." For a dozen heartbeats the only sound in the room was the murmur of background conversation as the men working their boards reported to each other new information as it came in. All of it negative. Disra took deep breaths, concentrating on keeping a firm leash on his impatience. There were enemy spies loose in his city...

And abruptly, Flim's eyes focused on him again. "Verpines," he said with a note of triumph in his tone. "That was it. Verpines."

He took a half step past Disra. "Lieutenant, start a wide-spectrum comm frequency scan," he ordered, his voice suddenly that of Thrawn again. "Concentrate on Verpine biocomm frequencies." The lieutenant's eyebrows didn't even lift. "Yes, sir," he said briskly, setting to work.

"Wait a second," Disra said, almost grabbing at Flim's sleeve and remembering just in time that that would be out of character. "Verpine biocomm frequencies?"

"It's really an impressively cute trick," Flim said, dropping his voice again to a level where only Disra could hear. "You have a Verpine slicer sitting off in a hole somewhere while a runner with an implant tuned to his personal biocomm frequency goes to the system you want to slice. With the data flow the implant can handle, the whole thing acts almost like a telepathic link. The Verpine sees through the implant's eyes and works the slicing on his own computer board, and the runner's fingers mimic his on the real system."

"He turns him into a puppet, in other words," Disra bit out, his stomach twisting with distaste. For an alien to play a human being that way, even an implant who was no longer really human, was a vileness that bordered on the obscene.

"Basically," Flim agreed casually. "Like I said, a real cute trick."

"I'll take your word for it," Disra growled. Naturally, to a con man mired in the fringe himself, such obscenities were probably just a commonplace way of life. "So what if they've shut the link down?" Flim shrugged, the same Thrawn-like gesture he'd used earlier. Out of earshot of the other troopers, he was still cagey enough to stay visually within his role. "Then we crump out, and we'll have to try something else."

Disra looked over at the status board. "What if we try broadcasting on those biocomm frequencies?" he asked. "Maybe tell the Verpine to start up their repulsorlifts or something? That would at least smoke out their ship for us."

"We'd have to know how to encode a message into Verpine," Flim said doubtfully. "I doubt we could find someone who can do it fast enough."

"Couldn't a protocol droid handle the translation?"

"Not without a special module," Flim told him. "Off-the-floor models don't usually come equipped to translate Verpine. Not enough call for it."

He stroked his lower lip thoughtfully. "On the other hand, if Lobot's still got the link open from his end, we might be able to pick up a resonance echo if we hit the right frequency. That was something we used to have to worry about with our comlinks when we were running against some of the more sophisticated planetary patrol groups. If we can get a receiver close enough, and if we're lucky, we might be able to locate them."

Disra felt his lip twist. "An awful lot of ifs in there."

"I know," Flim conceded. "But we've got to try something, and that's the best I can do right now." He nodded toward the door. "Maybe you'd better get Tierce back up here. This is tactics, and he is our tactics expert."

And Pellaeon had had enough time alone with the man, anyway. "I'll send him up," he said, heading toward the door. "Keep me informed, Admiral."

* * *

With one final lurch, the turbolift car came to a halt. "This it?" Zothip's voice growled.

"I expect so," Control said as the doors slid open. "Yes—this should be it."

"So which way?" one of the other pirates demanded.

Easing her head to the side, Karoly lined up one eye with the crack still showing between the back doors. The pirates were half in and half out of the car now, Zothip standing in a narrow passageway outside with his fists set on his hips, all of them looking back and forth both directions down a narrow corridor.

"I don't know," Control said, looking around once himself and then pointing to the left. "Let's try that way first."

"Okay," Zothip said. "Grinner, lock down the car—we don't want anyone coming up behind us."

"Right," Grinner said, doing something Karoly couldn't see with the control board. "Done." The pirates disappeared out of sight to the left. Karoly gave them a five-count; then, finding a toehold on the doorframe lip, she set her climbing claws into the crack between the doors and pried them open.

