Star Wars

The Hand of Thrawn duology

Specter of the Past

by Timothy Zahn

CHAPTER

1

Slowly, silently, its lights faint glitter of life amid the darkness, the

Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera glided through space.

Empty space. Oppressively dark space. Long, lonely light-years from the nearest

of the tiny islands that were the star systems of the galaxy, drifting at the

edge of the boundary between the Outer Rim worlds and the vast regions of

territory known as Unknown Space. At the very edge of the Empire.

Or rather, at the edge of the pitiful scraps of what had once been the Empire.

Standing beside one of the Chimaera's side viewports, Admiral Pellaeon, Supreme

Commander of the Imperial Fleet, gazed out at the emptiness, the weight of all

too many years pressing heavily across his shoulders. Too many years, too many

battles, too many defeats.

Perhaps the Chimaera's bridge crew was feeling the weight, too. Certainly the

sounds of activity going on behind him seemed more muted than usual today. But

perhaps it was merely the effect of being out here, so far from anywhere at all.

No, of course that had to be it. The men of the Chimaera were the finest the

Fleet had to offer. They were Imperial officers and crewers, and Imperials

didn't give up. Ever.

There was a tentative footstep at his side. "Admiral?" Captain Ardiff said

quietly. "We're ready to begin, sir."

For a moment Pellaeon's mind flashed back ten years, to another very similar

moment. Then, it had been Pellaeon and Grand Admiral Thrawn who'd been here on

the Chimaera's bridge, watching the final test of the prototype cloaking shield

Thrawn had recovered from among the Emperor's trophies inside Mount Tantiss.

Pellaeon could remember the excitement he'd felt then, despite his misgivings

about the insane Jedi clone Joruus C'baoth, as he watched Thrawn single-handedly

breathing new life and vigor back into the Empire.

But Mount Tantiss was gone, destroyed by agents of the New Republic and

C'baoth's own madness and treason. And Grand Admiral Thrawn was dead.

And the Empire was dying.

With an effort, Pellaeon shook the shadows of the past away. He was an Imperial

officer, and Imperials didn't give up. "Thank you," he said to Ardiff. "At your

convenience, Captain."

"Yes, sir." Ardiff half turned, gestured to the fighter coordinator in the

portside crew pit. "Signal the attack," he ordered.

The officer acknowledged and gestured in turn to one of his crewers. Pellaeon

turned his attention back to the viewport&mdash

Just in time to see eight SoroSuub Preybird-class starfighters in tight

formation roar in from behind them. Cutting tight to the Chimaera's command

superstructure, they passed over the forward ridgeline, raking it with low-power

blaster fire, then split smoothly out in eight different directions.

Corkscrewing out and forward, they kept up their fire until they were out of the

Star Destroyer's primary attack zone. Then, curving smoothly around, they swung

around and regrouped.

"Admiral?" Ardiff prompted.

"Let's give them one more pass, Captain," Pellaeon said. "The more flight data

the Predictor has to work with, the better it should function." He caught the

eye of one of the crew pit officers. "Damage report?"

"Minor damage to the forward ridgeline, sir," the officer reported. "One sensor

array knocked out, leaving five turbolasers without ranging data."

"Acknowledged." All theoretical damage, of course, calculated under the

assumption that the Preybirds were using full-power capital-ship turbolasers.

Pellaeon had always loved war games when he was younger; had relished the chance

to play with technique and tactics without the risks of true combat. Somewhere

in all those years, the excitement had faded away. "Helm, bring us around twenty

degrees to starboard," he ordered. "Starboard turbolasers will lay down

dispersion fire as they make their next pass."

The Preybirds were back in tight formation now, once again approaching their

target. The Chimaera's turbolasers opened up as they came, their low-level fire

splattering across the Preybirds' overlapping deflector shields. For a few

seconds the opponents traded fire; then, the Preybirds broke formation again,

splitting apart like the fingertips of an opening hand. Twisting over and under

the Chimaera, they shot past, scrambling for the safety of distance.

"Damage report?" Pellaeon called.

"Three starboard turbolaser batteries knocked out," the officer called back.

"We've also lost one tractor beam projector and two ion cannon."

"Enemy damage?"

"One attacker appears to have lost its deflector shields, and two others are

reading diminished turbolaser capability."

"Hardly counts as damage," Ardiff murmured. "Of course, the situation here isn't

exactly fair. Ships that small and maneuverable would never have the kind of

shields or firepower we're crediting them with."

"If you want fairness, organize a shockball tournament," PeIlaeon said acidly.

"Don't look for it in warfare."

Ardiff's cheek twitched. "I'm sorry, sir."

Pellaeon sighed. The finest the Imperial Fleet had to offer . . "Stand by the

cloaking shield, Captain," he ordered, watching the faint drive glows as the

Preybirds regrouped again in the distance. "Activate on my command."

"Yes, Admiral."

There was a sudden flare of drive glow, partially eclipsed by the Preybirds

themselves, as the enemy kicked into high acceleration. "Here they come,"

Pellaeon said, watching as the single glowing dot rapidly resolved itself into

eight close-formation ships. "Lock Predictor into fire control. Stand by

cloaking shield."

"Predictor and cloaking shield standing by," Ardiff confirmed.

Pellaeon nodded, his full attention on the Preybirds. Nearly to the point where

they'd broken formation last time . . . "Cloaking shield: now."

And with a brief flicker of bridge lighting, the stars and incoming Preybirds

vanished as the cloaking shield plunged the Chimaera into total darkness.

"Cloaking shield activated and stabilized," Ardiff said.

"Helm, come around portside: thirty degrees by eight," Pellaeon ordered. "Ahead

acceleration point one. Turbolasers: fire."

"Acknowledged," an officer called. "Turbolasers are firing."

Pellaeon took a step closer to the viewport and looked down along the Chimaera's

sides. The faint blasts of low-level fire were visible, lancing a short distance

out from the Star Destroyer and then disappearing as they penetrated the

spherical edge of the Star Destroyer's cloaking shield. Blinded by the very

device that was now shielding it from its opponents' view, the Chimaera was

firing wildly in an attempt to destroy those opponents.

Or perhaps not quite so wildly. If the Predictor worked as well as its designers

hoped, perhaps the Empire still had a chance in this war.

It was a long time before the Chimaera's turbolasers finally ceased fire. Far

too long. "Is that it?" he asked Ardiff.

"Yes, sir," the other said. "Five hundred shots, as preprogrammed."

Pellaeon nodded. "Deactivate cloaking shield. Let's see how well we did."

There was another flicker from the lights, and the stars were back. Mentally

crossing his fingers, Pellaeon peered out the viewport.

For a moment there was nothing. Then, from starboard, he spotted the approaching

drive glows. Seven of them.

"Signal from Adversary Commander, Admiral," the comm officer called. "Target

Three reports receiving a disabling hit and has gone dormant; all other targets

have sustained only minimal damage. Requesting orders."

Pellaeon grimaced. One. Out of eight targets, the Chimaera had been able to hit

exactly one. And that great feat had required five hundred shots to achieve.

So that was that. The wonderful Computerized Combat Predictor, touted by its

creators and sponsors as the best approach to practical use of the cloaking

shield, had been put to the test. And to be fair, it bad probably done better

than simple random shooting.

But it hadn't done enough better. Not nearly enough.

"Inform Adversary Commander that the exercise is over," Pellaeon told the comm

officer. "Target Three may reactivate its systems; all ships are to return to

the Chimaera. I want their reports filed within the next two hours."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm sure they'll be able to improve it, Admiral," Ardiff said at Pellaeon's

side. "This was just the first field test. Surely they'll be able to improve

it."

"How?" Pellaeon retorted. "Train the Predictor to be omniscient? Or simply teach

it how to read our enemies' minds?"

"You only gave it two passes to study the targets' flight patterns," Ardiff

reminded him. "With more data, it could have better anticipated their

movements."

Pellaeon snorted gently. "It's a nice theory, Captain, and under certain

controlled situations it might even work. But combat is hardly a controlled

situation. There are far too many variables and unknowns, especially considering

the hundreds of alien species and combat styles we have to contend with. I knew

from the beginning that this Predictor idea was probably futile. But it had to

be tried."

Well, then, we just have to go back to mark zero," Ardiff said. "Come up with

something else. There have to be practical uses for this cloaking shield

device."

"Of course there are," Pellaeon agreed heavily. "Grand Admiral Thrawn devised

three of them himself. But there's no one left in the Empire with his military

genius."

He sighed. "No, Captain. It's over. It's all over. And we've lost."

For a long moment the low murmur of background conversation was the only sound

on the bridge. "You can't mean that, Admiral," Ardiff said at last. "And if I

may say so, sir, this is not the sort of thing the Supreme Commander of Imperial

forces should be talking about."

"Why not?" Pellaeon countered. "It's obvious to everyone else."

"It most certainly is not, sir," Ardiff said stiffly. "We still hold eight

sectors-over a thousand inhabited systems. We have the Fleet, nearly two hundred

Star Destroyers strong. We're still very much a force to be reckoned with."

"Are we?" Pellaeon asked. "Are we really?"

"Of course we are," Ardiff insisted. "How else could we be holding our own

against the New Republic?"

Pellaeon shook his head. "We're holding our own for tie simple reason that the

New Republic is too busy right now with internal squabbling to bother with us."

"Which works directly to our advantage," Ardiff said. "It's giving us the time

we need to reorganize and rearm."

"Rearm?" Pellaeon threw him a quizzical frown. "Hare you taken even a cursory

look at what we're working with here" He gestured out the viewport at the

Preybirds, disappearing new beneath the edge of the Chimaera's hull as they

headed for tie Star Destroyer's hangar. "Look at them, Captain. SoroSuub

Preybirds. We're reduced to SoroSuub Preybirds."

"There's nothing wrong with the Preybirds, sir," Ardíff said stubbornly.

"They're a quite capable midsize starfighter."

"The point is that they're not being manufactured by the Empire," Pellaeon said.

"They're being scrounged from who knows where-probably some fringe pirate or

mercenary gang And they're being scrounged precisely because we're down to a

single major shipyard and it can't keep up with demand for capital ships, let

alone starfighters. So tell me how you plan for us to rearm ourselves."

Ardiff looked out the viewport. "It's still not yet over, sir."

But it was. And down deep, Pellaeon was sure Ardiff knew it as well as he did. A

thousand systems left, out of an Empire that had once spanned a million. Two

hundred Star Destroyers remaining from a Fleet that had once included over

twenty-five thousand of them.

And perhaps most telling of all, hundreds of star systems that had once

maintained a cautious neutrality were now petitioning the New Republic for

membership. They, too, knew that the outcome was no longer uncertain.

Grand Admiral Thrawn could perhaps have breathed the remaining sparks into an

Imperial victory. But Grand Admiral Thrawn was gone.

"Have the navigator plot a course for the Bastion system. Captain," Pellaeon

said to Ardiff. "Send transmissions to all the Moffs, instructing them to meet

me at Moff Disra's palace. We'll leave as soon as the Preybirds are aboard."

"Yes, Admiral," Ardiff said. "May I tell the Moffs what the meeting is about?"

Pellaeon looked out the viewport at the distant stars. Stars that the Empire had

once called theirs. They'd had so much . . . and somehow it had all slipped

through their fingers. "Tell them," he said quietly, "that it's time to send an

emissary to the New Republic.

"To discuss the terms of our surrender."

CHAPTER

2

The Millennium Falcon's console gave a final proximity beep, jolting Han Solo

out of a light doze. Uncrossing his arms, he stretched tired muscles and gave

the displays a quick look. Almost there. "Come on, Chewie, look alive," he said,

giving the Wookiee beside him a couple of quick slaps with the back of his

fingertips.

Chewbacca came awake with a jolt, rumbling a question. "We're here, that's

what," Han told him, widening his eyes a second to clear them. Getting a grip on

the hyperdrive levers, he watched the timer count down. "Stand by the sublight

engines. Here we go."

The counter went to zero, and he eased the levers forward. Outside the Falcon's

canopy, the mottled sky of hyperspace turned to starlines, which collapsed into

stars, and they were there. "Right on target," he commented, nodding toward the

bluish-red planetary half circle ahead of them.

Beside him, Chewbacca growled. "Yeah, well, it's always crowded around Iphigin,"

Han said, eyeing the hundreds of tiny drive glows moving around the planet like

some crazy multrille dance. "Main transfer point for this sector and at least

two others. Probably why Puffers set up the meeting for here-you don't start

shooting if some of your own stuff might get in the way."

Chewbacca growled in annoyance. "Well, excuse me," Han apologized sarcastically.

"President Gavrisom, then. Didn't know you were such a big fan."

There was a beep from the comm. Slapping a massive hand at the switch, Chewbacca

roared out an acknowledgment.

"Hey, Chewie," Luke Skywalker's voice came over the speaker. "You're right on

schedule. The Falcon must be running smoothly for a change."

"Nothing broken but the comm switch," Han grumbled, throwing a scowl at the

Wookiee. "Chewie just tried to flatten it. Where are you, Luke?"

"Just coming in nightside," Luke said. "What's wrong with Chewie?"

"Nothing much," Han said. "Small difference of political opinion, that's all."

"Ah," Luke said knowingly. "Been calling President Gavrisom Puffers' again, have

you?"

"Now, don't you start," Han growled, glaring at the comm speaker.

Chewbacca rumbled a question. "Well, for one thing, he never seems to do

anything except talk," Han said.

"That's what Calibops are best at," Luke pointed out. "Face it, Han: words are

the tool of the task these days."

"I know, I know," Han said, making a face. "Leia's been pounding it into me

forever." His voice drifted into an almost unconscious parody of his wife's.

"We're not the Rebel Alliance anymore, with a handful of people running the

whole show. We're negotiators and arbitrators and we're here to help system and

sector governments be all nice and friendly to each other."

"Is that really the way Leia put it?"

"So I paraphrased a little." Han frowned out the Falcon's canopy, glanced back

at his displays. "Is that you in the X-wing?"

"That's me," Luke confirmed. "Why? You think I've forgotten how to fly one?"

"No, I just thought you usually used one of the academy's Lambda shuttles these

days."

"That's because I'm usually flying with other people," Luke said. "Students and

such. Artoo was with me on Yavin doing some data sifting, so when your call came

we just hopped in the old snubfighter and headed out. What's this all about?"

"What's it always about at this end of the Core?" Han countered sourly. "The

Diamala and Ishori are at it again."

Luke sighed, a faint hiss on the speaker. "Let me guess. Commerce and

resource-sharing dispute?"

"Close," Han said. "This time it's shipping security. The Diamala don't like

having to rely on local patrol ships when they're coming into Ishori ports. The

Ishori, on the other hand, don't want armed Diamala ships coming into their

systems."

"Sounds typical," Luke said. "Gavrisom have any ideas on how to solve this one?"

d

"If he did, he didn't mention them," Han said. "He just called me on Wayland and

said to flare it on over here. Help them be all nice and friendly to each other,

I guess."

"Gavrisom asked you to arbitrate?"

Han pursed his lips. "Well . . . not exactly. He kind of thinks Leia's here with

us."

"Ah."

"Look, Luke, I am official liaison to the Independent Shippers Association," Han

reminded him testily. "It's net like I haven't done this sort of thing before.

And Leia hasn't had any kind of real vacation in a long time-she and the kids

need some time off together. And just for once, I'm not going to let her get

dragged away on some stupid diplomatic thing, especially when she's supposed to

be on a leave of absence. She deserves better."

"I can't argue with that," Luke conceded. "It's not like her last few times away

from the Presidency have been exactly restful. Though personally, I can't

imagine Wayland being very high on anyone's list of resort spots."

"You'd be surprised," Han said. "It's not like when we went tromping through the

forest on the way to Mount Tantiss. Not with all the Noghri who've settled

there."

"I'll take your word for it," Luke said. "So what can I do to help?"

"I've got a plan worked out," Han said. "You know how Diamala get when they

think: all icy calm and unemotional, right? Well, that's kind of like your deep

Jedi stuff, so you can go talk to their delegation. The Ishori are just the

opposite-they can't discuss anything without getting all worked up and screaming

their heads off at each other."

"But they don't mean anything by it," Luke put in. "It's all hormonal-a fight or

think' response, I think it's called."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Han said, feeling a flicker of annoyance at the lecture.

Jedi Master or not, Luke still didn't have half of Han's experience in flying

around the galaxy and dealing with other species. "Point is, they can shout all

they want without bothering a Wookiee any. So Chewie will talk to their group.

Then the three of us get together, we come up with a fix, and we're done."

"It's an inventive approach-I'll give it that much," Luke said, his tone

thoughtful. "Personally, I'd still rather have Leia here. She's got a genuine

gift for conciliation."

"All the more reason for us to take this one for her," Han said darkly. "The way

things are going out there, Gavrisom and the High Council could have her running

around stomping out these scrub fires for the rest of her life."

"The New Republic does seem to be having more than its share of growing pains,"

Luke agreed soberly. "Maybe it's a normal adjustment to the collapse of Imperial

domination."

"That, or what's left of the Empire is stirring the soup," Han said with a

grimace. "Come on, let's get down there. The sooner we get started, the sooner

we can go home."

***

They put down in a double-sized docking bay that had been cleared for them in

the capital city's north spaceport complex. Han and Chewbacca were standing at

the foot of the Falcon's landing ramp, talking to a triad of white-maned

Diamala, as Luke maneuvered his X-wing to an only slightly out-of-practice

landing.

And even before he cut the repulsorlifts, he could sense that there was trouble.

"You stay with the ship, Artoo," he ordered the droid as he popped the canopy

and took off his flight helmet "Keep an eye on things, okay?"

Artoo gave an affirming warble. Dropping his helmet and gloves onto the seat,

Luke vaulted lightly over the X-wing's side to the ground and walked over to the

group waiting by the Falcon. The three Diamala, he noted uneasily, were watching

him closely . . . and their expressions did not strike him as particularly

friendly.

"Greetings," he said, nodding politely, as he reached Han's side. "I'm Luke

Skywalker."

The Diamal standing closest to Han stirred. We greet you in return, Jedi Master

Skywalker," he said, his voice flat and emotionless, his leathery face

unreadable. "But we do not welcome you to this conference."

Luke blinked. He glanced at Han, caught the tightness in the other's face and

thoughts, then looked back at the Diamal. I don't understand."

"Then I will make it clearer," the alien said, his left ear twitching once. "We

do not wish you to be part of these negotiations. We do not intend to discuss

any of this matter with you. We would prefer, in fact, that you leave this

system entirely."

"Now, wait a minute," Han put in, "This is my friend, all right? I asked him

here, and he's come a long way to help"

"We do not wish his help."

"Well, I wish it," Han shot back. "And I'm not going to tell him to leave."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Luke kept his eyes on the Diamala,

wondering if he should unilaterally stove the disagreement by simply leaving. If

they really didn't want him here . .

The head Diamal twitched an ear again. "Very well," he said. "The Jedi Master

may stay. But only as your adviser, to be absent from actual negotiations. The

Diamala will not discuss these matters in his presence."

Han grimaced, but he nodded. "If that's the way you want it, fine. Why don't you

show us to our quarters, and we'll get started."

The Diamal gestured, and one of his companions handed Chewbacca a datapad. "You

have been given a suite in the Spaceport control complex," he said. "The map

will show you the way. The Ishori are already assembled in the meeting chamber.

We will begin when you are ready."

In unison, the three aliens turned and headed across the landing bay toward one

of the stairways leading out. "Well, that was interesting," Luke said quietly as

he watched them go. "Any idea what that was all about?"

"Yeah," Han said. "Well, sort of."

"Sort of? What does that mean?"

Han threw Luke a sideways look, his expression and thoughts both oddly troubled.

"Look, let's forget it for right now okay? They don't-well, they don't like you.

Just leave it at that."

Luke gazed at the backs of the departing Diamala, witching their shimmering

manes fluttering slightly in the breeze. He didn't have to leave it at that, of

course; be could stretch out right now with the Force and draw out the necessary

knowledge. Surely whatever the problem was had to be some kind of

misunderstanding, and he could hardly help clear it up unless he knew what it

was. Yes, that was what he should do.

And yet. .

He looked at Han. Han was looking back at him, the troubled expression still on

his face. Perhaps wondering if Luke would do exactly that.

No. As Han had asked, he would let it go. For now. "All right," he said. "What's

the new strategy?"

"Chewie and me'll handle the talks," Han said, turning to face the Wookiee. Even

with his expression hidden, there was no mistaking the flicker of quiet relief

in his emotional state. "If you don't mind waiting until we're finished, maybe

you can help us figure out how to settle the deal."

"Sure." Luke looked in the direction the Diamala had gone. "He said I could be

your adviser. So I guess I'll advise."

He looked back to find Han studying his face. "You don't like this, do you?" the

older man said.

Luke shrugged. "Well, it's not exactly the high point of my day," he conceded.

"It's always a little embarrassing to offer to help someone and get turned down.

But I suppose a little embarrassment never hurt anyone." d

"Yeah," Han said. "Sometimes it even helps."

It was, Luke thought, a rather odd thing to say. But before he could ask about

it, Han had stepped to Chewbacca's side and taken the datapad the Diamal had

given him. "You figured out where we're supposed to go?" he asked.

The Wookiee rumbled an affirmative, pointing a shaggy finger at the datapad

display. "Yeah, okay," Han said, handing the datapad back. "Lead the way." He

threw Luke a lopsided grin. "There's nothing like a Wookiee to get people to

move out of the way."

"You realize there's one other possibility," Luke said quietly as they set off

across the docking bay. "They may be trying to split us up for some kind of

attack."

Han shook his head. "I don't think that's it."

"I'd still like to keep an eye on your meetings," Luke persisted. "I should be

able to follow your presence from wherever they put us. That way, I can get

there right away if you need me."

"Just my presence, though, right?"

Luke frowned at him. "Of course. I wouldn't try to read your mind without

permission. You know that."

"Yeah," Han said. "Sure."

***

As it turned out, it wasn't necessary for Luke to use the Force in order to keep

track of the proceedings. Their Iphigini hosts had somehow learned about the

restrictions the Diamala had put on his attendance, and by the time Han and

Chewbacca began the negotiations they had a monitor line set up between Luke's

suite and the conference room, allowing him to directly watch the meeting.

It took him two hours to realize that the talks were getting nowhere. It was

another hour before Han came to the same conclusion. Or at least was willing to

admit it out loud.

"They're crazy," Han growled, tossing a handful of datacards onto a low center

table as he and Chewbacca joined Luke in the suite. "The whole bunch of them.

Completely crazy."

"I wouldn't say crazy," Luke told him. "Stiff-faced stubborn, maybe, but not

crazy."

"Thanks," Han growled. "That's real helpful."

Chewbacca rumbled a warning. "I am not losing my temper," Han informed him

stiffly. "I am under perfect control."

Luke looked at his friend, carefully hiding a smile. It was like the old Han

again, the brashly confident smuggler he and Obi Wan had first met back in the

Mos Eisley cantina. Charging cheerfully into unknown situations, and more often

than not finding himself up to his neck in trouble. It was nice to know that

even as a respectable family man and responsible official of the New Republic,

Han hadn't lost all of the recklessness that had once driven his friends almost

as crazy as it had the Imperials. Up to his neck in trouble was where Han

functioned best. Perhaps, through sheer habit, it was where he was most

comfortable.

"All right," Han said, dropping into a chair across the table from Luke. "Let's

think this through. There's got to be a way out."

"How about trying a third-party approach?" Luke suggested. "Maybe the New

Republic could run security for Diamalan freighters when they're in Ishori

systems."

Chewbacca rumbled the obvious problem. "Yes, I know we don't have a lot of ships

to spare," Luke said. "But the High Council ought to be able to scrounge up

something."

"Not enough to do any good," Han said, shaking his head. "The Diamala do an

awful lot of shipping, and I don't think you realize how thin our hardware is

spread out there."

"It would still be cheaper in the long run than whatever it would cost to pull

the Diamala and Ishori apart if they start shooting at each other again," Luke

argued.

"Probably," Han conceded, toying with one of the datacards. "Problem is, I don't

think the Diamala would accept the offer even if we had the ships to spare. I

don't think they're ready to trust anyone else with their security."

"Not even the New Republic?" Luke asked.

Han shook his head, his eyes darting surreptitiously to Luke's face for a

moment, then just as quickly shifting away. "No."

Luke frowned. In that moment he'd caught another flicker of the same troubled

mood he'd felt back by the Falcon. "I see."

"Yeah," Han said, all brisk business again. "Anybody got any other ideas?"

Luke glanced at Chewbacca, searching for a diplomatic way to say this. But there

really wasn't one. "You know, Han, it's not too late to bring Leia in on this.

We could call Wayland and ask the Noghri to bring her here."

"No," Han said firmly.

Chewbacca growled agreement with Luke. "I said no," Han repeated, glaring at the

Wookiee. "We can handle this ourselves."

There was a trill from the console built into the table. Luke looked at Han, but

he was still engaged in a glaring contest with Chewbacca. Reaching out with the

Force, he keyed the switch. "Skywalker," he said.

On the hologram pad in the middle of the table the quarter-sized image of a

young Iphigini appeared, his braided lip-beard not quite covering up the throat

insignia of the Iphigin Spaceport Directorate. "I apologize for disturbing your

deliberations, Jedi Skywalker," he said, his voice far more melodious than the

craggy face and physique would have suggested. "But we've received notification

from New Republic Commerce that a Sarkan freighter is on its way here under a

Customs Red alert."

Luke looked at Han. Customs Red: a warning that there was illegal and highly

dangerous cargo aboard. "Did Commerce identify the captain and crew?"

"No," the Iphigini said. "A follow-up transmission was promised, but it has not

yet arrived. The suspect freighter is already approaching Iphigin, and we have

dispatched the bulk of our inner-system customs frigates and patrol craft to

intercept. It was thought that as New Republic representatives, you and Captain

Solo might wish to observe the procedure."

There was a sudden change in Han's emotions. Luke looked over, to see his friend

gazing thoughtfully off into space. "We appreciate the invitation," he said,

looking back at the hologram. "At the moment, though-"

"Where's this Sarkan coming in from?" Han interrupted.

"Sector Three-Besh." The Iphigini's image was replaced by a schematic of Iphigin

and the space around it. A red dot blinked a few degrees off a line connecting

Iphigin to its sun; nearly twenty blinking green dots were converging on it from

the planet and nearby space. "As you can see, we have attempted to send a force

adequate to overcome any resistance."

"Yeah," Han said slowly. "And you're sure it's a Sarkan?"

"Its transponder ID has been checked," the Iphigini told him. "The ship itself

is a Corellian Action-Keynne XII, rarely seen in this part of the Core except

under Sarkan authority."

Luke whistled soundlessly. He'd been given a tour of an Action-Keynne XII once,

and had come away thoroughly impressed by both the touches of inner luxury and

the multiple tiers of outer weaponry. Designed to transport the most valuable of

cargoes, it very nearly qualified as a capital warship.

Which was probably why the Iphiginis were sending so many ships to intercept it.

If its captain decided not to cooperate, the Iphiginis were in for a fight.

"Sounds like a Sarkan, all right," Han agreed, his voice a little bit too

casual. "You go ahead and do your intercept. Maybe we'll come up later and have

a look."

"Thank you, Captain Solo," the Iphigini said. "I will alert the officials that

you will be joining them. Farewell."

The hologram vanished. "Don't count on it," Han muttered, gathering up the

datacards from where he'd tossed them on the table and thumbing rapidly through

them. "Chewie, get over to that console-see if you can pull up a full listing of

the traffic pattern out there."

"What's going on?" Luke asked, frowning at Han and trying to read his mood.

Suddenly all the earlier frustration was gone, leaving a sort of sly excitement

in its place. "You know who the smuggler is?"

"He's not a smuggler," Han said. He found the card he was looking for and slid

it into his datapad. "You got it, Chewie? Great. Punch it into the hologram pod

over here."

Chewbacca growled acknowledgment, and a more complete Iphigin schematic appeared

over the table. Han peered at it, then looked down at the datapad in his hand.

"Great. Okay, come here and give me a hand with this."

What is it?" Luke asked.

"This is the ground station list and the orbit data for their Golan I Defense

Platform," Han told him, waving the datapad as Chewbacca lumbered to his side

again. "Let's see . . ."

For a minute the two huddled close together, peering alternately at the hologram

and Han's datapad and conversing in low tones. Luke studied the schematic,

watching the color-coded freighters and other ships moving in and out and

wondering what this was all about.

"Okay," Han said at last. "That's where they'll come in. So all we need to do is

sit somewhere in the middle of that cone and wait. Great. Get down to the Falcon

and get er ready. I'll be right there."

Chewbacca rumbled an acknowledgment and headed out the door at a fast Wookiee

trot. "Do I get to know what's going on?" Luke asked.

"Sure," Han said, gathering up the datacards and packing them away again. We've

got pirates on the way."

"Pirates?" Luke blinked. "Here?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"I didn't think pirate gangs operated this far into the Core, that's all," Luke

said. "So the Sarkan is just a feint?"

"Yeah," Han said, getting to his feet. "Only he doesn't know it. It's an old

trick: you call an alert on some ship coming in sun-side, then hit a nightside

target while Customs is busy half a planet away. The only tricky pan is making

sure the ground and orbit defenses can't get to you. Plus figuring out bow to

fake the alert in the first place. Come on, let's go."

"Shouldn't we alert the Iphigini first?' Luke asked, reaching for the comm.

"What for?" Han said. "You and Chewie and me ought to be able to handle it."

"What, a whole pirate gang?"

"Sure, why not? The only gangs working this sector are small ones-two or three

ships, tops." Han's lip twitched. "Actually, you probably won't even need us."

"I appreciate your confidence," Luke said icily. "But I'd just as soon not take

them all on myself, thank you."

Han held up his hands. "Hey. No offense."

"None taken." Luke gestured to the hologram and the patrol ships weaving their

net around the incoming Sarkan freighter. "And I still think we ought to call in

the Iphigini."

"We can't," Han said. "The pirates probably have a spotter already here. Any

sign of an alert, and they'll just call off the raid. We'd end up looking

stupid, and Diamalan opinion of the New Republic would sink a little deeper. The

High Council will have my hide if that happens."

Luke sighed. "Things were a lot easier when Alliance military activity wasn't

always getting tangled up in politics."

"Tell me about it," Han growled. "Look, we've got to get going. You in or out?"

Luke shrugged. "I'm in," he said, pulling out his comlink. "Artoo?"

***

R2-D2 didn't like it. Not a bit. The words scrolling across the X-wing's

computer display made that very clear indeed.

"Oh, come on, Artoo," Luke chided. "We went all the way through a war together,

against the most powerful military machine the galaxy has ever seen. You're not

going to tell me you're afraid of a couple of patched-up pirate ships, are you?"

The droid grunted indignantly. "That's better," Luke said approvingly. "Just

keep an eye out. We'll be fine."

Artoo warbled again, clearly not convinced, and went silent. Luke peered out the

X-wing's canopy, trying to shake away his own collection of nagging doubts. The

odd discomfort that kept surfacing in Han's emotions-the unexplained Diamalan

refusal to allow him at the negotiations-all of it just added to the strange

restlessness that had been simmering and growing in him over the past few weeks.

He'd talked to Leia twice about it, hoping her insight and experience could help

him bring the vague glimmerings into sharper focus. But the best she'd been able

to do was suggest that it was some kind of subconscious prodding from the Force

itself. Something Luke was supposed to do, she hypothesized, or perhaps

something he wasn't supposed to do.

At her urging, he'd been spending more time lately in meditation, hoping that

immersing himself in the Force would help. So far, though, there had been no

results.

"Luke?" Han's voice said into his helmet. Where are you?"

Luke shook his thoughts back to the task at hand. "I'm above you and a little to

portside," he said. "I don't see anything out here that looks like a pirate

ship. You?"

"Not yet," Han said. "Don't worry; when they get here, you'll know it."

"Right." Turning his head slowly, Luke looked around at the drive glows and

running lights of the various freighters.

And then suddenly they were there.

Only it wasn't just two or three ships. Dropping in from light-speed were no

fewer than eight ships, all unmarked, all bristling with turbolaser batteries.

Behind Luke came a startled shrill. "Easy, Artoo," Luke soothed the droid. "Give

me a readout on them."

Artoo beeped uncertainly, and a list appeared on Luke's sensor scope. Two

mangled-looking Corellian gunships, an old but impressively big Kaloth

battlecruiser with an equally old KDY a-4 ion cannon welded awkwardly to its

bow, and five Corsair-class assault starfighters. The whole group of them were

in encirclement formation, closing on a pair of medium transports a few

kilometers below and ahead.

Transports bearing New Republic insignia.

"Han?" Luke called.

"Yeah, I see them," Han said tightly. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

Luke looked out at the incoming pirates, a sudden tightening sensation in his

stomach. There were many options, of course. He could reach out with the Force

and damage the ships' control surfaces, crippling them. He might even be able to

wrench off whole hull plates or deform the weapons emplacements, tearing them

apart with the Force alone. Or he could simply reach inside to the crews' minds,

turning them into helpless observers or even forcing them to surrender. For a

Jedi Master with the Force as his ally, there were no limits. No limits at all.

And then, abruptly, he stiffened, his breath seeming to freeze in his throat.

There in front of him, starkly visible against the blackness of space, he could

see the faint images of Emperor Palpatine and Exar Kun, two of the greatest

focal points of the dark side he'd ever had to face. They were standing there

before him, gazing back at him.

And laughing.

"Luke?"

Han's voice made him start, and as he did so, the images vanished. But the icy

horror stayed behind. Something he wasn't supposed to do . .

"Luke? Hey, look alive, pal."

"I'm here," Luke managed. His mouth, he discovered, was suddenly very dry.

"I-you'd better take charge, Han."

"You all right? Can you fly?"

Luke swallowed. "Yes. I'm fine."

"Sure," Han said, obviously not convinced. "Look, you'd better hang back. Chewie

and me'll handle this."

"No," Luke said. "No, I'm with you. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Well, if you're sure you're up to it, you can run me some cover," Han said.

"First thing is to take out that ion cannon."

Luke took a deep breath, settling his mind and stretching out to the Force. Two

ships against eight. It was like the old days, when the Rebel Alliance was

struggling against the awesome power of the Empire. He hadn't been nearly as

strong in the Force then. Hardly strong enough, in fact, to enhance his natural

combat and flying abilities.

And yet, somehow, the memories of those days felt strangely clean. Cleaner than

his mind had felt for a long time.

Something he wasn't supposed to do . . .

All right, he told the memories. Let's call this a test. "Go ahead," he told

Han. "I'm right behind you."

It was unclear in that first minute whether the pirates, concentrating on their

intended prey, had even noticed the old YT-1300 freighter and the X-wing flying

alongside it. It was abundantly clear, though, that a sudden attack from outside

their encirclement ring was the last thing they were expecting. The Falcon shot

between two of the Corsairs without drawing any fire at all until it was well

past them. They got a single ineffective turbolaser salvo off before Luke slid

in behind them, dropping a proton torpedo each into their drive sections. A

brilliant double flash, and they were effectively out of the fight.

The X-wing shot between them, curving up out of the crippled ships' line of

fire. The battlecruiser was starting to turn its turrets toward them&mdash

There was a sudden warning squeal from behind him. "I see them, Artoo," Luke

said, throwing the X-wing into a stomach-twisting spiral out and away from the

battlecruiser just as two of the three remaining Corsairs shot past. A burst of

light caught the edge of his eye as he turned, and he twisted back around to see

the bow of the battlecruiser flash into shrapnel. "Han? You okay?"

"Sure," Han's voice came back. "I got the ion cannon, but it got a shot off at

one of the transports first. Don't know if they're disabled or not. You?"

"No problems yet," Luke said. His danger sense flickered, and he dropped the

X-wing into another twist as a withering pattern of laser fire cut through the

spot he'd just vacated. Swinging up and around, he settled in behind one of the

attacking Corsairs. It was a long time since he'd done this kind of thing on any

sort of regular basis, but he didn't seem nearly as rusty as he'd feared he

would be. "These things are better armored than TIE fighters, but they're not

nearly as maneuverable."

The words were barely out of his mouth when he nearly had to eat them. Abruptly

the Corsair in front of him cut sharply to starboard, twisting out of Luke's

line of fire and trying to swing in behind him. Clenching his teeth, Luke

matched the maneuver, and for a few seconds they chased each other around in a

tight circle, each trying for a clear shot. Luke won by a single heartbeat, and

the Corsair flashed into flame and debris.

From his comm came an anxious Wookiee snarl. "I'm okay, Chewie," Luke said,

stretching out to the Force for calm. That one had been a little too close. "You

two still all right?"

"So far," Han put in. "Watch it-they're probably getting mad now."

Luke smiled lopsidedly and took a quick look around. The last two Corsairs were

heading full-throttle toward him, but he had a few seconds yet before he had to

do anything about them. In the near distance he could see the battlecruiser,

firing furiously at the much smaller Falcon skimming like a stingily across its

hull, systematically taking out turbolaser emplacements as it went. To one side,

the two gunships were exchanging fire with the New Republic transports, which

were clearly better armed than they had first appeared. The rest of the

freighter traffic around them was understandably vacating the area just as fast

as they could.

He frowned, focusing again on the battlecruiser. With his decision to back away

from using the full power of the Force against the pirates much of the confusion

and tension in his mind seemed to have cleared away.

And now, in that silence, he could sense something strange about the big ship

out there. A strangeness he hadn't felt for a long time...

Artoo shrilled a warning. "Right," Luke said, shaking the feeling away. The two

Corsairs were coming in fast, the wingman to portside and slightly behind the

leader. "Here's the plan," he told the droid. "On my signal, run full power to

the top starboard engine and to both portside braking vents. After four seconds

cut the vents and throw half power to all engines. Got it?"

The droid whistled acknowledgment. Resting his thumbs on the proton torpedo

triggers, Luke watched the Corsairs streaking toward him, stretching out through

the Force to touch the minds of the two crews. Not to control or twist, but

merely watching the texture of their thoughts. Holding course, he waited . . .

"Now," he called to Artoo.

The droid's warble was swallowed up by the sudden roar of the drive; and a

second later the X-wing was spinning wildly around its center of mass. Eyes

half-closed, Luke let the Force guide the timing of his shot&mdash

And then he was jammed back into his seat as the X-wing took off on a new

trajectory, straightening reluctantly out of its spin.

Blinking against his sudden dizziness, Luke looked around for the Corsairs.

The gambit had worked. Concentrating on his Gandder's spin, trying to anticipate

the direction he would take when he popped out of it, they'd probably never even

noticed the incoming proton torpedoes until it was too late.

"Luke?" Han's voice came over the comm. "Looks like they're pulling out."

Sternly addressing his rebellious inner ear, Luke brought the X-wing around

again The battlecruiser was driving for deep space, the two gunships right

behind it. One of the gunships, he noted, was showing considerable damage.

"Artoo, give me a damage assessment," Luke said, switching his comm control to

one of the official New Republic frequencies. "Transports, this is New Republic

X-wing AA-589," he said. "What's your situation?"

"Looking a lot better than it was a few minutes ago," the reply came back

promptly. "Thanks for the assist, X-wing. You or your friend need any help?"

Artoo's damage assessment came up on the computer screen. "No, I'm fine," Luke

said. "Han?"

"No problems here," Han said. "We'll give you an escort down if you want."

"Sounds good to me," the transport captain said. "Thanks again."

The transports turned back toward Iphigin. Swinging the X-wing toward their

vector, Luke switched back to the private frequency. "Just like old times," he

said wryly to Han.

"Yeah," Han said, his voice sounding distracted. "You catch any insignia or

markings on any of those ships?"

"There wasn't anything on the Corsairs," Luke said. "I didn't get close enough

to the others to see. Why? You think they might not have been pirates?"

"Oh, they were pirates, all right," Han said. "Problem is, most pirates like to

splash blazing claws or fireballs all over their ships. Try to scare the target

into giving up without a fight. Usually the only reason they'd cover down is if

they were working for someone else."

Luke looked out his canopy at the lights of the rest of the freighters around

them, slowly and gingerly settling back into a normal traffic pattern again. A

hundred exotic cargoes, from a hundred different worlds . . . and yet the

pirates had chosen to hit a pair of New Republic transports. Privateers, then,"

he said. "Hired by the Empire."

"I'd say that's a good bet," Han agreed grimly. "I wonder which gang they were."

"Or where the Empire's getting the funds to hire them," Luke said slowly.

Stretching out with the Force, he brought back the memory of the odd sensation

he'd picked up from the battlecruiser. "I remember Leia telling me what

privateers cost, back when the Alliance was hiring them to hit Imperial

shipping. They don't come cheap."

"Not good ones, anyway." Han snorted. "Not that this batch was anything

special."

"I'm not so sure," Luke said, focusing his full attention on the memories. It

was indeed something he'd felt before. . .

And then it clicked into place. "I may be wrong, Han," he said, "but I think

there was a group of clones aboard that battlecruiser."

For a long moment the comm was silent. "You sure?"

"The sense was the same one I got when we were chasing Grand Admiral Thrawn's

clone warriors around the Katana."

Han hissed thoughtfully into the comm. "Terrific. I wonder where the Empire's

been hiding clones for the past ten years. I thought they'd pretty much thrown

all of them at us already."

"I thought so, too," Luke said. "Maybe they've got a new cloning facility

going."

"Oh, that's a cheerful thought," Han grumbled. "Look, let's take care of one

crisis at a time. We'll finish up here and then turn Intelligence loose on it."

"I was under the impression that Intelligence wasn't having much luck pinning

down these gangs."

"They're not," Han admitted. "Neither are my contacts with the Independent

Shippers."

"Sounds like we need someone better connected with the fringe." Luke hesitated.

"Someone like Talon Karrde, for example."

There was a brief silence from the other end. "You didn't say that like you

meant it," Han suggested. "Trouble?"

"No, not really," Luke said, wishing now he'd kept quiet. "It's just-no,

nothing."

"Let me guess. Mara?"

Luke grimaced. "It's nothing, Han. Okay? Just let it go."

"Sure," Han assured him. "No problem. Soon as we finish up here, you can go on

back to Yavin and forget about it. Chewie and me can get word to Karrde. Okay?"

"Okay," Luke said. "Thanks."

"No problem. Let's go talk to the Diamala some more. See if any of this might

have changed their attitude toward New Republic protection."

"We can try." Luke hesitated. "Han, what is it about me the Diamala don't like?

I really need to know."

There was a short pause. "Well, to put it in a sprayshell, they don't trust

you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're too powerful," Han said. "At least, according to them. They

claim that Jedi who use as much power as you do always end up slipping over to

the dark side."

An unpleasant sensation settled into the pit of Luke's stomach. "You think

they're right?" he asked.

"Hey, Luke, I don't know about any of that stuff," the other protested. "I've

seen you do some pretty wild things, and I'll admit it sometimes worries me a

little. But if you say you've got it under control, hey, that's good enough for

me. You sure weren't getting all flashy out here just now."

"No, I wasn't," Luke agreed, a little defensively. Because Han was right; he bad

indeed gotten a little flashy at other times in the past. Many times, in fact.

But only when it was necessary, and only to accomplish some great and noble

goal. His power in the Force had saved his life numerous times, and Han's life,

and the lives of countless others. In none of those instances had he had any

other choice.

And yet. . .

Luke stared out the canopy at the distant stars. And yet there was Obi-Wan

Kenobi, his first teacher in the Force. A powerful Jedi, who'd nevertheless

allowed himself to be cut down on the first Death Star rather than sweep Vader

and the stormtroopers away with a wave of his, hand.

And there was Yoda, who had surely had as deep an understanding of the Force as

anyone in recent history. If Luke's own current level of knowledge was any

indication, Yoda could surely have defeated the Emperor all by himself. Yet he'd

chosen instead to leave that task to Luke and the Rebel Alliance.

And there was Callista. A woman he'd loved . . . who had run away from him

because his power had somehow intimidated and frightened her.

"Look, Luke, it might not mean anything," Han's voice came into his thoughts.

"You know how alien minds work sometimes."

"Yes," Luke murmured. But it was clearly not something to be dismissed out of

hand. It was a question he needed to study, and to meditate on, and to discuss

with his family and closest friends.

He shuddered, that horrifying vision of a laughing Emperor flickering across his

memory. And he'd better do it fast.

But as Han had said, one crisis at a time. Pulling up the X-wing's nose, he

eased into escort formation beside the transports and headed in.

CHAPTER

3

For a long moment Leia Organa Solo just stood there, the restless breezes of the

Wayland forest rustling through her hair, staring at the gold-colored protocol

droid twitching nervously in front of her. There were, she reflected distantly,

very few things in the galaxy anymore that could shock her speechless. Han Solo,

her husband and father of her three children, was apparently still one of them.

"He did what? "

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Possibly a way of confirming to herself

that her voice still functioned. C-3P0 either didn't realize that or else didn't

want to risk guessing wrong. "He and Chewbacca have gone to Iphigin, Your

Highness," the droid repeated, his voice miserable. "Several hours ago, shortly

after you left on your tour. I tried to stop them, but he wouldn't listen.

Please don't deactivate me."

Leia took a careful breath, stretching out to the Force to calm

herself-apparently, she looked angrier than she actually was-and tried to think.

Han would be on Iphigin by now, probably already engaged in a dialogue with the

Diamalan and Ishori delegations. She could have her honor guard fly her there in

one of their ships, calling ahead and telling Han to declare a recess until she

arrived. The children she could leave here; the rest of the Noghri could look

after them until she and Han returned. Alter natively, she could get in touch

with President Gavrisom and have him send someone else out there to take over.

But either approach would make Han's effort an obvious and embarrassing false

start, hardly the sort of thing that would bolster the already low opinion the

Diamala had of New Republic capabilities. In fact, depending on how seriously

the Diamala chose to take it, it could easily make things worse than if she just

left Han alone.

Besides, he was a hero of the Rebellion, and both the Diamala and Ishori

appreciated that sort of thing. And after years of watching her handle this sort

of negotiation, he must surely have picked up a trick or two.

"Oh-one other thing," Threepio spoke up hesitantly. "Captain Solo also made one

other call before he and Chewbacca left. I believe it was to Master Luke."

Leia smiled wryly, her first real smile since Threepio had broken the news. She

should have guessed that Han hadn't just rushed in on this thing alone. He'd

conned Luke into going with him.

Threepio was still standing there looking nervous. "It's all right, Threepio,"

she soothed him. "Once Han gets an idea in his head, there's no stopping him. He

and Luke should be able to handle things."

The droid seemed to wilt with relief. "Thank you, Your Highness," he murmured.

Leia turned away from him and looked back across the clearing. Her youngest son,

Anakin, was crouched down beside one of the slender airspeeders the group had

just arrived in, and even at this distance she could hear the mix of seriousness

and excitement in the eight-year-old's voice as he discussed the finer points of

design with the Noghri pilot. Standing a little way to one side beside the

Mobquet speeder bikes that had flown escort for them, the twins Jacen and Jaina

were watching with the air of st ressed patience that came naturally of being a

whole year and a half older and wiser than their younger brother. Grouped around

the children and vehicles were the short gray figures of their Noghri escort,

the bulk of their attention directed outward. Even here at the edge of a Noghri

settlement, they were continually on the alert for danger. Beyond them, rising

above the forest, Leia could see the top of Mount Tantiss.

"Welcome back, Lady Vader," a gravelly Noghri mew came from beside her.

"Oh, my!" Threepio said, jerking back.

Only long experience-and her strength of calmness in the Force-kept Leia from

doing the same. Even when they weren't particularly trying to be quiet, Noghri

were next to impossible to hear. One of the many reasons why Grand Admiral

Thrawn, and Darth Vader before him, had so coveted their services as private

Death Commandos for the Empire.

Had coveted that service so much, in fact, that they'd deliberately destroyed

the Noghri homeworld of Honoghr, keeping the Noghri at a perpetual edge of

disaster. A disaster that had been carefully structured to keep them in eternal

servitude.

Leia had helped them discover the truth about the Empire's deceit But though it

had brought the Noghri firmly onto the side of the New Republic, it had in many

ways been a hollow victory for all concerned. Despite the effort that had been

put into the New Republic's restoration project over the past ten years, hopes

were steadily fading that Honoghr could ever be truly brought back to life. And

though the Noghri seemed reasonably content with their new settlements here on

Wayland, Leia could hear the qu iet sadness in their voices whenever they spoke

of home.

Alderaan, her own homeworld, had been shattered to dust before her eyes by the

first Death Star, Honoghr, brown and dead, had been destroyed more subtly but no

less thoroughly. Unknown numbers of others, all across the galaxy, had been

ravaged by the war against the Empire.

Some of those wounds would take a long time to heal. Others never would.

"I greet you, Cakhmaim clan Eikh'mir," she said to the Noghri standing beside

her. "I trust all is well?"

"All is well and quiet," Cakhmaim said gravely, giving her the Noghri bow of

respect. With perhaps one small exception."

"I know," Leia said. "Han and Chewie took off while we were on the tour."

Cakhmaim frowned. "Was he not to leave?" he demanded, his voice suddenly darker.

"He told us he was summoned."

"No, it's all right," Leia said quickly. Relations between Han and the Noghri

had never been quite as relaxed as she might have liked, and she had no desire

to add this incident onto anyone's grudge list. "He should have talked to me

first, but it's all right. He probably just didn't want me worrying about New

Republic politics for a while."

Cakhmaim peered up at her. "If I may say so, Lady Vader, I must concur with Han

clan Solo in this thought. Reports from your honor guard make it clear that you

spend too little time in needed relaxation."

"I can't argue with that," Leia admitted. "It comes of having both a family and

a job to do, and a limited number of hours per day to share between them. Maybe

now that Ponc Gavrisom's taken over the Presidency for a while, things will be

easier."

"Perhaps," Cakhmaim said, not sounding any more convinced of that than Leia

herself felt. "Still, while the Noghri people live, you shall always have a

place of refuge among us. You and your children and their children. Always."

"I appreciate that, Cakhmaim," Leia said, and meant it. There were very few

places in the galaxy where she could feel as safe, both for herself and her

children, as she did inside a Noghri settlement. "But you mentioned a problem.

Tell me."

"I now hesitate to involve you, Lady Vader," Cakhmaim said uncertainly. "You

came here for relaxation, not to settle disputes. Further, I would dislike to

take you away from your firstsons and firstdaughter."

"The children are doing fine right where they are," Leia assured him, looking

back at the group. Anakin was halfway underneath the airspeeder now, with a pair

of Noghri legs sticking out alongside his. The twins still had that

strained-patient look as they talked quietly together, but Leia could see

Jaina's hand fondly stroking the saddle of one of the speeder bikes. "Anakin has

inherited his father's love of puzzles," she told Cakhmaim. "And the twins

aren't nearly as bored as they might pretend. Tell me about this dispute."

"As you wish," Cakhmaim said. "Please come with me."

Leia nodded. "Threepio, you might as well stay here."

"Certainly, Your Highness," the droid said, a definite note of relief in his

voice. Threepio hated disputes.

The two of them walked a short distance through the trees to a second clearing,

this one the main part of the Noghri's Mount Tantiss settlement. Clustered

together were perhaps thirty houses, built to the same basic design of the homes

Leia had seen on Honoghr, though modified by the differences in local building

materials. In the middle was the longer, somewhat taller dukha clan center.

Other Noghri settlements on Wayland had transported their ancient clan dukhas

from Honoghr, making them the honored focal points of their villages on this

world just as they had been back home. But the Mount Tantiss settlement had a

specific mission to perform; and part of that mission was to never forget what

the Empire and Emperor had taken from the Noghri people. Their clan center,

freshly built from local lumber and stone, was a permanent and graphic reminder

of that loss.

The dukha door was flanked by a pair of straight-backed Noghri children,

performing their door-warder duties with the seriousness of generations of

custom and ritual. One of them pulled open the door, and Cakhmaim and Leia

stepped inside.

The clan center consisted of a single large room, roofed with heavy wooden

beams, with walls on which the history and genealogy of the settlement had begun

to be carved. Two-thirds of the way back was the throne-like High Seat, the only

chair in the room.

And seated on the floor at the foot of the High Seat, dressed in dirt-stained

clothing, was a Devaronian. "Ah," he said, favoring Cakhmaim with a thin smile

as he got to his feet. "My kindly host. I hope you brought food; I am beginning

to get hungry." He shifted his attention to Leia. "And you, I take it, are the

wandering decision-maker I was promised?"

"This is New Republic High Councilor Leia Organa Solo," Cakhmaim identified her,

his voice edged with knives. "You will speak to her with respect."

"Of course," the Devaronian said dryly, touching the rightmost of his two

forehead horns with the fingertips of his right hand. "I would never speak

otherwise to an official of the New Republic."

"Of course not," Leia said, matching his tone as she stretched out toward him

with the Force. Male Devaronians were avid travelers and a common sight in the

spaceports of the galaxy, but there had been few if any of them in the Rebel

Alliance and she had never had much personal contact with the species. "And your

name?" she asked, trying to get a reading on his thoughts and emotions.

"I am Lak Jit, Councilor. A simple seeker of knowledge and truth."

Leia smiled. "Of course," she said, focusing a bit harder on his thoughts. There

was no change she could detect that would indicate a lie, but given her

unfamiliarity with the species that didn't mean much. More than likely it was no

more than a bending or embellishment of the truth, anyway. "Tell me about this

dispute, Cakhmaim."

"This alien was discovered near Mount Tantiss by one of the cleansing teams,"

Cakhmaim said, his gaze hard on the Devaronian. "He had been digging through the

soil in the fault line area and had found six datacards. When the team attempted

to take them from him, he claimed possession under the Debble Agreement."

"Really," Leia said, eyeing the Devaronian with new interest. The Debble

Agreement was a slice-of-the-moment compromise deal she'd worked out between the

Noghri cleansing teams, who had sworn to eradicate every memory of the Emperor's

presence on Wayland, and Garv Debble, a New Republic archaeologist who had

insisted that items plundered from other worlds should be returned to their

proper owners. The agreement had been informal and reasonably private, hardly

something a casual treasure hunter would know about. "Tell me, Lak Jit, how did

you come to know about the Debble Agreement?"