She stepped into the car; and she was just starting to close the doors again when she heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside.

The pirates were coming back.

There was no time for anything but instinctive reaction. Putting her full strength into the effort, she pulled the doors to within a couple of centimeters of being closed. They hung up there, but there was no time for her to try to free them. Crossing the car in two quick strides, she squeezed herself as invisibly as she could into the front left-hand corner.

Just in time. Even as she pressed her climbing claws firmly against the car walls to avoid the telltale clink of metal on metal should they accidentally brush together, the footsteps reached her.

"I don't see what the big deal is that he's got company," Zothip was muttering as the first puff of air from their passage wafted in through the car opening. "Anyway, I only heard two voices in there."

"That doesn't mean there aren't more," Control said patiently as the group passed the open door and continued down the passageway. "Besides, if we're seen by the wrong people this arrangement of ours goes straight down."

"So what?" Zothip growled, his voice fading as they all continued down the corridor. "Canceling the arrangement— and Disra—is the whole idea, isn't it?"

"We ought to at least talk first," Control said. "We might be able to recast the deal."

"Hey, Grinner, you sure know your way around a control panel," another voice put in from the rear of the pack as the group continued on its way. "Did you know that when you locked the car down you popped the back doors?"

Karoly held her breath; but Grinner's response was a brief obscenity and an uninterrupted tread down the corridor. She gave them another five-count; then, pulling off the climbing claws and putting them away, she drew her blaster and headed out after them.

She wasn't more than a few steps into the corridor when a subtle wave of air in her face warned her that somewhere ahead a door had opened. She picked up her pace a bit, and came around a slight curve in the passageway just in time to see a rectangle of muted light close down to a sliver as the pirates closed a door down to a crack. Hurrying silently forward, she stopped at the door and eased her ear against the crack.

"Fancy place," she heard one of the pirates say, his tone a mixture of contempt and envy. "Look at this—Ramordian silk sheets and everything."

"Maybe he'll give you a set for your bunk," Zothip growled. "Where's the—oh, there it is." There was the soft sound of a chair being pulled back across a thick carpet. Karoly moved her eye around the crack, trying to see what was going on. But from her angle all she could see was a small section of an elaborate wall hanging. "What are you going to do?" Control asked.

"Put in a call to his office," Zothip grunted. "Whoever he's got in there, I figure he can tell them to wait."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Admiral," Major Tierce said, his fingertips rubbing nervously at the sides of his pant legs. "But with all due respect, I really don't know what you're talking about. I don't think I've ever been to Yaga Minor. If I have, it would have been as part of a training cruise when I was a cadet. Certainly not—what did you say; six weeks ago?"

"About that," Pellaeon said, watching Tierce's face closely and wishing mightily that he had enough evidence on him to order a full verity analysis. The man was lying through his teeth—that much Pellaeon was sure of. But until he could positively identify Tierce as the man who'd sliced into the Yaga Minor computer system, there was nothing else he could do.

Or until that New Republic slicer Ghent found evidence of Tierce's tampering. That was a wild card neither Tierce nor Disra knew about.

Behind Pellaeon, the double doors swung open. "I apologize for the delay, Admiral," Disra said, striding past Commander Dreyf and around the side of the ivrooy desk. "That will be all, Major," he added curtly to Tierce.

"Yes, Your Excellency," Tierce said. For the briefest instant their eyes met, and Pellaeon thought he saw Disra give his aide a microscopic nod. Then, moving with the air of a man trying to run from a group of besiioths while still keeping some shreds of dignity, the major crossed the office and escaped.

"I trust Major Tierce was congenial company for you," Disra commented.

"Quite congenial," Pellaeon assured him, studying that twisted face closely. Not so much a face as a mask, he thought, built to conceal the mind behind it.