"Quite honestly, Councilor, I assure you," the Devaronian said. "I am associated

with a human who I believe has had some dealings with the New Republic. Talon

Karrde."

"I see," Leia said, keeping her voice and face expressionless. To say that Talon

Karrde had had dealings with the New Republic was to vastly understate the case.

Smuggler chief and information broker, with an organization that stretched

across the known galaxy , Karrde had reluctantly thrown in with the New Republic

during the massive Imperial counteroffensive led by Grand Admiral Thrawn. More

than that, he'd put together an unlikely coalition of fellow smugglers that had

played a significant role in stopping Thrawn's advance and ultimately defeating

him. The coalition had drifted apart over the years, but Leia had made an effort

to keep somewhat in touch with Karrde himself.

A presence brushed at the back of her mind, and she turned as Jacen came into

the room. "Mom, when are we going to the mountain?" he asked, throwing an

incurious look at the Devaronian. "You said we'd be going to see the mountain

after the other tour."

"We'll go soon, honey," Leia said. "Just a little business to clear up first."

Jacen frowned. "I thought we weren't going to have any business here."

"It'll just take a minute," Leia assured him.

"But I'm bored," he insisted. He looked at Lak Jit again, and Leia could sense

the effort as the child reached out with his limited abilities in the Force.

"Are you my mom's business?" he asked.

"Yes," Lak Jit said with another thin smile. "And she is right: it will only

take a minute. Councilor Organa Solo, it should be clear that historical

datacards are precisely the sort of thing the Debble Agreement was created to

protect. Therefore-"

"We have only your statement that the datacards are historical," Cakhmaim put

in. We must study them ourselves."

"Agreed," Leia said before the Devaronian could object. Unfortunately, that kind

of examination could take hours, and the children were waiting. "Here's the

offer, Lak Jit. I'll take the data-cards, paying you five hundred now as earnest

money. After I've examined them, the New Republic will pay you whatever they're

worth."

"And who will decide that value?" Lak Jit demanded.

"I will," Leia said. "Or, if you prefer, I can take the datacards back to

Coruscant and ask Councilor Sien Siev or another historical expert to evaluate

them."

"And if I refuse?"

Leia nodded toward Cakhmaim. "Would you prefer I let the Noghri set the price?"

Lak Jit grimaced, an expression that came across as just an-other Devaronian

smile, only thinner. "I seem to have no alternative." He stepped forward,

thrusting out a stack of datacards. "Here, then. Evaluate. Since you have not

brought me food, would you and your hosts object if I went and foraged while you

work?"

"You said just a minute, Mom," Jacen spoke up.

"Quiet, Jacen," Leia said, gingerly taking the stack of data-cards and doing a

quick count of the edges. Six of them, all right, as filthy and dirt-stained as

Lak Jit's clothing. They'd probably been blown out of Mount Tantiss with the

general cloud of debris when Chewbacca and Lando Calrissian set off the base's

power reactor, and had been lying buried in the Wayland soil ever since.

Lak Jit cleared his throat. "May I-?"

"Yes, go," Leia cut him off. She hadn't realized Devaronians foraged for food,

and she certainly wasn't interested in the details. "Jacen, be quiet. It'll just

be another minute. I promise."

"Please be quick," Lak Jit said, and disappeared out the door.

"Mom-"

"If you're bored, why don't you ask Cakhmaim to show you the history they're

carving in the walls here," Leia suggested, gingerly brushing at the dirt

covering the top datacard. "Or go join the Noghri children in their fighting

class. I think Mobvekhar was going to be teaching them leverage holds today."

Jacen sniffed. "Jedi don't need that stuff. We have the Force."

"You're not a Jedi yet," Leia reminded him, giving him a stern look. She wasn't

exactly happy about this interruption in their vacation either, but all his

whining was accomplishing was to drag it out further. "If you were, you'd know

that just because you have the Force doesn't mean you can ignore the condition

of your physical body. The Noghri combat classes are good exercise."

"So's hiking up the mountain," Jacen countered. "So when are we going?"

"When I'm done," Leia said firmly, finishing her cleanup job and peering at the

datacard's label. Listings of the Fourth Pestoriv Conference, it said. Nothing

important there, one way or the other: the Pestoriv Conferences had been

completely open, and just as completely documented.

Unless the Emperor had had his own private version of what had gone on there.

Something to check out later, though the datacard would have to be thoroughly

cleaned before she would be willing to risk it in her datapad. Shifting the

datacard to the bottom of the stack, she peered at the label of the second.

Equally innocuous: something about Ri'Dar mating dances. The third

datacard&mdash

She stared at the label, a sudden chill running straight through her.

Four words, with the dirt already brushed off. The Hand of Thrawn.

"Mom?" Jacen asked, his voice not much above a whisper. Young and inexperienced

in the Force, he nevertheless was keenly attuned to his mother, almost as

closely attuned as he was to his sister Jaina. "What's wrong?"

Leia reached out to the Force, calming herself. "I'm all right," she told her

son. "Something on this card just startled me, that's all."

Jacen craned his neck to look. "The Hand of Thrawn.' What does that mean?"

Leia shook her head. "I don't know."

"Oh." Jacen frowned up at her. "Then how come you were so scared?"

It was a good question, Leia had to admit. Could the simple if unexpected

appearance of Thrawn's name really have thrown her so hard? Even coupled with

her memories of his near victory, it didn't seem likely. "I don't know that,

either, Jacen," she said. "Maybe I was just remembering the past."

"Or seeing into the future," Cakhmaim said softly. "The Mal'ary'ush has great

powers, secondson of Vader."

"I know," Jacen said gravely. "She's my mom."

"And don't you forget it," Leia admonished him mock-severely as she ruffled his

hair. "Now be quiet a minute and let's see what this is all about" Pulling her

datapad from her pouch, suddenly not caring at all about possible dust

contamination, she slid the datacard in.

"What does it say?" Cakhmaim asked quietly.

Leia shook her head. "Nothing," she told him. "At least, nothing legible." She

tried a different section of the card, then another. "Looks like the whole

datacard has been scrambled. I guess ten years of exposure will do that. Maybe

the experts on Coruscant can-"

She broke off. Jacen's face and thoughts&mdash

"Mom!" he blurted. "Jaina and Anakin!"

"It's Lak Jit," Leia snapped, stretching out through the Force and catching the

sudden flash of fright from her children. She caught a secondhand image of the

Devaronian charging through the clearing and a sudden cloud of billowing white

smoke&mdash

"Cakhmaim!"

But Cakhmaim was already through the door, screaming the alert in the warbling

Noghri combat code. Jamming the datapad and datacards back into her hip pack,

Leia grabbed Jacen's hand and followed Cakhmaim outside, clearing the doorway

just as an answer trilled through the trees. "They are unharmed," Cakhmaim said,

his tone icy with grim relief. "The Devaronian has stolen a speeder bike."

All around them, armed Noghri were pouring out of the houses in response to

Cakhmaim's alert. "Which way was he going?" Leia asked, heading across the

settlement On both sides of them, Noghri were falling into escort positions;

ahead, through the trees, she could see glimpses of the smoke as it dispersed.

Stretching out through the Force, she sent reassurance to her children.

Cakhmaim warbled again, was answered as they reached the edge of the settlement.

"Unknown," he reported. "They could not see his departure."

Most of the smoke had cleared by the time they reached the clearing a minute

later. Of the nine Noghri Leia had left there, six remained, pressing in a tight

defensive circle around the children. "Jaina, Anakin," she breathed, dropping to

one kite beside them and giving them each a quick but tight hug. There was no

need to ask if they were all right, her Jedi senses had already confirmed that,

"Khabarakh, what happened?"

"He surprised us, Lady Vader," the Noghri said, his face set in the quiet agony

of a warrior who has failed his duty. "He walked casually into the clearing and

dropped his digging tool onto the ground between us. Part of the handle was a

disguised smoke grenade, which exploded with the impact. We could hear him as he

activated one of the speeder bikes, but I would not allow any to try to seek him

out in the smoke. Should I have acted differently?"

"No," Cakhmaim said firmly. "The machine is of no consequence. Only the safety

of the Lady Vader's firstchildren is important. Your honor is not compromised,

Khabarakh clan Kihm'bar."

Jaina tugged at Leia's sleeve. "Why did he run, Mother? Was he afraid of the

Noghri?"

"In a way, honey, yes," Leia said grimly. Suddenly, with the clear vision of

hindsight, the whole deception was obvious. Pulling the Devaronian's datacards

from her hip pack, she fanned them in her hands.

All of them, as she'd already noted, had dirty edges. On one, though, it was

only the edges that were dirty.

"Lady Vader?"

Leia turned. From the brush at the edge of the clearing, two Noghri were helping

up a dazed-looking Threepio. "Oh, my," the droid breathed. "I must have taken a

bad step."

"Threepio!" Anakin squealed, ducking between his mother and Cakhmaim and racing

across to help. "You all right?"

Threepio briefly examined his arms. "I appear to be undamaged, Master Anakin,

thank you," he assured the child.

"We've got to find him," Leia said, turning back to Cakhmaim and Khabarakh and

holding up the clean datacard. "He's still got one of the datacards he found at

the mountain."

"I will send out more searchers," Cakhmaim said, pulling out a comlink. "Perhaps

I can also arrange an unexpected surprise for our thief."

"Your Highness?" Threepio called. "I don't know if this is of any use to you-or

indeed whether or not you already know it-but before I tripped and fell-"

"Speak quickly," Cakhmaim snapped.

Threepio shrank back slightly. "I observed the stolen speeder bike leave in that

direction." He pointed.

"Hey, yeah," Anakin said. "Threepio was outside the smoke!"

"He's making for the northern side of Mount Tantiss," Cakhmaim said decisively.

"Undoubtedly where his ship is located. Khabarakh, your group will take the

airspeeders and remaining speeder bikes and pursue. I will take the Lady Vader

and her firstchildren back to the settlement."

"Just the children, Cakhmaim," Leia corrected, heading for one of the

airspeeders. "I'm going with Khabarakh."

Thirty seconds later the group was airborne. "Do we have any idea where his ship

might be?" Leia asked as the vehicles tore across the landscape.

"The Myneyrshi will know," Khabarakh said. "They watch all movements near the

forbidden mountain. Perhaps that is the surprise Cakhmaim spoke of."

Leia pulled out a set of macrobinoculars from the airspeeder's storage

compartment, and for a few minutes she scanned across the forest below and

ahead. Nothing. "He's probably staying right down at ground level," she said.

"That will slow him," Khabarakh said. "Still, if we cannot locate his ship, he

will likely be able to lift off before we reach him."

And unless the Noghri airspeeders were lucky enough to be right on top of him at

the time, the Devaronian would be out of their firing range in a matter of

seconds. Pressing her face tighter against the macrobinoculars, Leia stretched

out as hard as she could through the Force, trying to locate Lak Jit's presence.

There was nothing she could detect from the forest ahead of them. But even as

she tried to focus her thoughts more tightly, she caught a flicker of something

else nearby. Something unexpected, yet definitely familiar, and coming steadily

closer. Lowering the macrobinoculars, she half closed her eyes and tried to

focus on the sensation&mdash

"Hold on!" Khabarakh snapped, and the airspeeder curved sharply around to the

left. Leia grabbed for a handhold, nearly losing her grip on the

macrobinoculars. Ahead and below them, an old Gymsnor-2 freighter had appeared

above the trees. Half closing her eyes again, she stretched out toward the

freighter, finally catching the Devaronian's presence. "That's him," she

confirmed. "Can we stop him?"

"We will try," Khabarakh said.

Leia grimaced. Do; or do not. There is no try. Luke had quoted that Jedi dictum

to her over and over during her training.

And it was quickly becoming clear that here, too, there was no try. Even with

the airspeeders running full throttle, the Gymsnor was steadily pulling away

from its pursuers. Ahead of it, there was nothing: no ships, no hills, no

obstacles of any sort, nothing that would slow it down. Already it was above the

speeder bikes' maximum height limit; a few minutes more and it would be leaving

the airspeeders behind, as well.

There was a sudden gravelly mewing of Noghri words from the comm speaker.

Khabarakh answered; and abruptly the air-speeders slowed. Leia turned to him,

opening her mouth to ask why they were giving up the chase&mdash

And with a terrific roar, a spaceship shot past them on their right, heading

straight for the Gymsnor.

"Khabarakh!" Leia snapped, wincing as the airspeeder bucked in the other ship's

slipstream.

"It is all right, Lady Vader," Khabarakh assured her. "It is an ally."

"An ally?" Leia repeated, frowning at the newcomer. A Corellian Action VI bulk

freighter, by the looks of it. Nearly four times the size of Lak Jit's ship to

begin with; and if the rate it was closing on the Devaronian was any indication,

it had undergone a substantial engine upgrade.

Lak Jit had apparently come to a similar conclusion. Banking hard to the right,

he dipped back down toward the trees and then cut sharply up and around,

settling into a new vector and clawing hard for space.

It was a maneuver that Leia had seen used time and again in the war against the

Empire, and it was one that nearly always worked against the larger and more

ungainly pursuer. But in this case, it didn't. Almost before Lak Jit had even

begun his turn, the Action VI was moving to counter; and by the time the Gymsnor

had straightened out, the larger ship was right back on top of him, forcing him

to abandon his climb or risk a midair collision. Slowly but inexorably, the

Devaronian was being forced down.

"Well done," Khabarakh said.

"Yes," Leia murmured . . . and finally she understood the odd sensation she'd

felt a few minutes ago. "So this is the surprise Cakhmaim promised."

"Yes," Khabarakh said. "The Wild Karrde, with your allies Talon Karrde and Mara

Jade aboard." He eyed her, almost furtively. "I trust you are not displeased?"

Leia smiled tightly. Talon Karrde: genteel smuggler chief, onetime ally of the

New Republic, considered untrustworthy by the majority of the High Council. Mara

Jade: former agent of the Emperor, Karrde's second-in-command, and aside from

Leia herself, Luke's first attempt at teaching the ways of the Force. Also

considered untrustworthy. "No, Khabarakh, I'm not displeased at all," Leia

assured him. "Like the Noghri, I too remember the past."

***

The Gymsnor squatted in the clearing, canted slightly to one side on a crumpled

landing skid, its hatchway open and surrounded by a group of Noghri. "I wouldn't

have believed you could force a ship down like that," Leia commented, running a

critical eye over the freighter. "Not without wrecking half of it in the

process."

Beside her, Talon Karrde shrugged modestly. "Cakhmaim said relatively

undamaged,'" he told her. "We do try to please."

"And you generally succeed," Leia agreed. A pair of Noghri appeared at the

hatchway, conversed briefly with the others standing guard outside, then

disappeared back inside. "I'm glad you happened to be on Wayland. What are you

doing here, anyway?"

"Business," Karrde told her. "I've been experimenting with hiring Noghri to help

protect my contact people in some of the more dangerous or unsavory parts of the

galaxy."

Leia frowned. "I hadn't heard anything about this."

"We've been keeping it quiet," Karrde said. "I'm not exactly welcome on

Coruscant these days; and given your close ties with the Noghri, we didn't want

your reputation and influence damaged by association."

"I appreciate your concern," Leia said. "But I can take care of my own

reputation, thank you. And as far as New Republic hospitality goes, there are

still quite a few of us who haven't forgotten your part in stopping Grand

Admiral Thrawn."

"I don't think any of the High Councilors or Senators have actually forgotten,"

Karrde countered, an uncharacteristic touch of bitterness seeping into his voice

and mood. "The point is that most of them resented my organization's assistance

even at the time we were providing it."

Leia looked up at him, noting the hard set of his face and the equally hard edge

to his emotions. She'd been aware that official ties between Karrde's smuggler

friends and the New Republic had been growing more and more distant over the

past few years, but she hadn't realized he felt this strongly about it. "I'm

sorry," was all she could think of to say. "What can I do to help?"

He waved the offer away, and as he did so the bitterness faded into a kind of

wry resignation. "Don't try;' he said. "Smugglers are pan of the fringe, just

like mercenaries and con men and pirates. Try to defend us, and all you'll

accomplish will be to get muddied alongside us."

"As I've already said, my reputation is my own concern."

"Besides which," Karrde continued quietly, "drawing any attention to me at this

point would also put the Noghri at risk. Or don't you think some in the High

Council would consider hiring themselves out to a smuggler to be an unacceptable

activity?"

Leia grimaced. But he was right, and with the Noghri still under their

self-imposed cloud of penance for their years of service to the Empire, the clan

dynasts would be extremely sensitive to any such charges. "I'm sorry," she said

again.

"Don't be," Karrde advised her. "If the New Republic doesn't need me, I

certainly don't need it, either. Ah-here we go."

Leia looked back at the freighter. A new group had exited the hatchway: three

Noghri, a sullen-looking Lak Jit, and Mara Jade, her red-gold hair glistening in

the sunlight. In her hand was a dirtstained datacard. "Incidentally, what ever

happened with Mara's independent trading company?" Leia asked. "I heard it had

failed, but never heard why."

"It didn't fail; it was simply closed down," Karrde said. "Actually, it was

never meant to be anything permanent-I wanted her to have some experience

running a small company directly, so we set her up with one. All part of the

process of grooming her to take over my organization someday."

The group crossed the clearing to where Karrde and Leia were waiting. To Leia's

complete lack of surprise, the Devaronian got in the first word, "I vehemently

protest this treatment," he bit out, his eyes and horns glistening with anger.

"I have committed no crime that would permit you, Councilor Organa Solo, to open

fire on me and to cause damage to my ship. Rest assured that I will be lodging

formal complaints with the New Republic High Council and Senate, the Ojoster

Sector Assembly, the Corellian Merchants' Guild-"

"And your employer, Talon Karrde?" Karrde suggested mildly.

"Certainly: and Talon Karrde," Lak Jit agreed. "I demand the immediate return of

my property-"

He broke off, his eyes focusing on Karrde for the first time. Leia stretched out

with the Force, and caught the sudden startled burst of recognition. "You are-?"

"Yes," Karrde confirmed, his voice suddenly cold. He held out a hand, and Mara

put the datacard into it. "Tell me, where were you taking this?"

"I was going to bring it to you, of course," Lak Jit said.

Leia looked at Mara, standing a little behind the Devaronian, her hand resting

casually on the lightsaber attached to her belt. The other woman returned Leia's

look, a knowing and slightly cynical half smile on her face. Clearly, both of

them had caught the quaver in Lak Jit's thoughts. Mara shifted her eyes back to

Karrde, tilted her head fractionally to the left. "That's lie number one, Lak

Jit," Karrde told the Devaronian, lifting a finger. "One more, and I'll inform

the Corellian Merchants' Guild you're illegally using their name." The

temperature of his voice dropped still lower. "Third lie puts you in trouble

with me. Now. Where were you going?"

The Devaronian seemed to shrink. "To sell the datacard," he muttered. "To those

who would pay the most." He looked furtively at Leia. "Much better than she

would have."

"And who are these generous people?" Karrde asked.

Lak Jit twitched his horns left, then right: the Devaronian equivalent of a

shrug. "You'll know as soon as you read it. Be careful when you do-I nearly

destroyed my datapad trying. It's extremely dirty."

"Yes, I noticed." Karrde looked at Mara. "You've checked his entire ship?"

"The Noghri are still poking around, but this is definitely the card," Mara

said.

"All right." Karrde looked back at the Devaronian. "As soon as they're finished,

you can leave. Depending on what we find in the datacard, you may or may not

still be associated with my organization. Your usual contact will let you know."

Lak Jit bowed elaborately. "As always, a most generous master," he said, not

quite enough sarcasm in his tone to take offense at. He looked at Leia. "There

was, I believe, mention of five hundred in earnest money?"

Leia and Karrde exchanged incredulous glances. "I think you forfeited any claims

to that when you threw the smoke grenade at my children," she told the

Devaronian. "We'll still pay you whatever we decide these datacards are worth,

but now you'll have to wait.

"They may pay you ," Karrde amended. "I may consider taking any such payment as

my fee for helping keep you here."

Lak Jit smiled thinly. "As I said, a most generous master."

"Just be thankful you didn't try this on a Hutt," Karrde countered. "Get going."

The Devaronian bowed again and headed back toward his ship, the three Noghri

trailing along with him. "Yours, I believe," Karrde said, handing Leia the

datacard. "We have facilities for cleaning it aboard the Wild Karrde, if you'd

care to avail yourself of them."

"Which would allow you a chance to read it over my shoulder?" Leia suggested

dryly.

Karrde smiled. "We could consider it my fee. Unless you don't think we've earned

it?"

Leia shook her head in mock-resignation. "Sometimes I forget what dealing with

you is like, Karrde. Lead on."

***

The last readable page scrolled a second time across the display, giving way to

the randomly scattered bits and blanks of the ruined sections of the datacard.

Carefully, Leia set the datapad down on a corner of Karrde's desk, feeling her

heart pounding in her throat. Suddenly the private office, which had seemed so

snug and warm only minutes ago, felt very cold.

A movement caught her eye as she stared into the distance: Karrde, now seated in

the high-backed chair on the other side of the desk, reaching over to the

datapad. Well," he said soberly as he swiveled the device around to face him.

"At least we now know why our Bothan friend Fey'lya was so anxious that Mount

Tantiss be thoroughly destroyed."

Leia nodded silently, that scene from ten years earlier flashing back to mind.

Councilor Borsk Fey'lya, standing outside the Wild Karrde in the Imperial City

on Coruscant, all but pleading with Karrde to fly Leia to Wayland to help Han

and the others destroy the Emperor's Mount Tantiss storehouse. Warning darkly

that there were things in that storehouse that, if found, could bring disaster

to the Bothan people and the galaxy.

Lak Jit had found it. And Fey'lya had been right.

"I don't suppose there's any chance the record is a forgery," Karrde said,

gazing thoughtfully at the datapad. "Something the Emperor might have created

with an eye to someday blackmailing the Bothans."

"I doubt it," Leia said. "The royal library on Alderaan had a great deal of

information on the attack that burned off Caamas. Details that were never made

public knowledge."

"It's hard to believe anything about Caamas could have been kept secret," Karrde

said. "The outrage at the time was certainly widespread enough. Worse even than

when your own Alderaan was destroyed."

Leia nodded mechanically, her mind's eye drawn unwillingly back to the

horrifying holo images she'd seen as a child in the history records. The

destruction of Caamas had happened before her time, but the pictures were as

vivid as if she'd witnessed the aftermath of the event in person.

The attack had been sudden and thorough, with a viciousness that had made it

stand out even against the widespread devastation of the Clone Wars that had

preceded it. Perhaps that was what the attackers had banked on, that a populace

weary of war would be too emotionally drained to even notice, much less care

about the fate of a single world.

But if that was indeed their strategy, it turned out to be a serious

miscalculation. The Caamasi had been a good and noble people, with an artistic

bent and a gentle wisdom that had won them a deep respect even among their

adversaries. Their unwavering belief in peace through moral strength had been a

strong influence on the political philosophies of many worlds, including

Alderaan, while their firm support of the principles of the Old Republic had

made them a rallying point for all such supporters during the political chaos of

that era.

It was still not known who the attackers had been who had come out of nowhere to

systematically and ruthlessly burn off the planet. None of the Caamasi's

political opponents had claimed credit-indeed, all of them had joined in the

universal condemnation, at least verbally-and the Caamasi's surviving records of

the battle were too badly damaged to be of any use in identification.

But with Lak Jit's datacard, at least one piece of the puzzle had now been

solved.

"They were an almost universally beloved people." Leia sighed, bringing her

attention back to the present. "Still are, those few who are left." She blinked

back tears. "You wouldn't have known, but there was a large Caamasi refugee

group on Alderaan when I was growing up, living in the South Islands in secret

under my father's protection. They were hoping that someday when they were

strong enough they could return to Camaas and try to rebuild."

"Interesting," Karrde murmured, absently stroking his beard. "As it happens, I

did know about that group-I used to smuggle in foodstuffs and medicines they

needed that were on Alderaan's forbidden-import list. I always wondered why your

customs people never seemed to notice me."

"My father didn't want anything official showing up in any import records," Leia

said. "He'd always suspected Palpatine's involvement in Caamas's destruction,

either directly or through intermediaries, especially when it became clear as to

the direction Palpatine was trying to twist the Republic. The Caamasi would

never have stood for it, and they would have been much quicker to recognize and

respond to the threat than we on Alderaan were."

"Hence, they had to be eliminated," Karrde said heavily. "As you say, obvious in

hindsight." He gestured toward the datapad. "But I would never have guessed

there were Bothans involved."

"It's going to surprise everybody," Leia said, wincing. "And it couldn't have

come at a worse time. With tensions and brush wars cropping up all over the New

Republic, I'm not at all sure we're in any shape to deal rationally with

something like this."

There was a flicker of presence from outside the office, and she turned as the

door slid open. "The alert's out," Mara said, coming into the office and sitting

down next to Leia. "All our ships and ground stations, and I got word to

Mazzic's and Clyngunn's people, too. If Lak Jit gets near any of them, we'll

have him." She nodded at the datapad. "Was there anything else on the datacard?"

"Nothing readable," Leia told her. "Maybe the techs on Coruscant can pull

something more out of it. I doubt it, though."

"We were just trading bits and pieces of information on Caamas and the

aftermath," Karrde said. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to add, would

you?"

Mara threw him a cool look. "You mean like the names and clans of the Bothans

who sabotaged Caamas's planetary shield generators?"

"That would be a good start," he agreed.

Mara snorted gently. "I'll bet it would. Unfortunately, I don't know anything

more than what's on that datacard. Less, actually, since I didn't know there

were any Bothans involved. Don't forget, Caamas was long gone by the time the

Emperor found me and trained me to be his Hand."

"He never mentioned the attack?" Leia asked. "Bragged or gloated about it?

Anything?"

Mara shook her head. "Not to me. The only time he even mentioned the Caamasi was

once when he was convinced they were stirring up Bail Organa against him and was

thinking about sending me to do something about it. But then he changed his

mind."

Leia felt her heart tighten inside her. "He must have decided he had something

better to use as an object lesson. The Death Star."

For a long minute no one spoke. Then Karrde stirred. "What are you going to do

with the datacard?" he asked.

With an effort, Leia pushed back the memories of her shattered home and lost

family and friends. "I don't have any choice," she told him. "Lak Jit's already

read it, and he's bound to spread the story, out of spite if nothing else. All I

can do is try to get word back to Coruscant before that happens. At least give

the High Council some time to prepare for the uproar."

Karrde looked at Mara. "What's our schedule look like?"

"Busy," she said. "But we've got time to drop her off first."

"If you'd like a ride, that is," Karrde said, turning back to Leia. "Though with

Solo and the Wookiee off somewhere in the Falcon I suppose you don't really have

much choice."

Leia made a face. "Was I the last one on the planet to find out Han had left?"

Karrde smiled. "Probably. But then, information is my business."

"I remember when it used to be mine, too," Leia said with a sigh. "Yes, I'd be

very grateful for a ride. Do you have room for my children and Khabarakh's

team?"

"I'm sure we can squeeze them in," Karrde assured her, reaching across his desk

to the comm. "Dankin? Get us ready to fly. We'll be picking up Councilor Organa

Solo's children and honor guard at the Noghri's Mount Tantiss settlement and

then heading out."

He got an acknowledgment and switched off. "Cakhmaim said Lak Jit found six

datacards," he said, eyeing Leia closely. "Was there anything of this magnitude

on any of the others?"

"There was one that might be," Leia said mechanically, a sudden thought jabbing

like a blade into her. Mara Jade, once a secret and powerful agent of the

Emperor's . . . known only as the Emperor's Hand.

She turned to look at Mara, found those brilliant green eyes gazing with equal

intensity back at her. The Emperor's Hand. The Hand of Thrawn

A memory sparked: ten years ago, soon after the birth of Jacen and Jaina, the

two women facing each other in a small room in the Imperial Palace. Leia,

staring into those same green eyes as Mara calmly announced her intention to

kill Leia's brother Luke.

Even then, she'd recognized Mara's abilities in the Force. Now, with practice

and some of Luke's own training, those powers were even more in evidence. She

could feel Mara's thoughts probing at her own, testing her mind and trying to

discern what it was that was suddenly troubling her. And it occurred to her-or

was perhaps wordlessly suggested-that Mara with her unique Imperial background

might already know who or what was meant by the Hand of Thrawn.

But she couldn't ask her. Not now. Mara and Karrde she considered friends; but

this was something that the High Council of the New Republic should hear about

first. "I can't say anything about it," she told them. "Not yet."

"I understand," Karrde said, his eyes flicking thoughtfully between the two

women. He knew that something was going on beneath the surface, but was too

polite to press the point. Besides, he'd be able to find out about it later from

Mara, anyway. "No harm in asking."

He lowered his eyes to the datapad. "It does occur to me, though, that we might

be worrying more than necessary about this whole Caamas thing. That was a long

time ago, and it could be that no one will care anymore who was to blame."

Leia shook her head. "I don't believe that for a moment."

"Neither do I," Mara said.

Karrde grimaced. "No. Neither do I."

CHAPTER

4

He laid it out for them; all of it, in complete and painful detail. And when he

had finished, they were, as he'd expected, outraged.

"You must be joking, Admiral Pellaeon," Moff Andray said, his voice icy.

"I agree," Moff Bemos said, fingering the massive codoran ring on his finger.

"We are the Empire, Admiral. The Empire does not surrender."

"Then the Empire dies," Pellaeon said bluntly. "I'm sorry, Your Excellencies,

but that is the end line of all this. The Empire is beaten. With a negotiated

peace treaty, we can at least-"

"I've heard enough," Moff Hort spat, sweeping his datacards off the table into

his hand with a grand gesture and pushing back his chair. "I have important

business waiting for me back at my sector."

"As do I," Moff Quillan joined in, standing up with him. "If you ask me, a man

like this has no business leading our military forces-"

"Sit down," a quiet voice ordered. "Both of you."

Pellaeon focused on the man who'd spoken, seated at the far end of the table

from him. He was short and slender, with receding silver hair, piercing

yellow-flecked blue eyes, and clawlike hands that were far stronger than they

looked. His face was lined with age and bitterness, his mouth twisted with

cruelty and smoldering ambition.

He was Moff Disra. Chief administrator of Braxant sector, ruler of the new

Imperial capital planet code-named Bastion, and their host here in the

conference room of his palace. And of all the eight remaining Moffs, the one

Pellaeon trusted the least.

Quilan and Hort were looking at Disra, too, their intended grand exit suddenly

faltering into uncertainty. Hort made as if to speak; then, silently, both of

them resumed their seats.

"Thank you." Disra shifted his gaze to Pellaeon. "Please continue, Admiral."

"Thank you, Your Excellency." Pellaeon looked around the table. "I don't blame

any of you for being upset with my recommendation. I don't make it lightly. But

I see no other way. With a negotiated treaty, we can at least hold on to the

territory we still have. Without one, we will certainly be destroyed."

"Can we hold on to our territory, though?" Moff Edan asked. "The New Republic

has perpetuated the lie that we rule by terror and force. Won't they insist on

our destruction, treaty or not?"

"I don't think so," Pellaeon said. "I believe we can convince even the most

rabid of them that the worlds currently under Imperial rule remain with us by

their own choice."

"Not all of them do," Moff Sander rumbled. "Some in my sector would leave in a

moment if offered the choice."

"Certainly. we'll lose some systems," Pellaeon said. "But on the opposite side,

there are undoubtedly systems currently within New Republic borders whose

inhabitants would prefer to live under Imperial law if given that same choice.

As matters stand, there's nothing we can do about such systems-we don't have the

ships or manpower necessary to defend them, nor could we maintain supply routes

to them. But under a peace treaty such systems could be invited to rejoin."

Quillan snorted under his breath. "Ridiculous. Do you really believe the New

Republic would just meekly release their stolen systems back to us?"

"On the contrary, Quillan: they'd have no choice in the matter," Moff Vered put

in dryly. "Their sole claim to authority is that the systems of the New Republic

willingly accept their authority. How could they then turn around and forbid

systems to renounce that authority?"

"Exactly," Pellaeon said, nodding. "Especially with all the small conflicts that

have flared up recently. Forbidding systems to leave the New Republic would be

handing us a major propaganda weapon. The Almania incident is certainly still

fresh enough in their minds."

"Still, if things are so unstable there, why do we need to do anything at all?"

Bemos suggested. "If we bide our time, there's a fair chance the New Republic

will disintegrate on its own."

"I'd say the chances are better than just fair," Andrey said. "That was the

whole philosophic basis for the Emperor's New Order in the first place. Alone of

all those in the Imperial Senate, he understood that so many diverse species and

cultures could never live together without a strong hand governing them."

"I agree," Pellaeon said. "But at this point the argument is irrelevant. The New

Republic's self-annihilation could take decades; and long before they destroyed

themselves' they would have made sure to grind the remnants of the Empire to

dust." He lifted his eyebrows. "All of us, needless to say, would be dead.

Killed in battle, or else executed under their current concept of justice."

"After being paraded as war prizes before crowds of cheering subhumans," Sander

muttered. "Probably stripped and staked out-"

"There's no need to be so graphic, Sander," Hort growled, throwing the other

Moff a glare.

"The point needs to be made," Sander countered. "The Admiral is right: this is

precisely the right time to open negotiations. While they can be persuaded that

cessation of hostilities is in their own best interests."

The debate ran on for another hour. In the end, showing the same deep reluctance

Pellaeon himself felt, they agreed.

***

The lone guard standing in front of the ornate double doors leading to Moff

Disra's private office was tall, young, and strongly built-the very antithesis,

Pellaeon thought irreverently as he approached him, of Disra himself. "Admiral

Pellaeon," he identified himself. "I wish to see Moff Disra."

"His Excellency left no word-"

"There are surveillance holocams all along this corridor," Pellaeon interrupted

him brusquely. "He knows I'm here. Open the doors."

The guard's lip twitched. "Yes, Admiral." He took two steps to his side; and as

he did so the double doors swung ponderously open.

The room was fully as ornate as the doors that sealed it, with the kind of

luxury Pellaeon hadn't seen in a Moff's palace since the height of the Empire's

power. Disra was seated at a glassy white desk in the center of the room, a

youngish military aide with short-cropped dark hair and wearing major's insignia

standing behind him. The aide had a pack of datacards in his hand; apparently,

he'd either just arrived or had been preparing to leave.

"Ah-Admiral Pellaeon," Disra called, beckoning him forward, come in. I'd have

thought you'd have been busy organizing your peace envoy."

"We have time," Pellaeon said, glancing around the room as he walked toward the

desk, mentally adding up the values of the various furnishings. "According to

our Intelligence reports, General Bel Iblis won't be arriving at the Morishim

starfighter base for another two weeks."

"Of course," Disra said sarcastically. "Surrendering to Bel Iblis is for some

reason more palatable than humiliating yourself before anyone else of that

rabble?"

"I have a certain respect for General Bel Iblis, yes," Pellaeon said, stopping a

meter away from the desk. It was made of culture-grown ivrooy coral, he noted;

from the color, probably of pre-Clone Wars origin. Expensive. "You seem rather

bitter at the prospect of peace."

"I have no aversion to peace," Disra countered. "It's the thought of groveling

that turns my stomach."

The aide cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, Your Excellency," he

murmured, laying his stack of datacards on the desk and turning to go.

"No, stay, Major," Disra said, holding up a hand to stop him. "I'd like you to

hear this. You know my aide, Admiral, don't you? Major Grodin Tierce."

The corner of Tierce's mouth might have twitched. Pellaeon couldn't tell for

sure. "I don't believe we've met," he said, nodding politely to the major.

"Ah. My mistake," Disra said. "Well. We were discussing capitulation, I

believe?"

Pellaeon glanced back at Tierce. But after that maybe-twitch the major's face

had gone impassive, giving no clue to his thoughts. "I'm still open to

suggestions, Your Excellency."

"You already know my suggestions, Admiral," Disra bit out. "To send in teams to

help foment the rising tide of interplanetary and intersector conflict within

the New Republic. To use this cloaking shield of yours to plant forces where

they'll be able to take full advantage of such clashes. To expand our military

forces wherever and however we can, using whatever means are available."

Pellaeon felt his lip twist. They'd been over this same ground time and again.

"We are the Imperial Fleet," he told Disra stiffly. "We do not hire mercenaries

and pirate gangs from the fringe to fight our battles for us."

"I suggest you reread your history, Admiral," Disra shot back. "The Empire has

always made use of such scum. Moffs have hired them, so have Grand Moffs-even

the Lord Darth Vader himself, when it suited his purposes. And so have the

senior officers of your precious and righteously upstanding Fleet. Don't come

all over sanctimonious with me." He flicked his fingers impatiently. "I'm quite

busy, Admiral, and you have groveling to prepare for. Was there something you

wanted?"

"One or two things, yes," Pellaeon said, making a supreme effort to hold on to

his temper. "I wanted to talk to you about those SoroSuub Preybirds you've been

supplying to the Fleet."

"Yes," Disra said, leaning back in his chair. "Excellent little starfighters,

aren't they? Not quite the same psychological presence as TIE fighters, perhaps,

but perfectly adequate in their own way."

"Adequate enough that I wondered why we hadn't seen more of them over the

years," Pellaeon said. "So I did some checking. It turns out that SoroSuub never

really got the Preybird project going, but wound up shutting down the line after

only a few production models. Which leads to an interesting question: where are

you getting them from?"

"I don't see why the source should matter to anyone, Admiral," Disra said. "As

long as they show the traditional SoroSuub quality-"

"I want to know who the Empire is doing business with," Pellaeon cut him off.

"Who I am doing business with."

Under the silver eyebrows, Disra's eyes seemed to flash. "A group of private

investors bought up the Preybird production line and restarted it," he growled.

"I have a business agreement with them."

"Their names and systems?"

"It's a group of private investors," Disra repeated, enunciating the words

carefully as if talking to a young child.

"I don't care," Pellaeon said, matching the other's tone. "I want their names,

their home systems, and their corporate connections. And the means you're using

to finance this deal."

Disra drew himself up. "Are you suggesting there's anything improper about any

of this?"

"No, of course not." Pointedly, Pellaeon let his gaze sweep across the room.

"Certainly a man of your obvious means has access to a great number of financial

resources." He looked back at the Moff. "I merely wish to make sure the entire

Empire is benefiting from the deal."

He'd rather expected Disra to take offense at that. But the Moff merely smiled.

"Rest assured, Admiral," he said softly. "The entire Empire will indeed

benefit."

Pellaeon stared at him, feeling a slight frown creasing his forehead. There was

something in that expression he didn't care for at all. Something ambitious, and

vaguely sinister. "I want the names of your investment group."

"I'll have the list transmitted to the Chimaera," Disra promised. "Now if you'll

excuse me, Major Tierce and I have work to do."

"Of course," Pellaeon said, trying to put a touch of condescension into his

voice. The Supreme Commander of Imperial forces should not leave the impression

that he could be summarily dismissed that way. Not even by a Moff. Not unless he

himself chose to go. "Good day, Your Excellency."

He turned and headed back toward the double doors. Yes, he would have

Intelligence look into the names of Disra's private investment group, all

right-he'd put Commander Dreyf and his team on it immediately. And while he was

at it, he'd have them look into the Moff's personal finances as well. There

might be some very interesting connections there to be dug up.

But in the meantime, be had a diplomatic mission to prepare. And, with luck, a

war to bring to an end.

The double doors closed behind Pellaeon, and for a moment Disra permitted his

face to show a small portion of the contempt he felt for the departing Admiral.

Contempt for Pellaeon as a man and an Imperial officer. Contempt for his

inability to win against this motley collection of alien-loving Rebels. Contempt

for his faceless attitude of appeasement.

The moment passed. There were more pressing matters to deal with right now,

matters that required a clear mind. Besides, if things went as planned Pellaeon

would very soon be reduced to an irrelevancy. Swiveling his chair halfway

around, he peered up at Major Tierce. "Interesting conversation, wouldn't you

say, Major?" he inquired mildly. "Tell me, what were your impressions?"

With obvious effort, Tierce dragged his eyes from the doors where Pellaeon had

exited. "I'm sorry, Your Excellency, but I really don't know," he said. His

shoulders were curled slightly with the humility of a man who knows his limits,

his expression earnest but simple. "I'm just a Fleet adjutant. I don't know much

about these political things."

It was an extremely competent bit of role-acting, Disra had to admit, one which

had apparently fooled dozens of civilian and military commanders over the past

fifteen years, including Disra himself. But he knew better now . . . and the

performance was about to come to an abrupt end. "I see," Disra said. "Well,

then, let's leave politics out of it and have the military opinion of a military

officer. You heard my suggestions as to how the Empire can avoid this

capitulation the Admiral seems to want so badly. Comments?"

"Well, Your Excellency, Admiral Pellaeon is the Supreme Commander," Tierce said

reluctantly. The stolid expression was still there, but Disra could now see a

hint of tightening around the eyes. Did he suspect that Disra knew? Probably

not. Not that it mattered. "I would presume be knows best our strategic

situation," Tierce went on. "Again, I'm afraid my own knowledge of grand

strategy is also very limited."

"Ah." Disra shook his head, reaching down to the side of the desk to touch the

personal-coded switch grown into the ivrooy there. There was a click, and the

hidden drawer built into the bottom of the writing surface slid open. "You

disappoint me, Major," he said, fingers ruffling through the half-dozen

datacards there, his eyes steady on Tierce's face. "I would have assumed the

Emperor would have insisted on only the best"

No mistake this time: Tierce's eyes definitely tightened. But he wasn't ready

yet to give up the charade. "The Emperor, Your Excellency?" be asked, blinking

with bewilderment.

"Only the best," Disra repeated, selecting one of the datacards and holding it

up for "Tierce's inspection, "to serve in his Royal Guard."

Disra had expected the other to pull a burst of surprise or bewilderment from

his acting repertoire. But Tierce just stood there, his eyes locked on Disra's

like twin turbolaser batteries. Disra held the gaze, forcing back a sudden

twinge of doubt. If he'd miscalculated-if Tierce decided his continued anonymity

was important enough to murder an Imperial Moff for&mdash

Tierce exhaled softly, the hiss of a poisonous snake. "I suppose there's no

point in making loud noises of protest, is there?" he said. He straightened up

from his usual slouch&mdash

And Disra found himself pressing involuntarily back in his chair. Suddenly the

diffident and marginally competent Major Tierce who'd served as his military

aide for eight months was gone.

In his place stood a warrior.

Disra had once heard it said that a discerning person could always recognize an

Imperial stormtrooper or Royal Guardsman, whether he stood before you in full

armor or lay dying on a sickbed. He'd always discounted such things as childish

myths. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"How did you identify me?" Tierce asked into the silence.

It took Disra another moment to find his voice. "I did a search of the main

Imperial records library after it was moved here to Bastion," he said.

"Duplicates of the Emperor's private records are also stored there. I was able

to find a way to access them."

Tierce lifted an eyebrow. "Really. Those files were supposed to be absolutely

secure."

"There's no such thing as absolute security," Disra said.

"Apparently not," Tierce said. "Well. What now?"

"Not what you're expecting," Disra assured him. "I have no intention of

denouncing you as a deserter or whatever it is you're worried about, even

presuming I could find anyone with the appropriate authority to denounce you to.

The Empire can hardly afford to waste its best people." He cocked an eyebrow.

"Speaking of which, I have to ask. How did you escape the destruction of the

second Death Star?"

Tierce shrugged, a fractional lift of the shoulders. "For the simple reason that

I wasn't there. We of the Royal Guard were periodically rotated to regular

stormtrooper units to keep us in fighting trim. I was on Magagran at the time,

out in the Outer Rim, helping to break up a Rebel cell."

"And the rest of your unit was destroyed?"

"By a single Rebel cell?" Tierce snorted contemptuously. "Hardly. No, we

completed our mission and were ordered back. There were all sorts of rumors

raging around at the time as to whether or not the Emperor had died at Endor, so

as soon as we got within range of Coruscant I jumped ship and went to see if

there was anything I could do to salvage the situation."

Disra felt his lip twist. "I remember those months. Pure chaos, with the Rebels

gathering pieces that might as well have been handed to them on serving trays."

"Yes," Tierce said, his voice and face bitter. "It was as if the whole Empire

was unraveling from the top down."

"Perhaps it was," Disra agreed. "Pellaeon mentioned once that Grand Admiral

Thrawn had a theory about that."

"Yes: that the Emperor had been using the Force to drive his troops," Tierce

said. "I remember similar discussions aboard the Chimaera. Perhaps he was

right."

Disra frowned. "You were on the Chimaera?"

"Of course," Tierce said. "What better place for a Royal Guardsman than at the

side of a Grand Admiral? About a month after he returned from his service in the

Unknown Regions, I was able to arrange a transfer to the Chimaera's stormtrooper

detachment."

"But then-?" Disra floundered.

"Why did he die?" Tierce's jaw tightened. "Because I guessed wrong. I was

expecting an attack on the Grand Admiral when we encountered unexpected numbers

at the Bilbringi shipyards. But I was expecting it in the form of a commando

team boarding the Chimaera in the confusion of battle. Luke Skywalker had

penetrated the ship that way once before, to rescue the smuggler Talon Karrde,

and I thought they might try it again. So I put my storm-trooper unit on station

near the hangar bays."

"Ah." Disra nodded, a stray bit of history from that battle falling into place.

"So it Was your unit that intercepted and killed the Noghri traitor Rukh after

he murdered the Grand Admiral?"

"Yes. For what cold comfort that was."

"Um." Disra eyed him. "Did Thrawn know about you?"

Tierce shrugged again. "Who could ever tell what a Grand Admiral knew or didn't

know? All I can say is that I never identified myself to him, and he never

confronted me with my past."

"Why didn't you identify yourself?" Disra asked. "I'd have thought a Royal

Guardsman would be entitled to certain&mdashah&mdashspecial assignments."

"Don't ever suggest such a thing again, Disra," Tierce said, his voice quiet and

deadly. "Don't even think it. A Royal Guardsman never seeks special privileges.

Ever. His entire goal in life is to serve the Emperor, and the New Order he

created. His goal in life, and his desire in death."

"Yes," Disra murmured, taken aback in spite of himself. It was becoming

increasingly clear that the reputation of the Royal Guard-a reputation he'd

always assumed to be the spun-frosting product of the Emperor's

propagandists-had in fact been quite honestly earned. "I beg your pardon,

Guardsman."

"Major," Tierce corrected. "Just Major. The Royal Guard no longer exists."

"Again, your pardon, Major," Disra said, a touch of annoyance seeping through

the awkwardness. He had intended to stay on top of this conversation; yet, at

every turn, it seemed, he was losing control of. it. "And I am to be addressed

as Your Excellency.'"

Tierce frowned, and for a painful moment Disra held his breath. Then, to his

relief, the other's lip twitched into an ironic smile. "Of course," he said

dryly. "Your Excellency. Have you properly satisfied your curiosity, Your

Excellency?"

"I have," Disra said, nodding. "The past is past, Major. Let us now consider the

future. You heard my suggestions to Admiral Pellaeon. What do you think?"

Tierce shook his head. "The Admiral is right: it won't work. The numbers are too

heavily slanted against us."

"Not even with the New Republic busy with dozens of internal conflicts?"

"No." Tierce gestured at Disra's desk. "Not even with the interesting report

filed under Lak Jit' on the third datacard down."

"Oh?" Disra frowned, pulling out the datacard from the stack Tierce had brought

in. All these reports were supposed to be private, encrypted with a special

Imperial code reserved for top Intelligence officers and the Moffs themselves.

Obviously, Disra wasn't the only one who'd been doing some high-level slicing.

Sliding the datacard into his reader, he keyed for decryption.

It was an Intelligence report, purchased from a Devaronian freelancer named Lak

Jit, concerning the discovery in the Mount Tantiss ruins of a partial record of

the destruction of Caamas. "This is perfect," he told Tierce as he skimmed

through it. "Exactly what we need."

Tierce shook his head. "Certainly it's useful. But it's not enough."

"Ah, but it is," Disra said, feeling a tight smile tugging at his lips as he

reread the crucial parts of the report. "I don't think you fully understand the

political situation the New Republic finds itself in these days. A flash point

like Caamas-especially with Bothan involvement-will bring the whole thing to a

boil. Particularly if we can give it the proper nudge."

"The situation among the Rebels is not the issue," Tierce countered coldly.

"It's the state of the Empire you don't seem to understand. Simply tearing the

Rebellion apart is not going to rebuild the Emperor's New Order. We need a focal

point, a leader around whom the Imperial forces can rally. Admiral Pellaeon is

the closest thing we have to such an authority figure, and he's obviously lost

the will to fight."

"Forget Pellaeon," Disra said. "Suppose I could provide such a leader. Would you

be willing to join us?"

Tierce eyed him. "Who is this us' you refer to?"

"If you join, there would be three of us," Disra said. "Three who would share

the secret I'm prepared to offer you. A secret that will bring the entire Fleet

onto our side."

Tierce smiled cynically. "You'll forgive me, Your Excellency, if I suggest you

couldn't inspire blind loyalty in a drugged bantha."

Disra felt a flash of anger. How dare this common soldier-? "No," he agreed,

practically choking out the word from between clenched teeth. Tierce was hardly

a common soldier, after all. More importantly, Disra desperately needed a man of

his skills

and training. "I would merely be the political power behind the throne. Plus the

supplier of military men and materiel, of course."

"From the Braxant Sector Fleet?"

"And other sources," Disra said. "You, should you choose to join us, would serve

as the architect of our overall strategy."

"I see." If Tierce was bothered by the word serve,' he didn't show it. "And the

third person?"

"Are you with us?"

Tierce studied him. "First tell me more."

"I'll do better than tell you." Disra pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'll

show you."

Judging from Tierce's lack of reaction, the supposedly secret corridor between

the private office and Disra's quarters came as no surprise to the former

Guardsman. The camouflaged doorway halfway along it, however, did. "Installed by

the palace's previous owner," Disra explained as they walked down a narrow

passageway to an equally narrow turbolift car. "It goes down fifty meters. From

there you can then go either to the torture chamber beneath the dungeon level or

to a secret exit tunnel in the hills to the north. I've sometimes wondered which

direction he used the most"

Which are we using today?" Tierce asked as the turbolift car started down.

"The one to the torture chamber," Disra said. "It's the most private and secure

place in the palace. Or anywhere on Bastion, for that matter. The third person

of our group is waiting there."

The car stopped and the door slid open. Two narrow, rough-carved tunnels

branched off the open space in front of the turbolift; brushing aside a stray

strand of cobweb, Disra led the way down the rightmost corridor. It ended in a

dusty metal door with a wheel set into its center. Gripping the edges of the

wheel, Disra turned; and with a creak that echoed eerily in the confined space

the door swung open.

The previous owner would hardly have recognized his onetime torture chamber. The

instruments of pain and terror had been taken out, the walls and floor cleaned

and carpet-insulated, and the furnishings of a fully functional modern apartment

installed.

But for the moment Disra had no interest in the chamber itself. All his

attention was on Tierce as the former Guardsman stepped into the room.

Stepped into the room . . . and caught sight of the room's single occupant,

seated in the center in a duplicate of a Star Destroyer's captain's chair.

Tierce froze, his eyes widening with shock, his entire body stiffening as if a

power current had jolted through him. His eyes darted to Disra, back to the

captain's chair, flicked around the room as if seeking evidence of a trap or

hallucination or perhaps his own insanity, back again to the chair. Disra held

his breath

And then, abruptly, Tierce straightened to parade-ground attention. "Grand

Admiral Thrawn, sir," he said with laser-sharp military formality. "Stormtrooper

TR-889, reporting for duty."

Disra shifted his attention to the room's occupant as he rose slowly to his

feet. To the blue skin, the blue-black hair, the glowing red eyes, the white

Grand Admiral's uniform. The glowing eyes met Disra's; then he turned back to

Tierce. Welcome back to duty, stormtrooper," he said gravely. "However, I'm

afraid I must tell you"-he glanced again at Disra-"that I'm not who you think I

am."

The first hint of a frown crept across Tierce's face. "Sir?"

"Allow me," Disra said. Stepping across the room, he took hold of the white

uniform sleeve and pulled the man a step closer to Tierce. "Major Tierce: allow

me to present my associate Flim.

"A highly talented con artist."

For a long minute the room was filled with a brittle silence. Tierce stared at

the white-uniformed impostor, disbelief and disappointment mixing with anger and

betrayal in his face. Disra watched the play of emotions, his pulse pounding

unpleasantly in his neck. If Tierce let his pride take charge here-if he chose

to take offense at the deception they'd just played on him-then neither Disra

nor Flim would be leaving this room alive.

Tierce turned his gaze onto Disra, the emotional turmoil retreating behind a

mask of stone. "Explain," he said darkly.

"You said yourself the Empire needed a leader," Disra reminded him. "What better

leader could we have than Grand Admiral. Thrawn?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Tierce looked back at the false Grand Admiral. "Who are

you?" he demanded.

"As His Excellency told you, my name is Flim." the other said. His voice was

subtly changed, his manner no longer the powerful, almost regal air of a Grand

Admiral. Precisely the same transformation, Disra realized suddenly, as the one

Tierce himself had gone through a few minutes ago up in the private office,

except in reverse.

Perhaps Tierce recognized that, too. "Interesting," he said, taking a step

forward and peering closely at Flim's face. "It's uncanny. You look exactly like

him."

"He should," Disra said. "It took me nearly eight years of searching to find

someone who could pull off such a masquerade. I've been planning this a long

time."

"So I see." Tierce gestured. "How do you do the eyes?"

"Surface inserts," Disra said. "Self-powered to provide the red glow. The rest

is just skin and hair coloring, plus a remarkable voice control and natural

acting ability."

"I've done many such impersonations," Flim said. "This is just one more." He

smiled. "Though with considerably greater potential for reward."

"It's remarkable," Tierce said, looking back at Disra. "There's only one

problem. Thrawn is dead, and everyone knows it."