And he knew what was in that mind. The trouble was, he couldn't prove it. Not yet. But let him have one slip on Disra's part—just one—

"Now, where were we?" Disra asked briskly, leaning back in his chair. The short break had definitely done his confidence a mountain of good. "Oh, yes—those unfounded and slanderous things other people have been saying about me. It's occurred to me, Admiral—" He broke off as the call signal sounded from his desktop comm. Scowling, he leaned forward again and jabbed the switch. "Yes?" he barked. "What is it—?" He stiffened, his eyes widening momentarily, his jaw dropping a fraction of a centimeter. His eyes darted to Pellaeon, back to the comm display. "Yes, I'm busy," he growled. "And I don't appreciate being interrupted this way for—"

Abruptly he stopped. Pellaeon strained his ears, but the speaker was focused toward Disra and he could hear nothing from his position on the opposite side of the desk. And then Disra's eyes widened again... and Pellaeon saw something he had never seen before. Something he had never expected to see.

Moff Disra, liar, conniver, and probable traitor, went white.

Dreyf saw it, too. "Your Excellency?" he asked, standing up and starting around the side of the desk.

The moment of shock passed, and Disra's expression of stunned disbelief suddenly changed to that of a crazed rancor. "Back!" he snarled at Dreyf, his hand slashing at him as if trying to ward away a dangerous animal. "I'm all right. Just stay back."

Dreyf stopped, throwing a confused look at Pellaeon. "Is anything the matter, Your Excellency?" Pellaeon asked.

"Everything's fine, Admiral," Disra said, the words coming out like they'd been sent through a grain-grinder. His eyes, Pellaeon noted, were still fixed on the comm display. "If you'll excuse me again, there's another matter I need to attend to right away."

He stood up, keying off the comm with a vicious stab of his finger. "I'll be right back," he growled, heading at a not-quite run toward the double doors.

"Of course," Pellaeon called after him. "Take whatever time you need." The last word was cut off by the boom as the doors closed behind him. "Well, that was interesting," Dreyf commented, looking at the doors and then back at Pellaeon. "Another trick to buy himself some breathing space?"

"I don't think either of these interruptions has been an act," Pellaeon said, frowning thoughtfully at the Moff's desk. Historically, the majority of people who were able to afford culture-grown ivrooy furniture were wealthy politicians, industrialists, and fringe crimelords. All of whom always had things to hide... "No, something's going on out there. Something important."

"Mm," Dreyf murmured. "Shall I wander down the hall and see if I can find out what it is?"

"Maybe later," Pellaeon said. "In the meantime, it seems we've been left alone. In Disra's office." Dreyf lifted his eyebrows in understanding. "Yes, we have, haven't we," he agreed, looking around the office. His gaze fell on the desk... "Of course, it's a little dubious legally," he reminded his superior, throwing a sideways glance at the two troopers guarding the door. "We haven't got a search order, and Disra hasn't been officially charged with anything."

"I'll take the responsibility," Pellaeon said. "Go ahead and see what you can find."

"Yes, sir," Dreyf said, giving him a tight smile as he circled around to the other side of the desk.

"It'll be a pleasure."

* * *

Tierce was standing near the door as Disra burst into the situation room. "We've got an echo," the former Guardsman murmured, a note of malicious satisfaction in his voice. "Once we triangulate in—"

"Zothip's here," Disra cut him off. "He's in my quarters." Tierce's smile vanished. "How?"

"How in blazes should I know?" Disra shot back. "But he's there. I recognized the furnishings when he called me in my office."

Tierce threw a look at the consoles, at Flim holding position again behind the lieutenant. "This just gets better and better," he said darkly. "Did Pellaeon hear any of it?"

"I don't think so," Disra said. "That slinker of his—Dreyf—started to come around the desk, but I don't think he could hear or see anything, either."

Tierce hissed between his teeth. "We've got to get rid of him."

"Brilliant tactical thinking," Disra growled. "You have any suggestions as to how? He didn't come alone, you know."