Disra lifted his eyebrows. "Ah, but do they? He was reported dead, certainly,

but that may or may not mean anything at all. Perhaps he was merely comatose

from Rukh's knife wound. Perhaps he was taken to some secret place where he has

spent the long years in recovery." He nodded toward Flim. "Or perhaps it was

actually an impostor like Flim who died on the Chimaera's bridge. You said you

were expecting an attack on him at Bilbringi; perhaps Thrawn was, too, and made

private arrangements of his own."

Tierce snorted. "Farfetched."

"Of course," Disra agreed. "But that doesn't matter. All we need to do is

present Thrawn, and wishful thinking will do the rest. The entire Empire will

rush to believe in him, from Admiral Pellaeon on down."

"Is that your plan, then?" Tierce asked. "To present the Grand Admiral to

Pellaeon, reinstate him aboard the Chimaera, and use him as a rallying point for

the Empire?"

"Basically," Disra said, frowning. "Why?"

For a moment Tierce was silent "You said you had other resources besides the

Braxant Sector Fleet," he said. "What are they?"

Disra glanced at Flim. But the con man was merely looking interestedly at

Tierce. "I have an arrangement with the Cavrilhu Pirates," he told the

Guardsman. "They're a large and highly sophisticated group working out of-"

"I'm familiar with Captain Zothip's gang," Tierce said. "Not particularly

sophisticated, to my mind, but certainly large enough. What sort of

arrangement?"

"One of interlocking interests," Disra said. "I use Imperial Intelligence

reports to locate useful New Republic shipments, which Zothip then attacks. He

gets whatever booty he can; we get further destabilization of our enemy."

"And a share of the SoroSuub Preybirds being turned out by Zothip's production

line?" Tierce suggested.

Disra pursed his lips. Either Tierce knew a great deal more than he should about

the Moff's secrets, or he was a lot sharper than Disra had expected. Either way,

he wasn't sure he liked it. "We're getting all the Preybirds, actually," he

said. "Zothip has all the starfighters he needs."

"How are you paying for them?"

"With the kind of expert assistance Zothip can't get anywhere else," Disra said,

favoring the other with a sly smile. "I'm loaning him some very special

warrior-advisers: groups of Thrawn's own Mount Tantiss clones."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Tierce's jaw drop a fraction. "There are still

some of them left?"

"There are whole nests of them left," Disra told him sourly. "Our clever little

Grand Admiral scattered groups all over the New Republic under deep cover. What

he intended to do with them I don't know; there wasn't anything in his records

specifically concerning-"

"You found Thrawn's records?" Tierce cut him off. "His personal records, I

mean?"

"Of course," Disra said, frowning slightly. For an instant there had suddenly

been something electric in the Guardsman's expression. "How else do you think I

knew how to find where he'd hidden all those clones?"

The flash of interest had already vanished behind Tierce's mask. "Of course," he

said calmly. "What else was in there?"

"There was the outline of a grand strategy," Disra said, watching him closely.

But whatever had sparked that flicker was buried again. "His plans for the next

five years' worth of campaigns against the New Republic. Incredibly detailed;

unfortunately, at this point, also completely useless."

"I'd be careful about dismissing anything Thrawn ever did as completely

useless," Tierce reproved him mildly. "Anything else?"

Disra shrugged. "Personal memoirs and such. Nothing that struck me as militarily

interesting. You're welcome to look through them later if you want."

"Thank you," Tierce said. "I believe I will."

"I take it," Flim put in, "that you're considering something more ambitious than

simply using my Thrawn as a rallying point?"

Tierce inclined his head slightly to the con man. "Very perceptive, Admiral," he

said. "Yes, I think we can do better than that. Much better, in fact. Is there a

computer terminal down here?-ah; excellent. I'll need the datacards we left on

your desk, Your Excellency. Would you mind getting them?"

"Not at all," Disra murmured. "I'll be right back."

Already busy at the computer terminal, Tierce didn't bother to answer. For a

moment Disra gazed at the back of his head, wondering if he might possibly have

miscalculated. Major Tierce, former Royal Guardsman, would be a useful servant.

He would not be an appreciated master.

But for right now, they all needed each other. Swallowing his words, and his

pride, Disra stepped out into the tunnel and headed back toward the turbolift.

CHAPTER

5

Councilor Borsk Fey'lya looked up from the datapad, his violet eyes dilated, his

cream-colored fur flattened tightly against his body. "So it has finally come to

light," he whispered."

"Yes, it has," Leia said. "And it demands an explanation."

Fey'lya shook his head. "There is nothing to explain," he said softly. "It is

true."

"I see," Leia said, feeling a heaviness settle across her shoulders. She hadn't

realized how hard she'd been hoping that Karrde had been right about the Caamas

record being a forgery. "You're certain?"

"Yes," Fey'lya said, his gaze drifting away from Leia to the datapad again.

"Then you know who was involved."

"No," Fey'lya said. "That is the core of the problem, Councilor Organa Solo. And

the reason we have been silent over this for so long. We know only what you now

know: that a group of Bothans helped agents of Senator Palpatine gain access to

the Caamas shield generators. We don't even know the clan involved, let alone

the specific individuals."

"Did you try to find out?" Leia asked bluntly.

Fey'lya's fur rippled. "Of course we did. But Palpatine had covered his trail

far too well. It was only long after the event, in the early days of the

Rebellion, that the chief clan leaders even became aware of Bothan complicity at

Caamas. It was our shock at that revelation, in fact, that moved us to dedicate

our people to the Rebel Alliance and Palpatine's downfall. But the trail was by

then too old to follow."

Leia sighed. "I understand."

"You believe me, don't you?" Fey'lya persisted. "You must believe me."

For a moment Leia didn't speak. Gazing into his face, reaching out with the

Force, she searched as best she could for any hint of deception. But if it was

there, she couldn't find it. "I believe you're telling the truth, at least as

far as you know it," she told the Bothan. "Unfortunately, I'm not the only one

you'll have to convince."

Fey'lya shivered, random clumps of his fur stiffening across his body. "No," he

agreed soberly. "There will be many who will believe we are merely protecting

the criminals in the name of Bothan solidarity."

Leia picked up the datapad, suppressing a grimace. He was certainly right about

that. The Bothan approach to interstellar politics was far more biting and

pop-and-topple than many in the New Republic cared for. Even species who thought

nothing of all-out physical combat between themselves generally tried to

moderate their approach when dealing with outsiders. The fact that the Bothans

were either unable or unwilling to do likewise had earned them more than their

fair share of ill will in diplomatic circ les. "I agree," she said. "All the

more reason to get this resolved as quickly as possible."

"But how?" Fey'lya asked. "The Bothans have searched long and hard for a list of

those responsible, both in the official clan libraries on Bothawui as well as on

all our colony worlds and enclaves. It simply doesn't exist."

"It existed here," Leia pointed out, puffing the datacard from the datapad. "I'm

convinced it did. We can see if the techs can reconstruct it; if they can't,

we'll just have to locate another copy somewhere. At least now we know what to

look for."

"We can try," Fey'lya said doubtfully. "But in the meantime, what do you plan to

do?"

Leia fingered the datacard. "I can't just forget the whole thing, Councilor

Fey'lya-you have to understand that I have to at least take it to the rest of

the High Council. But I'll do what I can to persuade President Gavrisom that it

shouldn't be made public. At least not until the techs have had time to see what

they can do with the ruined sections."

"I see," Fey'lya said, his fur and emotions both rippling. "Whether the techs

will keep silent is of course another question. More important, what about the

smuggler Talon Karrde? You said he also knows."

"He's given his promise that he won't say anything," Leia told him. And he has a

message out to the rest of his people to watch for the Devaronian who found the

datacard. Maybe they can catch up with him before he tells anyone else."

Fey'lya sniffed. "You really, think he hasn't already told others? After the way

you and Karrde treated him?"

"We did what we deemed necessary at the time," Leia said, sternly ordering down

her sudden flash of annoyance with the Bothan. "Would you rather he had left

Wayland with the datacard?"

"To be blunt: yes," Fey'lya said stiffly. "Clearly, we were his intended

recipients. He would have demanded a tremendous sum of money from us, and we

would have paid him, and it would have been over."

Leia sighed. "It wouldn't have been over, Councilor. It won't be over until the

whole truth is known and those responsible punished."

"That is indeed all that is left to us now," Fey'lya said, standing up. "Thank

you for your courtesy in giving me this private briefing, Councilor Organa Solo.

I will go now to prepare my defense."

"You're not on trial here, Councilor," Leia reminded him.

Fey'lya's fur flattened. "I will be," he said softly. "As will the entire Bothan

race. You will see."

***

The Dona Laza tapcafe was about as crowded as Shada Dukal had ever seen it,

packed almost literally wall-to-wall with beings of a dozen different species

and every social class from lower-middle on down. "Popular place tonight," she

commented to her boss, sitting close beside her at the table.

"It's their turn at the floating Boga Minawk tournament," Mazzic explained, idly

stroking the back of Shada's hand, "You wouldn't believe how crazy they go for

the game around here."

"You suppose that's why he chose this place?" Shada asked, "Because of the

crowd?"

"Don't worry, Cromf will bring him in okay," Mazzic soothed her. "Pass him

enough money and he becomes positively reliable. Especially when the second half

of the payment doesn't come until delivery."

Shada looked at the beings pressing around their table. "I'm more concerned

about whether we'll be able to pull him out of here quietly with this many

people watching."

"There's no rush on that," Mazzic said. "Considering all the trouble we've gone

to, we ought to at least hear this deep dark secret be wants to tell us. After

that, we can see about putting the restraints on him."

Shada looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Karrde won't be happy about

that," she warned. "He was very specific about Lak Jit not talking to anyone."

"We're not on Talon Karrde's paylist," Mazzic reminded her tartly. "What with

Cromf's finder's fee, we're not going to break even on this as it is. If this

little secret has any market value, we deserve to get a cut of it."

Shada turned away from him, a wave of blackness flowing over her already dark

mood. That was always what it came down to in the world of smuggling: profit,

and more profit, and doing whatever scheming and back-blading it took to get as

much of it as possible. Concepts like loyalty and honor&mdash

"Oh, come on, Shada," Mazzic chided, stroking her hand again. "These bursts of

personal guilt have got to stop. This is how the game is played. You know that."

"Sure," Shada murmured. She knew, all right. What hurt the most was that for the

past twelve years she'd been a willing participant in it. Willing, and very

able.

Sometimes, late at night, she wondered what had happened to the galaxy. Or

perhaps it was just her.

At the near edge of the crowd a young Garoos appeared, easing himself and his

loaded tray gingerly between a pair of loud and wildly gesticulating Ishori. He

made it without spilling the drinks, and wilted into the seat across from

Mazzic. "Wheh!" he half-whistled, picking up one of the four drinks from the

tray, his purple-tinged gill flaps undulating rhythmically as he breathed. "Dint

think I was gon make it."

"And a fine job you did, too, Cromf," Mazzic assured him, selecting two of the

other glasses and setting one in front of Shada. "Any sign of our quarry yet?"

"I dint see him," Cromf said, sipping carefully at his drink and looking

nervously around him. One ear cluster opened briefly as someone nearby gave a

raucous laugh, then closed down again. "I don't like this, Maz'k. Too man' here

watch."

"Don't worry," Mazzic soothed. "You just get him to the table. We'll do the

rest."

Beside Shada's left ear, one of the decorative lacquered needles twisted into

her hair gave two soft clicks. "Signal from Griv," she told Mazzic. "Possible

make."

"Good," Mazzic said. "Go get him, Cromf-side entrance. Concentrate on the other

half of your finder's fee."

The Garoos half-whistled as he got up from the table and disappeared again into

the crowd. Shada took a deep breath, settling into combat mode and gave the area

around them a final examination. If the Devaronian smelled trouble and tried to

bolt, he would probably head to his left

And then Cromf was back, a horn-headed Devaronian in tow. "Wheh!" he

half-whistled, sitting down beside Mazzic. "Crowd in here. This Lak Jit. This

smug' Maz'k."

"Pleased to meet you, Lak Jit," Mazzic said, offering him the fourth glass from

the tray. "You drink Vistulo brandale, I trust?"

"When someone else is paying," Lak Jit said, taking the seat across from Mazzic.

"I want you to know first, Mazzic, that though what I am about to tell you is

true, I know I cannot ask for money in exchange. I no longer have tangible

proof, only the evidence of my own eyes."

"I understand," Mazzic said, setting his hand down in the center of the table.

He withdrew it, revealing the short stack of high-denomination coins. "Still, a

respectable gentleman should be willing to pay for value received."

Lak Jit smiled his thin Devaronian smile and reached for the coins&mdash

And found his wrist locked solidly in Mazzic's grip. "For value received,"

Mazzic reminded him coldly. Reaching out with the other hand, he slid the stack

of coins back to the edge of the table in front of him. "Now," he said,

releasing the Devaronian's wrist. "Let's hear what you have."

Lak Jit hunched forward to lean across the table. "Understand that what I am

about to tell you is both private and exclusive," he murmured. "No one else

outside the New Republic government knows this."

"Of course," Mazzic said dryly, his tone making it clear to Shada that he didn't

believe that any more than she did. The Devaronian had probably already sold

this same "exclusive" information to a half-dozen other people. "Let's hear it."

Lak Jit glanced around and hunched a little closer. "It concerns Caamas," he

said. "There exists evidence that it was indeed agents of the then Senator

Palpatine who engineered its destruction."

Beneath the table, Shada felt her hand curl into a hard fist. Caamas. It had

been a long time since she'd thought about that world. A long time since she'd

tried to block its name and the childhood memories it evoked of her own world of

Emberlene from her mind. Now, suddenly, it was all coming back.

She wouldn't have expected Mazzic to be equally moved. And he wasn't. "Hardly

groundbreaking news," he said with a shrug. "That's been the leading theory

practically since the last Caamasi firestorm burned itself out."

"But this is proof," Lak Jit insisted. "A record recovered from the Emperor's

personal storehouse on Wayland."

"A document you don't happen to have."

"But there's more," the Devaronian hissed, leaning forward until his horns were

almost touching Mazzic's forehead. "We now know how it was that the planet was

so easily destroyed. The shield generators were deliberately sabotaged." He

jabbed a finger onto the table for emphasis. "By a group of Bothans."

Mazzic shot Shada a glance. "Really," he said, his voice still nonchalant but

with a definite note of interest beneath it. "You know their names?"

"Unfortunately not," Lak Jit said. "That part of the document was too badly

damaged for my humble datapad to read." He leaned back again in his chair. "But

I suggest it doesn't matter. Either way, the Bothans are in for an exceedingly

rough time. A clever businessman should be able to make a profit from knowledge

of such imminent instability." He gestured to the stack of coins in front of

Mazzic. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would indeed," Mazzic said, looking at Shada and twitching an eyebrow. "Very

well. Shada, would you assist our friend?"

"No need," Lak Jit said. Leaning forward over the table again, he reached out

for the coins&mdash

And rising half from her seat, Shads jabbed the knuckles of her right hand at

the base of his leftmost horn.

He went down without a whimper, dropping face first onto the table, his leftmost

horn almost but not quite knocking over Mazzic's drink. A Barabel and a couple

of Duros glanced over and then looked away; passed-out customers were apparently

a common sight at the Dona Laza. Wheh!" Cromf wheezed, staring bulge-eyed at the

limp form. "Is he not-?"

"Of course not," Mazzic said, reaching over to tap the needle-shaped signaler in

Shada's hair three times. "No one's paying us to kill anyone."

Pushing his way through the crowd, Griv appeared at the table. "Ready?" he

asked.

"Ready," Mazzic nodded, scooping up the stack of coins. He handed Cromf four of

them, dropped the rest into his inside pocket. "Get him out to the speeder."

Griv hoisted the Devaronian to his shoulder and pushed his way back into the

crowd. Well, that was a waste of time," Mazzic commented, standing up and

courteously offering Shada a hand. "Maybe we can bargain up Karrde's bounty a

little. Try to at least come out even."

"We're not going to do anything with this?" Shada asked.

"Don't be silly," he chided, taking her arm and guiding her into the crowd.

"Who's going to care about a planet destroyed almost half a century ago?"

Shada's stomach tightened. Caamas . . . and Emberlene. "No one," she agreed

bitterly. "No one at all."

***

It took a while-at least two complete read-throughs each, Disra estimated as he

slowly paced the floor behind his ivrooy desk, trying to look impatient rather

than apprehensive. But eventually the last of the four Imperial captains

finished reading and lifted his eyes from his datapad. "With all due respect,

Your Excellency, I find this proposal incredible," Captain Trazzen of the

Obliterator said, his soft voice belying his reputation for viciousness. "Surely

you realize that you can't simply pull four Imperial Star Destroyers out of a

sector fleet and expect the remaining forces to adequately defend their

territory."

"I agree," Captain Nalgol of the Tyrannic put in, fingering the Kuat family

crest ring he always wore. "In addition-and also with due respect-I would go so

far as to question your authority to even order these two missions. All

incursions into New Republic space are supposed to be under the direct command

of Supreme Fleet Commander Pellaeon."

"Perhaps," Disra said. "Perhaps not. We'll put that aside for a moment. Are

there other questions?"

"I have one," Captain Dorja of the Relentless spoke up. "This mission to

Morishim that you want me to go on. What exactly is this courier ship I'm being

asked to intercept?"

Disra lifted his eyebrows. "Being 'asked,' Captain? Being 'asked'?"

"Yes, Your Excellency," Dorja said stiffly. "Captain Nalgol is correct: you are

supreme commander of the Braxant Sector Fleet only with regard to operations

within Braxant sector. Missions to Morishim and Bothawui do not fall under this

authority."

"I see." Disra looked at the fourth captain. "You've been rather quiet, Captain

Argona."

"The Ironhand is of course under your command, Your Excellency, and we'll go

wherever you send us," Argona said quietly. "At the same time, I have to concur

with Captain Trazzen's assessment. Sending away four of the sector fleet's

thirteen Star Destroyers is not something to be done lightly."

"Especially with three of them on this long-term mission to the Bothawui

system," Trazzen added. "The nature of which, I remind you, precludes any chance

of a quick recall."

"Indeed," Argona said. "You'd have to physically send couriers out there to

contact us. In an emergency, the extra days that would cost could prove

disastrous."

"Nothing worthwhile is ever gained without risk," Disra said coldly. "I'm

beginning to think that perhaps the wrong choice has been made in offering these

missions to you. If you'd prefer to bow out of a history-making military

campaign-"

"No."

The voice had come from the direction of Disra's secret passageway. The captains

turned&mdash

And Grand Admiral Thrawn stepped into the office. There was a gasp from someone,

choked off into a stunned silence. "Excuse me, Admiral?" Disra asked carefully.

"I said they will not be excused from this mission, Your Excellency," Thrawn

said, his voice calm and cool as he walked to the desk and sat down in Disra's

chair. "I had my reasons for choosing these particular Star Destroyers and their

captains. Those reasons have not changed."

For a moment his glowing eyes focused on the captains as they stood at obviously

confused attention before him, measuring and evaluating each in turn. Then,

leaning back in his seat, he smiled slightly. "Observe, Your Excellency," he

said, looking up at Disra and waving a hand at the officers. "Utterly stunned by

my unexpected appearance; yet already they are largely recovered. Quick and

flexible minds, combined with utter loyalty to the Empire. That is the

combination I need. The combination I will have."

"Of course, Admiral," Disra said.

Thrawn turned his attention back to the captains. "You have questions, of

course," he said. "Unfortunately, the one foremost in all your minds cannot at

this time be answered. As I make preparations to return to open command, the

method which allowed me to survive the assassination attempt ten years ago must

remain confidential. I must also ask that for the moment my return be kept a

secret, to be shared only with your senior officers, and that only after you've

left Imperial space. Other than that-" He cocked his head slightly to the side.

"I believe there were some questions about command authority?"

"No questions, Admiral," Trazzen said, his voice almost reverent. "Not anymore."

"Good." Thrawn cocked a blue-black eyebrow at Nalgol. "I take it from your

expression, Captain Nalgol, that you don't concur with your colleague?"

Nalgol cleared his throat self-consciously, his finger squeezing his ring as if

trying to extract confidence from the carved crest. "I certainly don't question

your authority, Admiral Thrawn," he said. "But I would very much appreciate some

clarification. I'm familiar with the Bothawui system, and I can think of no

reason why it should be of any serious military value to the Empire. Certainly

not worth tying up three Star Destroyers for."

"Your evaluation is quite correct," Thrawn agreed. "It's not the system itself

that interests me, but events which in the near future will be taking place over

the Bothan homeworld. Events which I intend to turn to the Empire's advantage."

"Yes, sir," Nalgol said. "But-"

"In time, all will be clear," Thrawn said. "For now, I must ask that you trust

my judgment."

Nalgol drew himself to his full height. "Always, Admiral." He stepped forward

and offered his hand across the desk. "And if I may say so, welcome back. The

Empire has sorely missed your leadership."

"As I have missed the privilege of command," Thrawn said, rising to his feet and

gripping the proffered hand briefly. "The refitting of your three Star

Destroyers is already under way, and should be completed within two days." He

shifted his attention to Dorja. "As for your mission, Captain Dorja, the

Imperial courier you're to intercept at Morishim is scheduled to leave in twenty

hours. Will you have enough time to return to the Relentless and reach the

system ahead of it?"

"Easily, Admiral." Dorja's lip twitched in what passed for a smile with him

these days. "And if I may, sir, I'd like to echo Captain Nalgol's sentiments.

I'm honored to once again serve under your direct command."

Disra looked at Dorja, his chest suddenly feeling tight. Dorja had served

directly under Thrawn?

"I'm pleased to once again lead you, Captain,." Thrawn said gravely. "During my

time on the Chimaera I often felt that you had more leadership potential than

circumstances allowed you to develop. Perhaps we'll have the opportunity now to

judge that evaluation."

Dorja fairly glowed. "I'll do my best to prove you right, sir."

"I can ask no more than your best," Thrawn said. "And will accept nothing less,"

he added, looking at each of the captains in turn. "You have your orders.

Dismissed."

"Yes, Admiral," Trazzen said for all of them. They turned and left, with what

seemed to Disra to be a markedly more spirited step than that with which they'd

entered the office half an hour earlier. The double doors swung ponderously shut

behind them&mdash

"A fine group of gentlemen," Flim declared, digging a fingerinto the collar of

his white Grand Admiral's uniform. "A bit gullible, perhaps, but fine gentlemen

all the same."

"Oh, they're fine, all right," Disra snarled, glaring at the secret door the con

man had made his grand entrance through. "They're also extremely dangerous.

Tierce? Where are you?"

"Right here," Tierce said, stepping out of the secret door, "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" Disra snapped. "Bad enough that three of the four captains

you picked for these missions aren't particularly loyal to me. But someone who

served directly with Thrawn? Are you insane?"

"Don't be insulting," Tierce said coldly, joining the others by the desk "I had

to bring in someone like Dorja on this. A junior student of tactics could tell

you that."

"I don't think tactically," Disra shot back. "At least, not according to you.

That's why your expertise is necessary, remember ?"

"Calm down, Your Excellency," Flim interjected, carefully popping the glowing

surface insert out of his left eye. "Sooner or later, it was inevitable that I

face someone who personally knew Thrawn. What better time or place than here,

where all four of them could have been dealt with quietly and discreetly if

necessary?"

"Exactly," Tierce said. "And as to my choice of commanders, those not personally

loyal to you are precisely the ones we need to work Flim's magic on."

"And have you considered what they might do once they're out of range of that

magic?" Disra countered. "What if they decide they're not really convinced after

all and do some checking?"

"Oh, they're going to," Tierce assured him. "That was why I wanted Nalgol to be

in this first group. He comes from a long line of Kuat nobility, and I knew he'd

be wearing his poison injector ring."

Flim paused midway through popping out the other surface insert. "His what?"

"His poison injector ring," Tierce repeated. "Poisoning one's enemies is a

centuries-old tradition there. Oh, relax-Nalgol hasn't carried any poison in

that ring for years."

"I'm glad you think so," Flim said irritably, examining his hand closely where

Nalgol had gripped it. "It wasn't your hand he came over and-"

"I said relax," Tierce said again, and this time there was an edge to his voice.

"He wasn't putting anything in. He was taking something out."

"A small skin sample, to be exact," Disra said, finally catching on. "Which

he'll undoubtedly take straight over to the archives to compare against the

genetic profile in Thrawn's ID records."

"Exactly," Tierce said. "And once he's convinced-and he'll certainly share his

findings with the others-there will be literally nothing they won't do for us."

"I wondered why you were so insistent we get those ID records altered last

night," Disra said. "Not exactly a large margin of error built into that

operation."

"Especially considering the two of us were taking all the risks," Flim seconded,

still cradling his hand. "You weren't even in the room with us."

"Calm down, both of you," Tierce said, a hint of contempt in his tone. "There's

a long way yet to go on this. I hope you're not losing your nerve already."

"Don't worry about our nerve, Major," Disra bit out. "You just worry about this

strategy of yours actually working."

"It will," Tierce assured him. "Trust me. Whatever the preliminary skirmishes,

the opening battle of the Rebellion's final civil war will be fought over

Bothawui. The Caamas Document will insure that. We want to orchestrate the

details of that blow-up as best we can; and we want an Imperial presence at

Bothawui to make sure the damage to both sides is as extensive as possible."

"Well, whatever we do, we'd. better do it quickly," Disra warned. "Pellaeon's

already three-quarters of the way to making my connection to the Cavrilhu

Pirates and their associates. If he does a check and finds my sector fleet

missing four Star Destroyers, he's going to be all over me."

"There's not much we can do about the timetable," Tierce reminded him. "The

three heading to the Bothawui system won't be in attack position for several

weeks."

"Then perhaps we should scrap the comet aspect," Disra said. "They can form up

around some other marker."

"There isn't one," Tierce said patiently. "At least, nothing that would be safe

for them to use. You'll just have to use your native charm to keep Pellaeon at

bay."

"I'll do my best," Disra said sarcastically. "And what sort of charm would you

suggest I use on Captain Zothip?"

"What's wrong with Captain Zothip?" Flim asked.

"Major Tierce called and told him we were cutting off their supply of clones,"

Disra growled. "Zothip is rather upset."

"We've been through this once already," Tierce said with an air of strained

patience. We need those clones ourselves now. Zothip has no cause to

complain-he's benefited well enough from having them aboard his ships. Anyway,

what are you worried about? That

he'll come here and demand satisfaction?"

"You don't know Zothip," Disra said heavily.

"He's scum from the fringe," Tierce said, dismissing the pirate with a twist of

his lip. "Buy him off or calm him down-I don't care which,"

"I'm less worried about Zothip than I am about your attitude," Disra countered.

"From now on, major decisions like this are going to be made jointly. I won't

have you tearing down things I've built and then handing me the pieces to put

back together."

For a long moment Tierce just looked at him. "Let's get one thing straight right

now, Disra," he said at last, his voice icy smooth. "I'm in command of the

military aspects of this operation, All of them. That's what you offered me, and

that's what I'm taking. Your part right now-your only part right now-is to

supply the ships and men I need, and to handle any political aspects that crop

up."