Tierce looked over at the consoles again. "I can't just walk out of here," he said. "Solo and Calrissian are slippery. Until Security actually has them in their sights—"

"We can't just leave Zothip resting his feet in there, either," Disra cut him off. "Don't you understand? He's in my quarters. That means he has clear passage to my office. Where Admiral Pellaeon is."

Tierce looked sharply at him. "You left Pellaeon alone?"

"Of course he's alone," Disra snapped. "What was I supposed to do, tell the outer door guards to go in and watch him?"

"That wouldn't have been such a bad idea," Tierce retorted. He held up a hand. "All right, all right, let's take this in order. Pellaeon... I suppose he'll keep. Solo and Calrissian—"

"We've got a second biocomm frequency echo, Admiral," one of the troopers reported, looking up at Flim. "Security reports ready to move in as soon as we have a solid fix on the location."

"Thank you," Thrawn said, turning those glowing eyes toward the conversation by the door.

"Continue the operation. Is there a problem, Your Excellency?"

"A small problem only, Admiral Thrawn," Tierce spoke up before Disra could answer. "But it may require a few minutes of your attention."

"Certainly," Flim said easily.

"What are you doing?" Disra hissed as the con man crossed the room toward them. "You aren't suggesting—?"

"There are only two ways to deal with someone like Zothip," Tierce said, his voice cold. "Kill him, or scare him." He nodded toward Flim. "Can you think of anything that could possibly scare him more than a Grand Admiral?"

Flim had reached them in time to hear the last part. "Who are we trying to scare?" he asked.

"Captain Zothip," Disra said. "He's in my quarters." Flim's eyes widened, just noticeably. He looked at Tierce—"You'll be fine," the Guardsman soothed him. "Zothip's in this for the profit, and you're our guarantee there will be profit. He's not going to risk hurting you."

"Unless he's here for revenge," Flim pointed out uneasily. "For the job Pellaeon did on him out at Pesitiin, remember?"

"He'll forget all about that the minute he sees you," Tierce said impatiently. "At any rate, I'll be there with you. Whoever he's got in there, I can handle them. You'll be fine."

"What about Solo?" Flim persisted, glancing back to the consoles. "What if they lose him again?"

"How?" Tierce countered. "We've picked up two echoes—we know what part of the city they're in. They'll have them in restraints by the time we get back. Now let's go." Flim grimaced, but nodded. "Continue the operation, Lieutenant," he ordered, half turning, his calm Thrawn voice betraying none of his obvious nervousness. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Tierce gestured toward the door, and together the three of them headed out. "I don't know," Flim muttered, just loud enough for Disra to hear. "I don't think I'm going to like this at all."

* * *

Their first warning was a sudden, subtle jerking motion from Lobot. "What is it?" Lando asked, peering at the other.

"What is what?" Han asked from Lobot's other side.

"He seemed to hesitate right there," Lando said, pulling back the floppy-brimmed hat that had taken over the job of camouflaging Lobot's head implant and studying the tiny indicator lights there. The pattern wasn't the same one that had been showing the last time he looked.

"Maybe he just stumbled," Han said impatiently, looking around the crowds. "Come on, we've got to keep moving."

"Hold on a minute," Lando insisted, widening his examination to the suddenly introspective expression on Lobot's face. He knew the other far better than Han did, and it was clear to him that both the jerking movement and the other's strange look were indications that something odd was going on. Ignoring it would be just begging for trouble.

"Lando—"

"Just a minute," Lando cut him off. Abruptly, Lobot jerked a second time, the indicator lights again changing their pattern. They held the new array a moment, then changed back—

And with a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, Lando realized what had just happened. "They're doing a comm echo search," he told Han. "Keyed to Verpine biocomm frequencies."

"Terrific," Han said, catching Lobot's arm to steady him and frowning under the brim at the implant. "They have the right frequency yet?"

"Doesn't look like it," Lando said, looking around for inspiration. They were still a half hour away from the spaceport if they stayed on foot. A landspeeder could get them there faster, but that would mean either hiring or stealing one. Each option carried its own set of risks. His eyes fell on a large, glistening sign over one of the shops just down the street. A sign bragging in large print about hundreds of droids in stock, the best prices in the Empire, and everything on sale for one day only...