Disra glared again at him. But it was a glare whose edge he could feel blunting.

Just what sort of monster had he created here? "Is that all I am to you?" he

asked Tierce quietly. "Your supply officer?"

Tierce smiled, a cold twitch of the corner of his lip. "Afraid you've lost

control of this scheme you've created? Don't be. My goal here-my only goal-is to

avenge the Emperor's death and wipe the Rebellion off every map of the galaxy.

After that, my job is done. Ruling the new Empire that emerges will be entirely

up to you."

For a moment Disra eyed him, trying to read past his stony expression, trying

not to let wishful thinking color his judgment. If the man was lying. . .

No. Tierce was a soldier; an uncommonly good one, but a soldier nonetheless. He

had nowhere near the political skills or experience Disra himself possessed.

Even if he grew to like the taste of power, he would still need Disra after the

fighting was over.

"Most triumvirates are unstable, Your Excellency," Film spoke up. "I know; I've

seen many of them rise and collapse among pirate and smuggler organizations in

the fringe. But this one is different. None of us can make it work without both

of the others."

"He's right," Tierce agreed. "So shut up your whining and do your part. Or it'll

be penal colonies for all of us."

"Agreed," Disra said reluctantly. "My apologies, Major. It won't happen again."

"Good," Tierce said briskly. "Back to business. I'm going to need a copy of the

decryption algorithm you used to slice into the Emperor's and Thrawn's private

records."

Disra frowned. "What for?"

"So that I can pull a complete list of the sleeper cells Thrawn planted around

the Rebellion," Tierce explained. "We're going to need all the trained Imperial

soldiers and pilots we can get our hands on."

That seemed reasonable enough. "All right," Disra said. "But I can pull the list

for you."

"It would be useful if I could get into those files myself whenever I needed

to," Tierce pointed out.

"It would also be useful for me to know a few things that you don't," Disra

countered. "For the sake of balance and all."

Tierce shook his head. "Fine. Go ahead and play your little games. Just get me

that list."

Disra inclined his head in an ironic bow. "Immediately, Major."

No, there would be no more outbursts, Disra decided as he walked back across the

office to the secret tunnel. But that didn't mean he wouldn't keep a close eye

on his partners in this triumvirate. And if they both still needed him, the time

might well come when he no longer needed them.

It was something to think about.

CHAPTER

6

She was short, she was furry, she was loud, and she was determined to sell him a

melon. "Sorry," Wedge Antilles said, moving away as best he could in the press

of the crowded Morishim marketplace, holding his hands palms outward in front of

him. "Not interested in wk'ou melons today, thanks."

Either the female Morish didn't understand Basic or else she wasn't ready. to

concede defeat quite yet. She followed along with him behind her produce table,

paralleling his retreat, thrusting the double-bulbous, pale red melon toward him

and jabbering away nonstop in her own language. "Not today," Wedge repeated

firmly, looking around and trying to catch a glimpse of any of his Rogue

Squadron teammates in the crowd of shoppers. Janson and Tycho were supposed to

know a little of the Morish language, but neither of them was anywhere to be

seen.

But there was a gap freshly opened up in the pedestrian traffic pattern beside

him. "Maybe tomorrow," he called to the wk'ou seller, and made his escape.

"For a big bad X-wing warrior, you're sure rotten at saying no," Janson's voice

said from behind him.

"I didn't buy it, did I?" Wedge countered, turning to face his grinning

teammate. "Where were you when I needed you?"

"Oh, I caught most of the show," Janson said, grinning a little wider. "I

especially liked the part where you gave her that palms-outward sign."

Wedge felt his eyes narrow. "That doesn't mean no' here?"

"Not quite," Janson said, clearly enjoying himself. "It means

you don't want it at that price but that she might want to try a better offer."

"Oh, well, thanks for telling me that going in," Wedge growled. "No wonder she

wouldn't leave me alone."

"It's a big galaxy," Janson said philosophically. "There's so much out there to

learn. Come on-I ran into an old friend of yours over here."

"As long as he doesn't try to sell me something," Wedge grumbled as Janson led

the way through the shoppers. "Any word from the base?"

"Hardly," Janson said over his shoulder. "The meeting only started half an hour

ago. With a general of Bel Iblis's standing, they probably haven't even gotten

through the preliminary compliments yet. Here we go. Hey-General!"

A few people away a distinguished-looking man in a black cloak turned

around&mdash

"Well, well," Wedge said, easing through the passersby and offering his hand.

"General Calrissian."

"It's just plain Calrissian now," Lando Calrissian corrected, tucking the wk'ou

melon he was carrying. under one arm and gripping Wedge's hand. "My military

days are long behind me. Good to see you again, Wedge."

"You, too," Wedge said. "What are you doing in this part of the galaxy?"

"Hoping for a chance to talk to General Bel Iblis," Lando said, nodding his head

back toward the pyramidal launch towers of the New Republic Starfighter Base

rising up behind the city. "We have got to do something about the pirate

activity we've been getting out near Varn."

"Been hitting your ore shipments, have they?" Wedge asked.

"That, and scaring away potential customers," Lando said. "I don't know if you

knew I added a casino and observation gallery to the Deep Pockets."

"Sounds like a really big draw," Janson said dryly.

"You'd be surprised how interesting underwater mining is to watch," Lando told

him. "Actually, at full capacity the casino could probably pay the overhead for

the whole operation all by itself. But not if everyone's afraid to come there."

"Pirate gangs have been coming out of the stonework just about everywhere,"

Wedge agreed. "Even in the Core systems. Have you tried talking to Coruscant?"

"Till my voice gave out," Lando said sourly. "Didn't gain me a thing. The

bureaucratic bit-sorters there are as bad as the ones we had under the Empire."

Janson snorted. "Some of them are the same ones."

"This latest policy reorganization should help," Wedge said, trying to steer the

conversation away from what was a permanent sore point for him and his Rogue

Squadron comrades. "Shifting the bulk of political power back down to system and

sector levels is definitely the way to go. The Empire already proved the

centralized approach doesn't work."

He looked up at the clear blue sky overhead. "Funny, isn't it, how things wind

up. I remember when being in a system this close to the edge of Imperial space

meant you slept in your X-wing. Instead, here we are, strolling along like we

were on Svivren or Ord Mantell."

"I wouldn't get too overconfident if I were you," Janson warned. "The Empire

isn't exactly dead yet. They could still deliver a pretty good punch if they

wanted to."

"And they've looked like they were ready to throw in their cards before," Lando

added. "Remember what things were like just before Grand Admiral Thrawn came

back from wherever it was he'd been hiding?"

"Wedge?" a voice called over the din. "Hey-Wedge!"

Wedge peered over the crowd, caught a glimpse of tousled light brown hair, and

lifted a hand. "Over here."

"Who's that?" Lando asked, craning his neck to peer over the crowd.

"His name's Tycho Celchu," Wedge told him. "One of my Rogue Squadron people. I

don't know if you ever met him."

Tycho reached them. "Hey, Wedge, you've got to come hear this guy," he said, his

voice and face dark. "Come on-he's over here."

He led them through the marketplace to a small booth with a wizened Morish

hunched over it. "Here he is,') Tycho said, gathering the others in front of the

booth. "W'simip'rotou?"

"M'rish'kavjsh f'oril," the Morish wheezed. "M'shisht C'aama' por kri'vres'ymj

B'oth."

Janson whistled softly. "What is it?" Wedge asked.

"He says new information's just been dug up about the destruction of Caamas,"

Tycho said grimly. "And that it was the Bothans who were responsible."

Wedge stared at Tycho. "You must be joking," he said.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Tycho bit out, a fire in his blue eyes. "Figures,

doesn't it? Endor, Borleias, and now this."

"Take it easy," Wedge said, putting some parade-ground steel into his voice.

"Borleias wasn't really the Bothans' fault."

Tycho's shoulders shifted uneasily. "Not all of it, anyway," he conceded

grudgingly.

Wedge looked at Lando. "Have you heard anything about fresh Caamas information?"

"Not a whisper," Lando said, eyeing the Morish suspiciously. "Ask him where he

heard it."

"Right." Tycho spoke to the Morish again, got an answer. "He says it came from

the Old Recluse," he translated. "He lives up in a cave in the high Tatmana.

Apparently knows everything about what goes on in the galaxy."

Wedge turned and looked up at the Tatmana Mountains, rising in a saw-toothed

crest in the distance on the opposite side of the city from the New Republic

base, On the face of it, it was absurd to think that some old native hermit

would have any idea what was even going on in the city down here, let alone in

the larger galaxy above his mountains.

But on the other hand, Wedge had hung around Luke Skywalker long enough to know

that there were a lot of unexplainable things in the galaxy. Maybe this Old

Recluse was one of those latent Force-users Luke was always trying to find.

And it wasn't like they were exactly busy right now, anyway. "Ask him where we

can find this Old Recluse," he instructed Tycho.

"You going up there?" Lando asked as Tycho began talking to the Morish again.

"What in the worlds for?"

"Curiosity," Wedge told him. "We've got time&mdashthe general won't be needing

us for at least a few more hours. You coming?"

Lando sighed. "Lead the way."

***

Leaning slightly into the steady wind, the three X-wings settled smoothly onto

the bluff overlooking the city. "Easy for you," Lando muttered under his breath,

mentally gauging the chunk of space they'd left him to put the Lady Luck down

onto. It would be tight, but pride alone dictated he not back out now. Muttering

some more, he eased the yacht down toward the bluff.

It was indeed a tight squeeze, made all the trickier by the wind. But he managed

it without too much trouble and, more important, without any embarrassment.

Dropping the engines into their standby settings, he climbed down the ladder

just aft of the cockpit bridge and headed for the yacht's hatchway.

Wedge, Janson, and Tycho were waiting for hint at the foot of the Lady Luck's

ramp. "Chilly up here," he commented, gripping the edge of his cloak to keep it

from flapping. "I hope the Old Recluse's cave is heated."

"At least it'll be out of this wind," Janson agreed, pointing toward a narrow,

two-meter-high crack in the cliff face. "That must be it. Let's go."

The cave was much deeper than Lando would have guessed from the relatively small

size of the entrance. It was also surprisingly warm. "Looks like a glow up

ahead," Wedge said, his voice sounding odd in the enclosed space. "Around that

bend."

"I wonder if we should announce ourselves," Lando said, glancing around

uneasily. Flying in cramped spaceships had never bothered him in the least, but

walking down a narrow passageway with the top of a mountain weighing down on him

was something else entirely.

Or maybe it was that the place reminded him too much of the inside of Mount

Tantiss. Either way, as they rounded the corner, he found his right hand resting

on the grip of his holstered blaster.

Which made the scene that opened up in front of them just that much more

anticlimactic. Sitting at the back of a widened section of the cave was a single

ancient Morish, even older than the one they'd talked to at the booth,

meditatively plucking the stretched wires of some kind of musical instrument. To

his right was a squat military-surplus worklight; to his left, an antique wood

brazier. On both sides of the cave, only vaguely touched by the worklight's

glow, were a collection of objects that were apparently the Old Recluse's

household goods. At his back, not quite covering the cave's back wall, was a

hand-decorated curtain of heavy-looking cloth.

If the Old Recluse was surprised to see them, he didn't show it. He studied them

for a moment in silence as they stepped to within a couple of meters of him,

then dropped his gaze back to his instrument and muttered something in his own

language.

"He's greeting us," Tycho translated. "Sort of. He also demands to know what we

want."

"Tell him we've heard he knows something about the destruction of Caamas," Wedge

said. "We'd like to hear more."

"He'll want money," Janson warned.

"Right," Tycho agreed. "Try offering him fifty."

The Morish stirred. "Three hundred," he said in clear and nearly unaccented

Basic. "This story is worth three hundred."

Well, well," Wedge said dryly. "So much for local color. I thought they probably

spoke more Basic than they were letting on. I'll give you one hundred."

"Three hundred," the Old Recluse insisted. "Or no story."

"One-fifty," Wedge offered. "New Republic currency. All I have on me."

"Three hundred. No less."

"I'll cover it," Lando spoke up, looking around the cave. There was something

odd about this place. Something that was triggering some very unpleasant

memories .

"All right," Wedge sighed. "Three hundred it is. But this had better be worth

it."

"It is," the Old Recluse assured him. "As the dark battle fleet assembled

outside Caamas-"

And suddenly it clicked in the back of Lando's mind. Stepping around behind the

brazier, he got a grip on the edge of the curtain&mdash

"Ka'alee!" the Morish screeched, tossing aside his musical instrument and

lunging toward the worklight. His hand darted beneath it&mdash

"Freeze it!" Wedge snapped. All three Rogue Squadron pilots had dropped into

combat crouches, blasters in their hands and steady on the Morish "Bring your

hand out," Wedge ordered. "Empty."

Slowly, glaring at them, the Old Recluse pulled his hand back out. Janson

circled over to the worklight and crouched down beside it, coming up with a

small but nasty-looking blaster. "All right," Wedge said as Janson returned to

Tycho's side. "Now you just sit there and be good. And keep your hands where we

can see them." Holstering his blaster, he walked around behind his teammates and

came over to Lando. "What did you find?"

"The source of his omniscience," Lando said grimly, pulling the curtain aside.

"Take a look."

Wedge whistled softly under his breath; and even Lando, who had more or less

known what to expect, had to admit he was impressed. Crammed into a wide

floor-to-ceiling crack in the back wall of the cave was a fully functioning

Imperial communications center, complete with encrypt/decrypt modules, the input

jacks for a variety of droids and sensor feeds, a space/planetary monitor

module, and a self-contained Generations III power generator. "Well, well,"

Wedge commented. "Nice find, Lando, What tipped you off?"

"The smell," Lando told him, an involuntary shiver running through him. "Dusty

electronics have a smell like nothing else in the universe. The Spaarti cylinder

chamber in the Mount Tantiss storehouse was reeking with it."

"Probably set this place up just before we took Morishim back from them," Janson

suggested. "Must have used it to spy on the base."

"And for propaganda and incitement of the locals," Wedge said, pushing aside the

curtain for a closer look. "There's a direct feed to the Imperial news service

here. And a direct feed to Coruscant Hourly."

"Might be interesting to have someone go back through the recent history

records," Lando said. "See if we can spot their hand in events."

"Yes," Wedge agreed. "They must have abandoned it in a hurry to have left this

much stuff behind . . ."

He trailed off, frowning at the space monitor display. "Tycho, get out to your

X-wing and give the base a call. Looks like we've got a Corellian Corvette

coming in. Broadcasting an Imperial ID-"

Abruptly he stiffened. "Belay that," he snapped, dropping the curtain and

charging past the Old Recluse. "Get to your fighters&mdashdouble-time."

The others fell into step behind him, the group disappearing around the bend in

the tunnel. "What is it?" the Old Recluse demanded anxiously. "You-human-what is

it?"

A single look at the display was all Lando needed. "It's an Imperial Star

Destroyer," he said. "It dropped in right behind the Corvette.

"Heading this way."

***

"Lando?" Wedge's voice came from the Lady Luck's console. "You reading me?"

"Loud and clear," Lando said, making one last adjustment to the speaker control.

"Stay close," Wedge warned. "This freq-mixing trick won't work against their

jamming if we get too far apart."

"Got it," Lando said, eyeing the confused readouts from his comm board. His comm

system was pretty much state-of-the-art, with a few exotic add-ons besides, but

it wasn't really set up to deal with New Republic military frequencies and

encrypts. But so far the jury-rig he'd thrown together on the fly seemed to be

holding. "What's happening?"

"I got through to the base while you were getting set up," Wedge said. "The rest

of Rogue Squadron's on the way, along with every starfighter the base can

scramble."

A couple of wings of X-wings and A-wings, against an Imperial Star Destroyer.

Terrific. "What about them Peregrine and the Assault Frigate that Admiral Vriss

came in with?"

"The Peregrine's on its way, but it's having to come from around the far side of

the planet," Wedge said, an edge of contempt creeping into the cool

professionalism in his voice. The Assault Frigate, unfortunately, is going to be

out of it. Apparently, they let the systems drop a little too far past standby."

"Sloppy," Lando grunted. "Who's in command?"

"A committee of Bagmims," Wedge told him. "The crew is mostly Bagmims, humans,

and Povanarians."

"Bagmims are pretty good fighters when they get riled."

"They should have stayed more riled, then," Wedge said. "Right now, they're just

a waste of air."

"Too late to worry about it now," Lando said, carefully refraining from

reminding Wedge about his own earlier comments on how much more relaxed things

had become. "What's the plan?"

"We try to slow them down," Wedge said. "The Peregrine's on its way, and the

general's got two Star Cruisers coming from Haverling. Until they get here,

we're on our own."

The three X-wings and the yacht rose above the curve of Morishim's horizon; and

there they were: the awe-inspiring bulk of the Imperial Star Destroyer with the

Corvette leading it toward the planet.

And then Lando frowned. "Wedge?"

"I see it," Wedge murmured. "Rogue Seven, give me a fast analysis."

"No mistake, Rogue Leader," Tycho's voice came promptly. "Those aren't

accidental misfires-the Star Destroyer's definitely targeting the Corvette. The

Corvette's running flank speed, with full aft deflector shields. She's being

chased, all right."

"They're jamming her transmissions, too," Janson added. "Course projection shows

she's making straight for the edge of the base's energy shield. Looks like we've

got a theft-and-defection on our hands."

"Could be," Wedge said cautiously. "It could also be a trick to get us to let an

unexamined ship in under the energy shield."

"So what do we do?" Janson asked.

"Let's try running a little interference," Wedge said. "Rogue Two, Rogue Five:

cut in around the Corvette's starboard side and see if you can draw some of the

Star Destroyer's attention. I'll take the other side. Watch out for tractor

beams-they may try to pull the Corvette in."

"Copy, Rogue Leader."

The two X-wings swerved smoothly away from Wedge and Lando. "What about me?"

Lando asked.

"Better stay back here," Wedge told him, putting on a burst of speed of his own.

"That yacht isn't designed for this sort of maneuvering. Anyway, we may need you

to act as relay between us and our reinforcements."

The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a sort of muffled flash

from the Corvette, accompanied by a cloud of debris. "Topside sensor group's

been hit," Janson reported. "Internal fire&mdashprobably going to have to shut

down the main reactor core."

Which meant no drive, no shields, and no hope of escape. Lando swore under his

breath, keying his secondary comm system to scan across the channels. Static

hissed out at him at each of the frequencies the Imperials were jamming.

"Tractor beam activated," Tycho said tightly. "Making connection . . . they've

got her."

"Incoming to aft," Janson cut in. "The rest of Rogue Squadron, plus three wings

of A-wings and two of X-wings. ETA, about four minutes."

Wedge's sigh was a softer echo of the jamming hiss. "Too little, too late," he

said reluctantly. "Break off. There's nothing we can do to help them now."

Lando looked out at the Corvette, tapping a frustrated fist gently against the

edge of his control board. Muzzled and helpless both, the Corvette would be

taken or destroyed without anyone knowing who they were or what they were doing

here.

Unless . . .

"Wedge?" he called. "I've got an idea. Fire up all the transmission frequencies

the three of you can handle-full power, with all the encryption you can put on

them. Maybe we can dilute their jamming enough to at least get something out of

the Corvette."

"Worth a try," Wedge said. "Let's do it, Rogues."

Lando swiveled around to the comm board, keying in one of those exotic add-ons

he'd spent all that good money for. This probably wouldn't work. Almost

certainly wouldn't work, in fact, and the effort alone might easily irritate the

Imperials into taking a lethal swipe at him. But at least it was doing

something. He stared at the comm readings, holding his breath .

And then, to even his gambler's amazement, there was a flicker of something

through the static. "Keep it up," he shouted to Wedge and the others, keying

madly at the board. The flicker strengthened, faded, strengthened again .

It cut off suddenly. Lando looked up just in time to catch a final glimpse of

pseudomotion as the Star Destroyer vanished into hyperspace. "Well, that's

that," Tycho said.

"I wasn't watching," Lando said. "Did they take the Corvette with them?"

"Pulled it into the bay and took straight off," Wedge told him. "You get

anything?"

"I don't know." Lando keyed for replay. "Let's see."

There was a burst of static; and then, almost buried beneath the hissing, a few

faint words could be heard. "-is Col . . . zh Ver . . . ecial envoy fro . . . .

miral . . . on, sent here . . . ontact Gen . . . el Iblis concern . . . ego . .

. ce . . . crc . . . . be . . . Empire and New Repub . . . under atta . . .

traitorous ele . . . the Empire . . . do not expect . . . urvive. If the New Re

. . . to hold su . . . ions, Adm . . . Pel . . . at the aban . . . mining cent .

. . itiin in . . . nth to meet wi . . . peating: This is . . . nd Me . . . .

Vermel . . ."

The recording ended. "Not much there," Wedge commented.

"No," Lando conceded, "What now?"

"You'd better head back and get that recording to General Bel Iblis," Wedge

said. "I think we'll stay out here a little while longer."

"In case this was just the first act?" Lando suggested.

"You never know."

Lando gazed out at where the Corvette had lost its race for safety, an

unpleasant chill running up his spine. The whole thing was very

similar-disturbingly similar, in fact-to the race Princess Leia Organa's

consular ship had lost to Darth Vader's Star Destroyer above the planet Tatooine

nearly two decades ago. It had been a pivotal point in the struggle against the

Empire's tyranny, though no one had known it at the time.

And now, here over Morishim, the same scene had just been played out again.

Could there have been something of equal consequence behind it? "Wedge?"

"Yes?"

"There weren't, by any chance"-Lando hesitated, afraid this was going to sound

silly-"any escape pods jettisoned from the Corvette?"

"Actually, that's the first thing I thought of," Wedge told him soberly. "But

no, there weren't."

"Didn't think so," Lando said, shaking away the memories of the past. History

never truly repeated itself, after all. Odds were that Janson had already called

it: a simple theft-and-defection.

The odds also were that none of them would ever know for sure.

***

Officially, the planet was named Muunilinst--unofficially, it was known to many

as Moneylend. And if Bastion was the political center of the Empire, Muunilinst

was its financial core.

The reasons for its status were many and varied, a long history that dated back

well into the days of the Old Republic. The fact that it still retained its role

in these darker times was as much a triumph of inertia and habit as it was the

two Golan III Defense Platforms tracing their lazy orbits high overhead.

Standing at the conference-room window, Pellaeon glanced up as one of the

platforms passed in front of Muunilinst's sun, momentarily dimming its light.

Back when the Imperial capital was moved to Bastion, he remembered, Moff Disra

had tried to get those two Golan IIIs transferred there as well, arguing that

the Empire's governmental center deserved the protection more than the credit

shufflers did. It had been one of Disra's rare miscalculations, and one of his

most embarrassing political defeats.

Behind Pellaeon, someone coughed discreetly. "Yes?" Pellaeon asked, tuning again

to face the table.

All six of the senior officers gathered around the table were looking back at

him. "I presume, Admiral," High General Suit Ramic said quietly, "that this is

not simply a trial suggestion. You and the Moffs have already agreed on this

offer, haven't you?"

For a moment Pellaeon studied the other's face. General Ramic, commander of one

of the Golans up there, was the senior man of the Muunilinst defense setup, in

experience and respect as well as in rank. If he chose to resist the proposed

peace agreement, the others would most likely fall in line behind him.

But no. The question hadn't been a challenge, merely a question. "The Moffs have

approved it, yes," he said. "For what it's worth, they were no more pleased by

the idea than any of the rest of us are."

"I thought you were the one who made the proposal," General Jaron Kyte put in,

his voice and eyes dark with suspicion. "How can you say now that you oppose

it?"

"I didn't say I opposed it," Pellaeon corrected him. "I said I didn't like it.

But in my professional judgment, we simply have no other options left."

"I was under the impression we had revolutionary new systems and equipment ready

to come on-line," Ramic said.

With perfect timing one of the lights on Pellaeon's comm blinked on. "Some of

those systems haven't proved as workable as their designers had hoped," Pellaeon

said, stepping to his seat and leaning over to tap the confirmation button. As

for the equipment, some of it has been tainted by decidedly treasonous

activity." Across from Pellaeon the conference door slid open&mdash

And a lean man wearing the traditional Muunilinsti banker's shawl and pendant

stepped inside.

His reaction to the roomful of officers might have been interesting, but

Pellaeon wasn't watching him. His eyes were instead on the officers themselves,

as their expressions of surprise or indignation at his veiled accusation were

interrupted by this unexpected intrusion. They turned, most of them obviously

irritated, to see who it was who had presumed to intrude on Fleet business.

And midway down the left side of the table, General Kyte twitched.

It wasn't a big reaction, little more than a twitch of the head and a flicker of

shock across his face before he got himself back under control. But set against

the backdrop of the others' more or less indifferent curiosity, it stood out

like the guidelight on a landing bay.

"Ah, Lord Graemon," Pellaeon said, focusing on the banker at last. "Thank you

for coming. If you'll wait in the other room there, I'll be with you shortly."

"As you wish, Admiral Pellaeon," Graemon said. His eyes, Pellaeon noted, flicked

once to Kyte as he crossed to the inner chamber and disappeared inside.

"And what was that all about?" Ramic asked.

The man was shrewd, all right; clearly, he'd recognized that the banker's

interruption wasn't entirely a coincidence: "I was speaking of treason,"

Pellaeon said, waving a hand toward the inner chamber. "Lord Graemon is one of

the threads in that web."

A fresh ripple of surprise ran around the rest of the table, but Ramic himself

didn't even twitch. "You can prove this?" he demanded.

"Enough of it," Pellaeon said. "He's one of the money men

helping funnel Imperial funds to a consortium that's building the Preybirds that

are now supplementing the more traditional TIE-class starfighters aboard our

ships."

"I don't see any treason in that," someone snorted. "Seems to me that the

Empire's getting its money's worth with those Preybirds."

"The treason is in the fact that the deal has been made outside proper

channels," Pellaeon said. "And in the fact that certain high Imperial officials

are siphoning off a significant percentage of those funds for their own personal

gain."

Deliberately, he turned his gaze on Kyte. "And in the fact that the deal

includes the supplying of Imperial equipment and personnel to various pirate

gangs."

Kyte held his gaze without flinching, but his face paled just noticeably.

Pellaeon knew, all right; and now Kyte knew that he knew.

"And how do you expect your treaty with the New Republic to stop this?" Ramic

asked.

"Cooperation and open lines of communication would enable us to track down the

participants more efficiently," Pellaeon said. "And those participants would no

longer be able to pretend they were merely doing the Empire's business in their

own, shall we say, creative way."

"Then you suspect some in the Fleet are involved?" one of the others asked.

"I don't suspect," Pellaeon said. "I know."

For a long moment no one spoke. Pellaeon let the silence linger and harden, then

gestured to the datapads in front of them. "But that's not the issue here today.

The issue is the proposed peace treaty, and whether you will support it. I

suggest we adjourn for an hour so that you'll have time to consider all the

ramifications. Discuss it among yourselves if you like; I'll be here if you have

any questions you wish to ask privately."

He looked at each of them in turn. "At the end of that hour we'll reconvene, and

I'll expect your answers. Any final questions? Very well, then; dismissed."