"Come on," he said, taking Lobot's other arm and pulling him toward the droid shop. "In here. I've got an idea."

They made it inside before the Imperials' frequency search hit the right one again. "What now?" Han muttered, looking around the wall-to-wall crowd of bargain-hunters.

"Over there," Lando told him, shouldering his way toward an overhead sign marking the astromech droid section. "We need about a dozen R2 or R8 models."

"No problem," Han assured him, craning his neck to look over the mass of shoppers. "I see at least twenty of them. I hope you remember what our cash supply is like."

"We're not going to buy them," Lando said. "All we're going to do is talk to them." They pushed their way through the crowd and into the astromech droid section, which was—not surprisingly—less densely populated than the servant and chef droid areas seemed to be. "Good afternoon, worthy citizens," a silver-colored protocol droid said, stepping up to them. "I am C-5MO, human-cyborg relations. May I assist you in your selection?"

"Yes, thank you," Lando said. "We're looking for a droid that can serve as a long-range comm interface on certain very select frequencies."

"I see, sir," the droid said, half turning to gesture toward the lines of shiny rounded cylinders behind him. "May I suggest something from either the R2 or R8 line. Both lines come with full-frequency comm systems as standard equipment."

"Sounds good," Lando said, stepping toward the line of R8s. "Do you mind if I give them a little test?"

"Of course not, sir," the protocol droid said. "Feel free to administer any test you choose."

"Thank you." Lando gestured to the first R8. "You—first in line—I'd like you to transmit a multitonal signal on the following frequency." He rattled off the number. "Next one: I'd like you to do different tones on a different frequency." He supplied the number.

"Just a moment, sir," the protocol droid interrupted, sounding distressed. "I'm afraid you can't simply transmit unauthorized comm signals in the middle of the city—" One of the R8s twittered a short message. "Oh," the protocol droid said, somewhat taken aback.

"You're certain neither frequency is used here? By anyone?"

The R8 gave an affirmative warble. "I see," the droid said. "My apologies, sir. Please continue." Lando continued down the line, giving each droid one of the major Verpine biocomm frequencies to transmit on. "All right," he said when he had finished, turning back to the C-5MO. "Excellent. Now, if you'll keep them transmitting, I'll go out to my landspeeder and make sure they're holding the frequencies properly."

"You wish to leave them transmitting?" the droid asked, starting to sound distressed again. "But, sir—"

"You can't expect us to buy such a large order just on your word that they're transmitting correctly, can you?" Han put in. "Don't worry—one of our people will still be here." He pointed across the way at a man in a dark green coat examining the line of servant droids.

"He'll stay here until we get this checked out and get back to you," Lando added. "You do extend corporate credit for orders of twenty or more, don't you?"

"Certainly, sir," the droid said, brightening considerably. "You'll simply need to show your corporate authorization when you place your order."

"Good," Lando said, lifting his eyebrows at Han. The other took the hint, easing Lobot toward the nearest exit sign. "We'll be back in a few minutes."

Two minutes later, they were out on the street again. "Nice touch, that bit about leaving someone behind," Lando commented to Han. "Should buy us a few more minutes before they start asking themselves awkward questions."

"As long as they don't start a conversation with the guy, anyway," Han grunted. "So what's the plan? Straight back to the ship?"

"It was," Lando said. "Unless you think it would be worth the time to be a little more devious than that."

"I wonder," Han said, rubbing his cheek. "Those droid transmissions ought to blanket any more echo searches, at least for now. But they did already have an idea where we were in the city. If we can hop a cargo carrier, that would let us get around the spaceport and hit it from the other side."

"If we don't get caught," Lando warned. "They take a dim view around here of people riding cargo carriers."

"It's worth the risk," Han said, making it clear that he'd already made up his mind. "Come on—nearest access is this way."