He turned again to the window, his back to the table, as they gathered their

datapads and datacards and exited quietly from the room. The door slid shut, and

Pellaeon took a careful breath. "Your comments?" he asked, turning around again.

Ramic hadn't moved from his seat. "I disagree completely," the high general said

bluntly. "The New Republic is going to self-destruct-you know it and I know it.

The only questions are how violent the explosion will be and whether the trigger

will be this Caamas thing we keep hearing about or something else. There's no

need for us to humiliate ourselves in front of aliens and alien-lovers this

way."

"I understand your position," Pellaeon said. "Is that your final word?"

Ramic's thin lips compressed briefly. "I don't support your treaty, Admiral," he

said, standing up. "But I'm an Imperial officer, and I will obey my superiors.

You and the Moffs have agreed; if and when the order to cease hostilities is

given, I will obey it."

Some of the weight on Pellaeon's shoulders eased a bit "Thank you, General," he

said quietly.

"Thank my family and its history of proud service," Ramic countered. "They're

the ones who installed the sense of duty and loyalty in me." He dropped his gaze

to the table and set about gathering together his datacards. "Do you think the

New Republic will accept your offer of a meeting?"

"We'll find out soon enough," Pellaeon said. "Colonel Vermel should be reaching

the Morishim system just about now."

"Yes," Ramic murmured. He started for the door; paused and turned back. "You're

certain there are pirate gangs involved in all this?"

"There's no doubt at all," Pellaeon assured him. "From what I've been able to

piece together, they're being hired to attack specified New Republic shipments.

They get the booty; the Empire gets a degree of confusion and consternation in

the New Republic and the shadow partners, knowing which shipments are going to

be hit, make money on the business and commodity exchanges."

Ramic shrugged. "Aside from that last, it sounds like perfectly reasonable

privateer activity."

"Perhaps," Pellaeon conceded. "The problem is that the ultimate decisions on

which shipments are to be hit are coming from the shadow partners, not the High

Command or Imperial Intelligence. And there are also strong indications that the

sleeper cells Grand Admiral Thrawn set up are being raided to provide crewers

for the gangs."

"If those alleged sleeper cells really exist," Ramic rumbled. "I've never been

convinced of that myself."

"If the troopers aren't from the sleeper cells, then the conspirators are

getting them from somewhere else," Pellaeon said. "The only other choice is that

they're siphoning them off from the regular line forces."

Ramic's face hardened. "If they're doing that, I'll personally help you flay the

perpetrators. We don't have enough troopers and crewers as it is." His eyes

narrowed slightly. "And which of us do you suspect of being in on it with Lord

Graemon?"

"General Kyte was the only one who reacted to his entrance," Pellaeon said. "As

such, he's my prime suspect With luck, he may panic and lead my Intelligence

team to some of the others involved."

"Kyte won't panic," Ramic said. "But he might think it wise to alert them."

"Either way will suit me," Pellaeon said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to

spend a few minutes with Lord Graemon."

"Pulling on another thread of the web?"

Pellaeon smiled grimly. "Something like that. I'll see you and the others in an

hour."

"Very well, sir." For a moment Ramic studied his face. "I'd advise you to be

careful, though. Every web has something nasty in the middle . . . and whoever's

in the middle of this one could well decide that with a peace treaty in the

works the Empire doesn't need a Supreme Fleet Commander anymore. Especially one

who's pulling pieces out of his web."

Pellaeon looked over at the room where Lord Graemon waited. "Yes," he said

quietly. "That thought has occurred to me."

***

The secret door slid open, and Disra looked up as Tierce strode into the room.

"Well?" he demanded. "Did you get through to Dorja?"

"Finally, yes." Tierce nodded. "He reports the mission was more or less

successful."

"More or less'?"

Tierce shrugged. "Dorja said he had full-spectrum jamming going from the moment

he emerged from hyperspace. but that some of Colonel Vermel's signal might have

gotten through before they took his Corvette aboard."

Disra hissed between his teeth. "Sloppy."

"That observation has already been expressed to him by our Grand Admiral,"

Tierce said. "Apparently there were some X-wings and an unidentified yacht off

Morishim that happened to be hanging around the Corvette's incoming vector when

he dropped out of hyperspace."

Disra snorted. "In my experience, X-wings don't just happen' to hang around

places."

"I agree," Tierce said. "My guess is that they spotted the incoming ships

somehow and went out to take a look. Possibly using the old Imperial spy center

we abandoned on the surface, though how they would have located it I don't

know."

"Did Dorja have any idea how much of Vermel's message might have gotten

through?"

"A few words at the most," Tierce assured him. "And that assumes one or more of

the nearby ships even had the right equipment, which is unlikely."

Disra pondered. "Yes," he conceded. "And even if they did, a few words aren't

going to grab anyone's attention. No one who counts, anyway."

"Especially considering how many other crises are about to come down on their

heads," Tierce agreed.

"Right," Disra said. "What did you have Dorja do with the ship and crew?"

"He's currently en route back here, doing a quick interrogation on the way. Most

of the crew, I suspect, will have had no idea what Vermel's mission was; those

we can bring back into service with vague intimations that Vermel was up to some

sort of treason. As for Vermel himself-" He shrugged. "I thought we'd lock him

up somewhere quiet for the moment. We might find a use for him later."

"Sounds reasonable," Disra said. "Any word from Trazzen and the others?"

"We've received their last scheduled report," Tierce said. "They'll be out of

contact from now on until summoned."

"Um," Disra grunted. Everything seemed to be going according to plan.

And yet, this whole thing with Vermel and his possibly leaked message bothered

him somehow. Surely no one could have caught any of it; and even if they had,

surely they would dismiss it out of hand as smugglers or a simple

theft-and-defection attempt gone bad. "It occurs to me, Major," he said slowly,

"that perhaps we ought to push up our timetable a little. Just in case."

There was a long moment of silence. "I suppose that would be possible," Tierce

said. "But I really don't think it's necessary. No one's going to pay many

attention to the incident over Morishim."

Disra stared hard at him. "You're certain of that?"

Tierce smiled thinly. "I guarantee it."

***

The recording ran through to the end for the third time, and finally General

Garm Bel Iblis shut it off. "About as clear as roiled mud," he commented to

Lando. "Still, I would have bet you couldn't have gotten even this much through

all that jamming. Very nicely done."

"I just wish we'd gotten more," Lando said. "Janson figured it was probably a

theft-and-defection gone wrong."

"Yes, it does look that way," Be! Iblis said, fingering his mustache

thoughtfully. "But somehow I don't think it was."

Lando eyed him. "Then what was it?"

"I don't know yet," Be! Iblis said. "But consider the facts. The Empire hasn't

got nearly enough Imperial Star Destroyers left to waste one on a simple chase

mission. And they wanted him taken alive; and they wanted to make sure he didn't

talk to anyone."

"And he knew you were here," Lando pointed out. "You can almost hear the words

General Bel Iblis' in there."

"Yes," Bel Iblis agreed. "Though keeping track of my whereabouts is no big deal

anymore. We don't keep things nearly as secret as we did even five years ago."

He swiveled over his computer and began punching keys. "It seems to me you can

also hear the name Vermel' mentioned. If I remember right, there was an Imperial

officer of that name on Admiral Pellaeon's staff."

Lando looked out the viewport at the curve of the planet below, and at the

distant flares of the X-wings still circling around in the distance. "Seems to

me that would add weight to the defection theory," he suggested. "They wouldn't

want to kill someone of that rank out of hand, and they certainly wouldn't want

us to know he'd tried it."

"Perhaps." Bel Iblis peered at the display. "Yes, there he is. Colonel Meizh

Vermel!."

Lando spread his hands. "There it is, then."

Bel Iblis fingered his mustache again. "No," he said slowly. "My instincts still

say no. Why use a Corellian Corvette if you were going to defect? Why not

something faster or more heavily armed? Or requiring a smaller crew, unless all

hundred-odd crewers were defecting together?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know either." Bel Iblis slid out the datacard of Lando's recording.

"But I think I'll make a few copies of this and see if I can find out."

Lando cocked an eyebrow. "In all your copious spare time?"

The general shrugged. "I've been needing a hobby anyway."

CHAPTER

7

The Grand Convocation Chamber of the New Republic Senate had been completed only

three months earlier, its construction stepped up out of necessity after

Kueller's bombs had weakened the structure of the old Senate Hall beyond repair.

And while there were still bits of trim and scrollwork left to be finished, the

overall effect was every bit as impressive as its designers had promised. The

old arrangement-with the delegates' seats arranged in concentric semicircles,

descending inward toward a raised dais-had been replaced by a series of variably

sized, variably shaped blocks of seats, connected to each other by short

stairways or ramps that had been arranged at apparent random, yet which

maintained a consistent grace and style. Separating the seat groups were clear

glass panels, or carved lattices, or merely short railings and a meter or two of

vertical height, as the designers' fancy had taken them. Each block of seats had

an unobstructed view of the central dais, as' well as a display that could be

adjusted to show either a closer view of the dais or any of the other blocks of

seats in the chamber.

In many ways the place reminded Leia of the magnificent Corioline Marlee theater

back on Alderaan, a renowned palace of the arts that had always been synonymous

in her mind with courtesy, culture, and civilization. It had been her secret

hope that the Grand Chamber's similar design would help encourage those same

qualities in the Senators who assembled there.

But for today, at least, that was clearly not going to be the case.

"Let me be certain I understand you, President Gavrisom," a rough Opquis voice

called over the chamber's sound system. "You're telling us that the Bothans were

the key to the destruction of Caamas and the near genocide committed against the

Caamasi people. Yet at the same time you tell us you will not seek justice for

this heinous act?"

"That is not at all what I have told you, Senator," President Ponc Gavrisom said

mildly, twitching his tail once and resettling it against his hind legs. "Allow

me to repeat. A small group-a small group-of as yet unidentified Bothans were

involved in that tragedy. If and when we are able to learn their names, we will

certainly dispense in full measure the justice I know we all seek. Until then,

though, it simply cannot be done."

Why not?" an alien with shaggy blue-green hair and a long, thin face demanded. A

Forshul, Leia tentatively identified her, representing the eighty-seven

inhabited worlds of Yminis sector in the Outer Rim. "Councilor Fey'lya does not

deny Bothans were involved. Very well, then: let them be duly punished for this

monstrous blot on galactic civilization."

Leia glanced across the dais at Borsk Fey'lya, seated at the far end of the

curved row of High Councilors. The Bothan's expression and fur were under rigid

control, but her Jedi senses had no trouble picking up the turmoil of anxiety

behind his face. He'd had, she knew, a long conversation with the heads of the

Combined Clans back on Bothawui just prior to this meeting. From the hardness of

his expression, she guessed the conversation hadn't gone well .

"I understand your feelings, Senator," Gavrisom said. "However, I must point out

that the legal guidelines of the New Republic are not the same as the

traditional codes of Forshuliri justice." He unfolded his wings from across his

long back and brought them in front of him. The prehensile feathertips touched

one of the keys on the lectern, and a section of New Republic criminal law

appeared on the display above his head. "Those guidelines do not allow us to

penalize the entire Bothan people for the crimes of a few."

"And why do we not know the identities of those supposed few?" the Ishori

Senator called out. "I see Councilor Fey'lya seated to your right. What has he

to say about all this?"

Gavrisom turned his head to look over his withers at Fey'lya. "Councilor

Fey'lya, do you wish to respond?" m mm

Visibly bracing himself, the Bothan rose to his feet. "I understand the anger

this revelation has elicited from many of you," he said. "I assure you that we

of the Bothan clan leadership feel the same anger, and the same desire that the

perpetrators of this terrible crime be brought to justice. And rest assured that

if we knew exactly who those perpetrators were, we would long ago have dealt

with them. The problem is that we do not."

There was a short, warbling scream. Reflexively, Leia jumped, belatedly

identified the blood-chilling sound as the Ayrou equivalent of a skeptical

snort. "Do you expect us to believe-?"

"President Gavrisom, I would ask you to once again remind the Senator from

Moddell sector to shut up that noise!" another Senator interrupted angrily. "The

harmonics have already caused me to lose two eggs this session, and if I cannot

bear my yearly hatchlings on schedule, I will lose both my status and any

possibility of reappointment by my sector assembly."

"Speaking for myself, that would be a relief," someone else put in before

Gavrisom could respond. "Some of us are exceptionally tired of your precious

eggs being used as an excuse for everything you don't like&mdash"

Gavrisom's wingtips touched a key, and the voice was cut off as the sound system

shut down. For another minute angry voices continued to be heard, echoing

indistinctly from various quarters of the chamber, before finally falling

reluctantly silent as the participants realized that none of their verbal jabs

was getting through to the designated recipients. Gavrisom waited another few

seconds before turning the sound system back on. "The prologue to the New

Republic charter," he said quietly, "exhorts all member worlds to behave toward

one another in an acceptable and civilized manner. Shall the members of this

Senate be held to a lesser standard?"

"You speak of civilization, President Gavrisom," a tall Bagmim said darkly. "How

can we of the New Republic Senate consider ourselves civilized if we do not show

our repugnance for the horrible crime committed against the Caamasi?"

Leia cleared her throat. "May I remind the Senate," she said, "that whatever

part any group of Bothans might have played, there is no indication any of them

participated in the actual destruction of Caamas. That, it seems to me, should

be the focal point of our outrage and justice."

"Do you seek then to excuse the Bothans?" a Senator she didn't recognize

demanded.

"Besides which, the actual perpetrators were undoubtedly agents of then Senator

Palpatine," someone else added from the opposite side of the chamber. "All such

agents have surely been destroyed during our onerously long war against the

Empire."

"Are you certain of that?" another voice chimed in. "We are still learning the

full depth of Emperor Palpatine's deceptions against the peoples of the galaxy.

Who is to say his agents don't yet walk among us?"

"Are you accusing one of us?"

"If you claim the title, what is that to me?" the other shot back. "There are

still rumors of Imperial agents scattered among us&mdash"

Again Gavrisom touched the cutoff switch, and again the debate was reduced to

distant voices shouting uselessly at each other. Leia listened, to the budding

argument fade away, for the umpteenth time thanking the Force that she was at

least temporarily no longer the one in charge of this madhouse.

The voices faded away into a tense silence. Gavrisom touched the key again. "I'm

sure the Senator from Chorlian sector was speaking only figuratively," he said

with his usual unflappable poise. "At any rate, this debate has already passed

the point of usefulness and will therefore be suspended for now. If the document

which Councilor Organa Solo brought back can be reconstructed to the point where

names can be discovered, we will reopen the discussion. Until then, there are

many other matters which require our attention."

He glanced at his display, then looked up to his right. "We will begin with the

report of the Economics Committee. Senator Quedlifu?"

***

The Economics Committee report was longer than usual, with two bills being

submitted to the full Senate for consideration. That in itself was fairly

unusual: with each Senator limited to introducing one bill per year, and a

straight up-down vote required to get that bill out of committee, most of the

proposed legislation never found the support necessary to make it to the full

Senate. Only a small fraction of those few, moreover, ever survived the Senate's

scrutiny to actually become law.

Which was precisely how the system was supposed to work. With nearly a thousand

Senators already-and with each one representing fifty to two hundred entire

worlds-there was no possible way Coruscant could truly look after the interests

of all the beings making up the New Republic. This latest modification of the

Senate had reduced its role to little more than providing for the common defense

and mediating disputes between member sectors. The more commonplace day-to-day

governing was handled at the sector, system, planetary, regional, district, and

local levels.

A few of the Senators, remembering the glory days of the Old Republic,

occasionally grumbled about the Senate being reduced to what they saw as little

more than an elaborate debating society. For the majority, though, the more

vivid memory was that of Coruscant's domination during the dark days of the.

Empire. A relatively weak central government was exactly what they wanted.

As it turned out, the Economics Committee was the only one with any bills to

introduce or, for that matter, anything really new to report. Gavrisom cycled

through the rest of the committees with practiced ease and dispatch, bringing

the meeting to a close less than two hours after it had begun.

And yet, even as Leia joined the flow of beings exiting from the chamber, she

suspected that none of the Senators or High Councilors would be occupied with

business as usual this afternoon. Caamas would be the thought on everyone's

mind. Caamas, and justice.

Or perhaps vengeance.

"Your Highness?" a tentative voice called through the rumble of conversation.

Leia paused and lifted a hand. "Over here, Threepio."

"Ah," the droid said, making his tentative way across the traffic flow toward

her. "I trust the assembly went well?"

"As well as can be expected, under the circumstances," Leia told him. "Any

messages from the techs about the datacard?"

"I'm afraid not," Threepio said, sounding regretful. "But I do have a message

from Captain Solo. He has returned, and will be waiting for you."

Leia felt her heartbeat pick up. "Did he say anything about his mission to

Iphigin?"

"I'm afraid not," Threepio apologized again. "Should I have asked him?"

"No, that's all right," Leia assured him.

"He did not seem inclined to be overly conversational," the droid mused. "He may

not have answered even if I had asked."

Leia smiled. "Probably not," she agreed, a hundred fond memories of her husband

flashing through her mind. She'd been planning to head straight to her office to

sift through some of the mountain of datawork waiting on her desk. Now,

suddenly, she decided it could wait. Han would be waiting for her in their

quarters&mdash

"Councilor Organa Solo?" a voice said from her side.

Leia turned, a sinking feeling settling into her. The voice and mental

profile&mdash

And she was right. It was indeed Ghic Dx'ono, the Ishori Senator. "Yes, Senator

Dx'ono?"

"I would speak with you, High Councilor," the other said firmly. "In your

office. Now."

"Certainly," Leia said, her feeling sinking a little further. The alien's

emotions indicated disquietude, but that was all she could read from it. "Come

with me."

Together they made their way across the flow of beings, Threepio struggling to

keep up, and into the curved side corridor where the members of the High Council

had their offices. Leia caught a glimpse of Fey'lya as he disappeared into his

office; then they rounded the curve&mdash

Leia stopped short, a soft gasp escaping her lips before she could stop it.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, and with Dx'ono's somewhat overpowering presence

beside her, she hadn't extended her senses ahead down the corridor. Three people

were standing outside her office door: one of Dx'ono's aides, and two slender

beings completely shrouded in hooded cloaks.

"They wish to speak with you," Dx'ono said gruffly. "Will you speak with them?"

Leia swallowed, her memories flashing back to her childhood on Alderaan and the

time her adoptive father Bail Organa had permitted her to go with him on a

private trip to the South Islands . . .

"Yes," she told Dx'ono quietly. "I will be honored to speak with your Caamasi

friends."

***

The way Senate meetings usually went, Han had expected to be stuck hanging

around Leia's office for at least another hour before she returned. It was

therefore to his mild surprise that he'd barely gotten comfortable in his wife's

inner office when a flicker of displaced air pressure announced that the door

from the outer office had just opened.

He swiveled his feet off the corner of her desk and landed them quietly on the

floor, getting up just as quietly from her chair and padding his way to the door

that separated the sections of the office. In the old days, he would have tried

to surprise her by jumping out and giving her a big hug and kiss. But her

increasing Jedi skills had long since made trying to sneak up on her a pretty

futile exercise.

Besides which, embarrassing her with some silly schoolkid prank would make her

madder at him than she probably already was over the Iphigin thing. Especially

if she'd brought company with her.

She had. With his ear pressed against the door, he could hear at least two other

voices besides Leia's.

For a moment he stood there, waiting to see if she would either bring her

visitors in or else invite him out to greet them. She certainly knew by now that

he was in here. Unless she'd rather he keep out of sight completely . . .

And then, across the room at her desk, the intercom display abruptly came on.

"-understand that we have no desire to make trouble for anyone," someone was

saying. We do not wish vengeance, and it is far too late for justice."

Frowning, Han crossed back to the desk. So okay. Leia wanted him to listen in on

the conversation, but didn't want him out there. Or didn't want whoever it was

knowing they were being listened to.

And then he got his first close look at the display, and suddenly he understood

her reticence. There were two Ishori out there . . . and two Caamasi.

"It is not a question of vengeance," one of the Ishori insisted. Probably a full

Senator, Han decided, if the elaborate tangle of his shoulder clasp was any

indication. "And it is never too late for justice."

"Yet what purpose would this so-named justice serve?" one of the Caamasi

countered quietly. "Our world is destroyed, and we are few and scattered. Would

punishing the Bothans miraculously make all right again?"

"Perhaps it would," the Ishori said, his voice starting to rise. Thinking hard

and fast, with that trademark Ishori anger coming along with it. Han grimaced,

the memory of his botched negotiation attempts at Iphigin nagging painfully at

him. "If the Bothans were declared guilty and forced to make reparations-"

At the other side of the board, the comm pinged. Leia's private comm channel,

Han noted with annoyance. Just when the conversation out there was starting to

get interesting; but it was probably one of the kids, and he really ought to

answer it. Flicking the intercom channel to record the rest of the conversation

going on out there-which was probably illegal, but he didn't care-he muted the

speaker volume and hit the comm key.

It wasn't the kids, or Winter, or even one of the Noghri. "Hello, Solo," Talon

Karrde said. "I didn't expect to find you on this channel."

"Likewise," Han said, frowning at the smuggler. "How did you get this

frequency?"

"Your wife gave it to me, of course," Karrde said, managing to look roguish and

innocent at the same time. "I gave her a ride back here from Wayland in the Wild

Karrde. I thought you knew."

"Yeah, I got a quick message from her about that," Han said. "I didn't know

you'd conned her out of her private frequency, though."

Karrde smiled, then sobered. "We're all suddenly sitting on some highly

explosive matters, my friend," he said. "Leia and I decided it might be useful

for me to be able to contact her, shall we say, discreetly. Has she told you yet

about the Caamas datacard we brought back from Wayland?"

Han's eyes flicked to the intercom display and the two Caamasi. "No, I haven't

had a chance to talk to her since I got back," he said. "But as it happens she's

got a pair of Caamasi in the outer office right now. Along with a couple of

Ishori."

Karrde hissed softly between his teeth. "So the Ishori are getting involved.

Which means the Diamala will undoubtedly be coming in on the other side."

"Oh, undoubtedly," Han agreed. "The other side of what?"

"I don't suppose it's much of a secret anymore," Karrde said. "At least not on

the exalted levels you circle in these days. I'm sure Leia will fill you in

later, but the bottom line is that we've discovered it was a group of so far

unidentified Bothans who sabotaged Caamas's shields on the eve of its

destruction."

Han felt his stomach tighten. "Great," he growled. "Just great. There aren't

enough people out there who hate the Bothans already. This is just what we

need."

"I agree," Karrde said. "I hope the Senate is up to the task of keeping this

under some semblance of control. The main reason I called was to tell Leia that

our friend Mazzic has caught Lak Jit, the Devaronian who actually found the

datacard. We've got him locked away, and I'll keep him there as long as she

wants me to. Unfortunately, it appears he's already spread the news as far as

his little feet and the flow of credits would take it. I don't think there's any

chance of keeping this a private matter within the New Republic hierarchy."

"Yeah, well, things were going along too smooth anyway," Han said sourly.

"Thanks."

"Anytime," Karrde said blandly. "You know I'm always at your service."

"That's good," Han said. "Because I've got another problem I'd like you to

tackle."

"Certainly. Cash or account?"

"We had a little run-in with some pirates off Iphigin," Han said, ignoring the

question. "Good-sized crowd: they had a Kaloth battlecruiser, a couple of

Corellian gunships, and some Corsair starfighters."

"Well-equipped group," Karrde agreed. "On the other hand, you'd be a fool to hit

a place like Iphigin without enough firepower to handle the job."

"It still surprised me a little," Han said. "But here's the kicker. Luke says

the battlecruiser had clones aboard."

Karrde's expression didn't change, but the lines at the corners of his eyes

tightened noticeably. "Does he, now," he said. "Any idea what kind of clones?"

"He didn't say," Han said. "You ever hear of a pirate gang running with cloned

crewers?"

"Not that I can recall," Karrde said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "My guess

would be that they're leftovers from that big Imperial offensive ten years ago.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had Mount Tantiss long enough to have turned out quite a

lot of them."

"So what are they doing with a pirate gang?" Han persisted. "Don't you think

that what's left of the Empire would want to keep them for themselves?"

"Point," Karrde conceded. "On the other hand, maybe they've decided it's more

effective to hire them out to one or more gangs as advisers or elite warriors,

Perhaps in exchange for a hand in choosing their targets, or else a share of the

plunder."

"Could be," Han said. "It could also be that some pirate group's found its own

supply of cloning cylinders."

Karrde's lip twitched. "Yes," he agreed grimly. "That could conceivably be the

case."

"So what are we going to do about it?"

"I suppose I'd better look into it," Karrde said. "See what I can find out." He

lifted an eyebrow slightly. "Cash or account?"

Han rolled his eyes. Every time he thought Karrde might actually be on the edge

of doing something noble and self-sacrificing, the other always found a way to

remind Han that his relationship with the New Republic was strictly

professional. "I give up," he said. "What's it going to take to bring you over

to our side, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," Karrde said consideringly. What did it take to lure you away

from the carefree life of an independent trader?"

Han made a face. "Leia," he said.

"Exactly," Karrde said dryly. "Now, if she had a sister-I don't suppose she

does?"

"Not that I know of," Han said. "Though with the Skywalker family you never

know."

"I won't hold my breath," Karrde said. "We'll do this on account, then. We can

set the price later."

"You're all heart."

"I know," Karrde said. "Who shall I report to, you or Luke?"

"Better make it me," Han said. "Luke may be out of touch; he's gone off on a

little pirate hunt of his own."

"Really," Karrde said, frowning. "Who's he going after, if I may ask?"

"The Cavrilhu gang. He got the location of one of their bolt-holes from New

Republic Intelligence-it's an asteroid cluster in the Kauron system-and he

decided to sneak in and take a look around."

"I see," Karrde said. "Too late to call him back, I suppose?"

"Probably," Han said. "Don't worry, Luke can take care of himself."

"That wasn't the part I was worried about," Karrde said. "I was thinking more

along the lines that his sudden appearance might chase them underground where we

can't get at them at all."

"Well, if they scare that easily, they can't be much of a threat, can they?" Han

suggested.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it." Karrde paused, and a shadow seemed

to pass over his face. "Speaking of Luke, how is he doing these days?"

Han studied the smuggler, trying to decipher his suddenly changed expression.

"All right, I guess," he said cautiously. "Why?"

"A feeling," Karrde said. "Mara's been oddly restive lately, and seemed a bit

touchy for a while after we ran into Leia on Wayland. I thought it might have

something to do with him."

"Funny you should bring that up," Han said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I

got that same feeling about Luke the last time I mentioned Mara to him.

Coincidence?"

"Perhaps," Karrde said. "On the other hand, they're both rather strong in the

Force. Maybe there's something going on there that they're both sensing."

"Could be," Han said slowly. Though that wouldn't explain the other stuff Luke

seemed to have been going through at Iphigin. Would it? "These clones, maybe?"

Karrde shrugged. "I'll try to talk to her about it. Maybe find a way to get the

two of them together."

"Yeah, it's been a while since they've talked," Han agreed. "I'll try to work on

Luke at this end when he gets back."

"Good," Karrde said. "In the meantime, I'd better get on this pirate matter.

Tell Leia good-bye for me, if you would, and tell her I'll be in touch."

"Sure," Han said. "Happy hunting."

Karrde smiled, and the display went blank.

Han leaned back in his chair, gazing darkly at nothing in particular. Caamas. It

was, as he'd said to Karrde, all that the New Republic needed right now.

Because it wasn't just Caamas, though Caamas by itself was certainly bad enough.

The bigger problem was that dragging Caamas back into the light again was going

to dredge up memories of a thousand other atrocities that had been inflicted by

one group or another over the years. Old grudges, old feuds, old

conflicts&mdashthe galaxy was riddled with them. It was what had made it

possible for people like Karrde-and him and Chewie, for that matter-to make a

good living at smuggling. There were so many sides of s o many conflicts for

smugglers to sell stuff to.

For the last couple of decades the need for a common resistance to the Empire

had kept most of those resentments buried under the surface. But not anymore.

The Imperial threat was so small now as to be laughable. If this Caamas thing

got all those old problems boiling to the surface again . . .

He started as the door to his left hissed open. "Hi," Leia said softly as she

came into the room.

"Oh. Hi," Han said, scrambling to his feet and throwing a belated look at the

intercom display. Engrossed first with Karrde and then with his own thoughts, he

hadn't even noticed Leia's guests departing. "Sorry-I got distracted."

"That's all right," Leia said, stepping into his arms for a quick hug.

Or not so quick. She remained there, pressing close to him, holding him tightly.

"I just talked to Karrde," Han said, her hair tickling his lips. "He told me

what you found out about Caamas."

"We're in trouble, Han," Leia said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "They don't

realize it yet, most of them. But this could be the biggest threat the New

Republic has ever faced. It could literally tear us apart."

"It'll be okay," Han soothed her, feeling just a tiny bit smug despite the

seriousness of the moment. Most of the Senators in there hadn't spotted the

danger of the Caamas thing, but he had. "We got through that Almania rebellion

okay, didn't we?"

"It isn't the same," Leia said. "Kueller was a troubled man lashing out around

him, and the New Republic was trying to stop him without looking to everyone

like we were becoming a new version of the Empire. What Caamas is going to do is

polarize

good, honest people, all of whom genuinely want justice but differ violently as

to what that justice should consist of."

"It'll still be okay," Han insisted, taking her by her upper arms and pushing

her far enough away to peer sternly into her eyes. "Let's not give up before we

even get started, okay?"

He stopped, a sudden horrible suspicion digging into him. "Unless," he added

slowly, "it's already over. Do you know something I don't?"

"I don't know," Leia said, her eyes slipping away from his gaze. "I'm sensing

something about the coming days. A-I don't know-a crisis point, I suppose, where

something vitally important could go either of two ways."

"About Caamas?" Han asked.

"I don't know," Leia sighed. "I've tried meditating, but so far I haven't been

able to get anything more. All I know is that it started when I met Karrde on

Wayland and we read the Caamas datacard."

"Mm," Han said, wishing now that he'd tried to talk Luke out of his private

pirate hunt. He might have been able to help Leia focus this feeling of hers.

"Well, don't worry, you'll get it. A little quiet time-a little husbandly

affection-and it'll pop right out at you."

Leia smiled at him, some of the tension leaving her face as she did so. "Is that

what you want right now? A little wifely affection?"

"First thing I want is to get you out of here," Han told her, taking her arm and

starting her toward the door. "You need some peace and quiet, and once the kids

get back from their classes, there'll be precious little of either. Let's grab

it while we can."

"Sounds good to me," Leia sighed. "I don't imagine they're doing anything out

there right now except arguing about justice and revenge. They can do that

without my help."

"Sure," Han said. "Nothing important's going to happen in the galaxy for the

next hour."

"You sure?"

Han squeezed her arm reassuringly. "I absolutely guarantee it."

***

There was a flicker from the bridge lights, and through the viewports the

mottled sky of hyperspace faded away.

But not into the usual pattern of starlines. This time when the mottled sky

vanished, it vanished into total blackness.

And into total blindness.

For a long moment Captain Nalgol gazed out the Tyrannic's viewport at the

emptiness, fighting against the queasy feeling of vulnerability. True, jumping

his Imperial Star Destroyer while cloaked had brought them into the Bothawui

system completely blind and deaf, which was a potentially disastrous position

for a combat ship to be in. But in this case, of course, the cloaking shield

also worked the other way, concealing them from their enemies. Still, all other

things being equal, it wasn't a trade-off he would have voluntarily chosen to

make.

"Report from the hangar bay," the fighter control officer called. "Scout ships

are away."

"Acknowledged," Nalgol said, scanning as much of the blackness out there as he

could see without moving his head-it wouldn't look good for the bridge crew to

see him looking back and forth at nothing. He caught a glimpse of one of the

drive flares coming out from beneath the hull; and then the scout crossed the

cloaking shield boundary and vanished.

He took a deep breath, wondering yet again what in the Empire he and the others

were doing here. Sitting there in Moff Disra's office with Trazzen and Argona

and Dorja, it had all sounded reasonable enough. Out here in the wilds of the

Bothawui system, millions of kilometers from anywhere, it didn't seem nearly as

clever anymore.

On the other hand, how many of Grand Admiral Thrawn's schemes had ever looked

even vaguely reasonable until they were sprung on the enemy?

Nalgol snorted under his breath. He'd never served directly beneath Thrawn, or

any of the Emperor's other Grand Admirals for that matter, so he'd never been

able to form a personal opinion of their skills. Still, even viewed from the

edges of Thrawn's war machine where the Tyrannic's duty had taken it most of

that time, Nalgol had to admit the Empire had been doing pretty well while the

Grand Admiral was in command. Before he'd been murdered by that Noghri traitor

Rukh.

Or had apparently been murdered. That had been a nifty little sleight of hand.

How had he pulled it off, anyway?

More to the point, why had he been lying low all these years, letting

incompetent megalomaniacal fools like Admiral Daala bleed the Empire of

resources without gaining anything to show for it?

And why, now that be was back, had he linked up with Moff Disra, of all people?

Nalgol grimaced to himself. He'd never liked Disra. Had never really trusted the

man, for one thing-he'd always struck Nalgol as the type who would fight

viciously to keep his share of the scraps of the Empire rather than watch it

grow to someone else's advantage. If Thrawn had thrown in with him, maybe he

wasn't as smart as legend had it.

Of course, Dorja had vouched firmly for the Grand Admiral, both for his

character and his military genius. But then, Argona just as firmly vouched for

the competence of Disra himself. So what did any of them know?

But at least it was Thrawn back there. The genetic analysis he'd done had

confirmed that beyond the whisper of a doubt. It was Thrawn, and everyone said

he was a genius. He would just have to hope they were right.

A movement to the left caught his attention, and be turned to see one of the

scout ships cut across the edge of the cloaking shield, changing course to stay

inside it. "Well?" Nalgol demanded.

"We're nearly on top of it, sir," the comm officer reported. "A small course

change and we'll be there."

"Feed the course to the helm," Nalgol ordered, though if that hadn't already

been done he was going to be angry. "Helm, get us moving. Comm, what about the

Obliterator and Ironhand?"

"Our scouts have made contact with theirs, sir," the fighter control officer

said. "They're coordinating our courses to make sure we don't bump into each

other."

"They had better," Nalgol warned icily. Skulking around out here blind and deaf

was bad enough; it would be the height of professional humiliation if the three

Star Destroyers managed to fumble their sightless way into collisions with each

other. All the more so if the cloaking shields went down and the spectacle was

laid bare right out in the open for all of Bothawui system to see.

But at the moment, of course, they couldn't see. That was the whole point of

this exercise. As far as the Bothans' homeworld defense apparatus was concerned,

there was nothing out here except the exhausts of a handful of small ships

moving apparently aimlessly around.

Small ships . . . and one not-quite-so-small comet.

"We're under way, Captain," the helm announced. "ETA, five minutes."

Nalgol nodded. "Acknowledged."

Slowly, the minutes ticked by. Nalgol watched the blackness outside the

viewport, occasionally glimpsing a drive flare as one or another of his scouts

ducked back inside the shroud of the cloaking shield to check on the Tyrannic's

progress and then ducked back out again. The timer ran down to zero-he sensed

the huge ship slowing&mdash

And then, abruptly, there it was, off to starboard: a slice of dirty rock and

ice poking through the edge of the shield, sliding rapidly sternward. "There!"

he snapped. "We're passing it!"

"We're on it, sir," the helm called back. Sure enough, even as Nalgol watched,

the aft motion of the comet's edge. came to a stop and then slowly backed up

until it was hanging off the starboard side just ahead of the command

superstructure. "We're stabilized now, Captain."

"Tether lines?"

"The shuttles are on their way with them now, sir," another officer reported.

"They'll be secured in ten minutes."

"Good." The tether lines weren't nearly strong enough to physically hold the

Star Destroyer and comet together, of course. Their purpose was merely to give

the helm the necessary feedback to make sure the orbiting bodies stayed in the

same relative positions as the comet continued its leisurely drift inward toward

Bothawui. "Any word from the other two Star Destroyers?"

"The Ironhand has successfully tethered," the comm officer reported. "The

Obliterator's in position; they should be tethered about the time we are."

Nalgol nodded, taking a deep breath and. letting it out quietly. So they'd made

it. They were here, presumably unobserved by the Bothans.

And now there was nothing to do but wait. And hope that Grand Admiral Thrawn was

really the genius everyone claimed he was.

CHAPTER

8

"Yeah, all right," the greasy-looking man on the comm display said, his eyes

narrowed with suspicion. "Let's try it again."

"I've already told you twice," Luke said, putting some grouchy weariness into

his voice and expression. "It's not going to change just because you think it

ought to."

"So tell me again. Your name is&mdash?"

"Mensio," Luke said tiredly, glancing out the viewport at the hundreds of

asteroids drifting past and wondering which one this particular sentry was

hiding on. "I work for Wesselman, and I've got a shipment to deliver to you.

Which part of that don't you understand?"

"Let's start with the part about you and Wesselman," the man growled. "He never

mentioned anyone named Mensio before."

"I'll have him send you a complete crew list when I get back," Luke said

sarcastically.

"Watch your mouth," the other snapped. For a long moment he stared hard at

Luke's face. Luke gazed back, trying to look as bored and unconcerned as

possible. All things considered, the face of Luke Skywalker had to be one of the

most recognizable in the galaxy. But with darkened hair and skin, an artificial

beard, a Gorezh-style slant added to the outer corners of his eyes, and a pair

of scars slicing across one cheek, he should be able to pass completely

unrecognized.

"Another thing is that Pinchers usually makes this run," the sentry said at

last. "How come he's not here?"

"He came down with something and can't fly," Luke said. Which was true, more or

less. Pincers should still be snoozing in peaceful oblivion back on Wistril

under the influence of the Jedi healing trance Luke had put on him.

His associates were not going to be happy with the smuggler for letting Luke get

the drop on him that way. On the other hand, when he came out of the trance he

ought to be healthier than he'd been in years.

"Look, I haven't got all week to sit out here dishing the dust with you," Luke

continued. "You going to let me in, or do I take it back to Wesselman and let

him charge you a double delivery fee? I don't care-I get paid either way."

The sentry growled something unintelligible. "All right, keep your blaster

tucked. What have you got?"

"A little of everything," Luke told him. "Some Norsam DRX55 lift mines, a few

Praxon emergency survival pods, some GTU power armor suits. Plus one or two

little surprises."

"Yeah? The captain hates surprises."

"He'll love these," Luke promised. "Surprise number one is a set of hyperdrive

boosters. Surprise number two is an SB-20 security breach droid." He shrugged.

"Course, if he doesn't want them, I'll be happy to take them off your hands."

"Yeah, I'll bet you would." The sentry snorted. "Okay, fine, come on in. You

know the in-route, or do I gotta draw you a map?"

"I know it," Luke said, mentally crossing his fingers. There were supposedly

only two safe paths in through the maze of asteroids to this particular base of

the Cavrilhu Pirates: one of which was safe for the inbound trip, the other for

the outbound. He'd pulled visuals for the routes from Pincher's mind while

setting up the healing trance, and would feel reasonably confident about tracing

out the path in his X-wing.

Doing the same in a lumbering Y60 Thalassian cargo hauler was another matter

entirely. Especially when the Y60 no longer had any sublight drive units behind

its central group of drive nozzles.

"Sure," the sentry sneered. "Try not to hit anything big."

The display went dead. Luke switched it off from his end, then keyed the

makeshift intercom he'd rigged to the hollowed-out area where the central drive

units had once been. "We're on our way," he announced. "You doing okay back

there?"

There was a twitter of acknowledgment from Artoo, along

with a warble that sounded distinctly nervous. "Don't worry, we'll get through

just fine," Luke soothed him. "You just make sure the ship's ready to fly."

The droid warbled again, and for a moment Luke thought back to the covert shroud

gambit he and New Republic Intelligence bad cooked up for his penetration into

the Imperial-held world of Poderis during the Thrawn campaign. There, too, he'd

had Artoo and his X-wing stashed aboard a larger ship for a quick exit.

But this was a smuggler's freighter they were flying now, not a carefully

designed breakaway vehicle. It was going to be a different matter entirely to

get the X-wing clear if they needed to get out of here in a hurry.

Well, he'd cross that dune when he reached it. In the meantime, the preferred

option would be to keep them from having to make that quick exit at all. And the

first step in that was to convince the pirates' sentries that he was indeed a

legitimate member of their supply network.

Resting his hands on the freighter's controls, be ran through his Jedi calming

exercises. "May the Force be with me," he murmured, and beaded in.

It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. With typical smuggler's finesse,

Pinchers bad modified the Y60's engines and control surfaces to make the

freighter faster and more maneuverable than its ungainly appearance would have

implied, and even with the central drive section removed there was more than

enough power Left to do the job. The ship easily bandied the sharp turns and

backtracks necessary to keep it out of reach of the pirates' defense setup, as

well as the more mundane problem of not bumping into any of the asteroids

rolling past.

The whole trip rather reminded Luke of one of Leia's war stories, the one about

the Falcon's dizzying escape through the asteroid field after the Rebels'

evacuation of Hoth. But of course, he wasn't flying full-bore through the

floating rock pile the way they had, with TIE fighters and Imperial Star

Destroyers breathing down his neck.

On his way out, of course, things might be different.

He reached the center of the maze to find himself approaching a large but

otherwise undistinguished asteroid. According to New Republic Intelligence's

meager information and supplemented by the snippets he'd pulled from Pincher's

mind, the pirates' base consisted of a series of tunnels and chambers originally

burned into the rock by some enterprising but unsuccessful pre-Clone Wars mining

operation. The landing bays were camouflaged as valleys in the uneven surface,

and as Luke approached the asteroid a ring of lights came on between two

sharp-edged ridges to indicate his designated landing site. He eased the

freighter into the opening-felt a brief jolt as he passed through an atmosphere

barrier-and with a multiple bump of landing legs he was down.

A lone man was waiting for him at the bottom of the landing ramp. "You Mensio?"

he demanded gruffly, giving Luke's disguised face a quick once-over. His hand,

Luke noticed, was resting with total lack of subtlety on the butt of his

holstered blaster.

"You expecting someone else?" Luke countered, resting his hand on his own

blaster in response and looking around the landing bay. The room beneath the

atmosphere-shield ceiling was more or less circular, roughly carved from the

rock of the asteroid, with a half-dozen pressure doors spaced more or less

evenly around the perimeter. Austere in the extreme. "Yeah, I'm Mensio. Nice

place you got here."

"We like it," the man said. "We just talked to Wesselman."

"No kidding," Luke said, still looking around. The New Republic Intelligence

agent on Amorris was supposed to have locked Wesselman away incommunicado for

the next few days. If he'd failed&mdashor if the supplier had somehow

escaped&mdash "I hope you said hi for me."

"Yeah, we did," the pirate said darkly. "He says he's never heard of you."

"Really," Luke said casually, reaching out to the other with the Force. There

was a level of suspicion in the pirate's mind, but no hint of the certainty that

would mean such a conversation had actually taken place. This had to be a bluff.

Or rather, a test. "That's funny, you talking to him and all," Luke went on,

finishing his inspection and focusing his gaze on the pirate. "Wesselman told me

he was going to be out of touch for the next few days." He probed the other's

mind a little deeper&mdash "Heading out to Morshdine sector, as I recall.

Something about picking up a load of unregistered Tibanna gas for you?"

The pirate gave him a smile that was half sneer, and as he did so his suspicion

faded away. "Yeah, that's where he's going, all right," he conceded. "Hasn't

gotten there yet, though. We're still trying to contact him."

Luke shrugged, wishing he knew what Wesselman's exact itinerary was supposed to

have been. If the supplier got too far behind schedule, the pirates' suspicions

would probably start rising again. Too late to do anything about that now,

though. "Well, when you do, say hi for me," he said. "So. Did I pass?"

The pirate sneered again and lifted his left hand. Four of the six pressure

doors slid open and four tough-looking thugs stepped through into the landing

bay. Holstering their drawn blasters, they headed toward Luke's freighter.

"Yeah, you passed," he said. "You got any fancy locks or booby traps on your

cargo hold we should know about?"

"Nope, everything's clear," Luke said. "Help yourselves. You got any food around

here? That shipboard stuff gets worse every day."

"Sure," the pirate said, pointing to one of the two doors that hadn't had a

guard waiting behind it. "Snack area's through there. Don't drink it dry-we'll

have you unloaded in a couple of hours, and I don't want you tackling the

out-route half-drunk. It'd make a mess, and I'd be the one who'd have to clean

it up."

The indicated door led into a room about ten meters long and four wide, with a

pair of tables equipped with bench seats arranged down the center. Along the

right-hand wall stood various music and vid stations; along the opposite side

was a waist-high counter with a gleaming SE-5 service droid waiting behind it.

"Good day, fine sir," the droid said brightly as Luke stepped into the room.

"May I be of assistance?"

"You got any tomo-spiced karkan ribenes?" Luke asked, glancing around. There

were no exits that he could see that might lead from this room into the rest of

the complex. Not surprising, really, considering the sort of visitors the snack

area catered to.

"Yes, fine sir, I most certainly do," the droid assured him, shuffling over a

few steps and producing a package from beneath the counter. "It will take only a

few moments to prepare them."

Luke grunted. "Fine."

It took just under four minutes, in fact, for the droid to heat the slab of

ribenes and arrange them artistically on a plate. Luke spent the time wandering

around the room, ostensibly looking at the vid stations, actually hunting for

hidden spy cams.

He'd spotted three of them by the time his meal was ready. Even in a completely

isolated room, the Cavrilhu Pirates weren't taking any chances.

"May I provide you something to drink?" the droid asked as he presented Luke

with the plate.

"Don't bother," Luke said. "I've got better stuff on my ship."

"Ah," the droid said. "Will you need a set of utensils?"

Luke gave him a scornful look. With spiced ribenes? You must be kidding."

"Oh," the droid murmured, looking a little nonplused. "Well . .. do enjoy, fine

sir."

Luke turned away, suppressing the out-of-character reflex to thank the droid.

Tearing one of the ribenes off the end of the slab, he munched on it as he

headed back out into the landing bay.

The pirates hadn't been idle in his absence. They'd gotten the Y60's wide cargo

ramp lowered and were beginning to bring the big transport boxes out on

repulsorlift floater carts. "I hope you're watching the corners with those

things," Luke warned one of them, jabbing toward the floater cart with his

ribene. "I don't want my restraint rings getting all chewed up."

"Tuck your teeth in," the other growled, flipping his head to toss a short braid

back over one shoulder. "Nothing's gonna get chewed up. Cept maybe your skin if

you give us any static."

"Yeah-you and who else?" Luke fired back, heading past him up the ramp. "You

don't mind if I check for myself."

"Just don't get in the way."

There were two other pirates in the cargo hold, one just settling his box into

place on his floater cart, the other already starting for the ramp with his

load. Luke crossed to the side bulkhead, stretching out with the Force as he

pretended to examine the restraint rings for damage. In the near distance,

somewhere down one of the asteroid's corridors, he could sense two more of the

pirates returning for their next load. He estimated the timing

yes. He should just be able to make it.

The last of the two pirates was almost to the ramp now. Grunting with apparent

satisfaction as to the safety of his equipment, Luke changed direction, crossing

the hold toward the access door leading into the freighter's living section. The

pirate maneuvered his cart down the ramp and turned around the side of the ship.

And for perhaps the next ten seconds, Luke was alone.

There was no time to waste, but he and Artoo had had plenty of time to practice

on the flight here and had gotten the drill down to a science. Whistling softly,

Luke stepped to the box the two of them had prepared, at the same time getting a

Force grip on his ribene plate and sending it flying smoothly across the hold.

Artoo had heard the whistled signal, opening the access door as the meal neared

it. Luke took another moment to ease the plate as far into the living section as

he could see, then set it down on the deck and pulled open the side panel on the

box beside him.

Inside, well packaged against random bumps, was Wesselman's fancy SB-20 security

breach droid. It wasn't going to do the pirates any good now, not with most of

its insides cut away, but the shell that was left would make an ideal hiding

place for a quiet infiltration of their base. Curling himself up, Luke squeezed

into the narrow space and pulled the box's side panel closed again.

Just in time. Beneath him, the deck vibrated slightly as the returning pirates

climbed up the ramp. Luke stretched out with the Force, sensing as he did so

their sudden suspicion. He ran through his sensory enhancement techniques&mdash

"Control, this is "Grinner," a murmured voice came to Luke's ears, as clear as

if the pirate had been standing right beside him. "You see our smuggler

anywhere?"

"Last I saw, he was headed into the hold," the faint voice of the pirate Luke

had talked to earlier came in response. "Said he was worried about his restraint

rings."

"Yeah, he was there when we left," another voice agreed.

"Fine," Grinner said. "So where is he now?"

"Probably inside," the second voice said. "He was headed that direction when

Fulkes and I were leaving, chomping down on a plate of ribenes."

"Probably looking for something to wash down the tomospice with," a new voice

added. "He told the service droid he had some good drinking stuff aboard."

"Maybe," Grinner grunted, the word almost covered over by the soft hiss of metal

on steelhide as he drew his blaster. "Or maybe he's trying something cute, like

hiding in one of these boxes. You want to get a scanner crew down here,

Control?"

"Steady, Grinner," the unfamiliar voice advised him. "Let me run a check first."

For a long moment the hold was silent. Keeping his Force hold on the side of the

box, Luke unsealed the flap of his tunic and got a grip on his lightsaber. If.

they didn't buy this, he would have to take them out.

"You can all decompress," Control's voice said. "He's gone inside, all right.

The plate he took out of the snack room is about five meters inside that door in

front of you. There's no way he could have stashed it in there and gotten back

out to the hold in the-let's see-in the nine seconds he was out of sight."

There was a faint snort and the sound of Grinner's blasts being holstered again.

"Yeah, okay," he said. "There's just something about this guy I don't like."

Luke took his hand off his lightsaber, letting his breath out slowly in a silent

sigh of relief. His original idea, back when he'd first borrowed this ship, had

been to simply take whatever food he'd scrounged into the box with him. But that

plan had felt wrong, somehow, and he and Artoo had worked out this variation

instead. He was very glad now that they had.

"So get him unloaded and out of here," Control said. "You see any sign of that

SB-20 droid he said he brought? I want that one next."

"Uh . . . no. Only droid box I see is an R2 unit."

"That's the one," Control said. "A SB-20 is an R2 shell with espionage gear and

programming tucked away inside."

Luke's box lurched as the pirate got his float cart underneath it. "Never heard

of it."

"They're not exactly advertised at droid depots," Control said acidly. "The

captain's been after Wesselman for one for years."

Grinner grunted. "And this one just happens to show up here today, huh?

Convenient."

"Give it a rest, Grinner," the other pirate in the hold said. "Okay, I've got

the droid. Where do you want it?"

"Electronics shop," Control told him. "The captain wants Pap and K'Cink to check

it out."

"Right."

A moment later they were off, angling down the ramp and across the landing-bay

floor. Luke braced himself against the droid shell, listening to the sounds

around him and trying to ignore the violent shaking that was really only the

small bumps and vibrations of the float cart. He had assumed he would be taken

to whatever storage place the rest of the cargo was bound for, which would

presumably have given him a certain amount of privacy for his exit from the box.

On the other hand, the electronics shop was probably closer to the command areas

of the base, which was his ultimate goal. All in all, a fair trade-off.

They passed through one of the pressure doors, and for a few minutes the only

sounds were the hum of the float cart's repulsorlifts and the pirate's footsteps

and raspy breathing. Then, gradually, more sounds began to filter in: other

voices and footsteps, mostly distant but occasionally passing close by. Luke

stretched out with the Force, sensing a variety of human and alien minds in the

vicinity. There was an odd change of echo as they apparently left the corridor

and entered a larger room; another change, this time in reverse, marked where

they left the room and passed into a corridor again. The float can turned around

a corner, then another; entered another open space filled with the dull rumble

of muted voices&mdash "Lanius?" Control's voice said.

"Yeah, you got me," the pirate pushing Luke's float cart said.

"Change of plans—Pap's got something torn apart in the shop and doesn't have

room for your droid. Go park it in the Level Four storeroom."

"Yeah, okay." The float cart slowed and changed direction. "Too much to ask for

them to make up their minds?"

"Very funny," Control growled. "Just hustle it, okay?"

"I'm hustling, I'm hustling," Lanius grumped under his breath.

The cart moved on; but even as it again changed corridors, Luke began to feel an

odd sensation tingling at the back of his mind. Somewhere-somehow-something had

suddenly gone wrong.

He stretched out with the Force again, trying to track down the sensation.

Ahead, a door hissed open and the cart again entered a large room. It seemed to

be taking a long time to get across it . .

And then, abruptly, the cart stopped. "What the-" the pirate spat.

"Get out of the way, Lanius," the voice of Control boomed over a loudspeaker.

"You've got yourself a rider."

The pirate bit out a curse, and there was a scramble of feet as he darted away

from the lift cart. "All right, whoever you are," Control continued. "We know

you're in there-we got a clear scan from the security corridor. Come on out."

Luke grimaced. So that's what that tingling sensation had been: a premonition of

the mess he was now in. A pity he hadn't paid more attention to it, though

offhand he couldn't see what he could have done to change anything at that

point.

And anyway, berating himself for errors in judgment would gain him nothing.

Pulling out his comlink, he thumbed it on. "Artoo?" he said softly.

There was no answer, just a quiet burst of static. "Oh, and we've also jammed

your transmissions," Control added. "I'm afraid the only one you're going to be

able to talk to is me."

So Luke was on his own. Tucking his lightsaber a little deeper into its hiding

place, he sealed the tunic flap loosely across it. "Okay," he shouted. "Hold

your fire-I'm coming out."

He released his Force grip on the side panel and let it swing open. Three

pirates were visible, standing well back from the box, their blasters steady on

him. Five others, he could sense, were spread out around the box outside his

field of view.

Five others, plus a Defel skulking somewhere in the shadows as backup. Once

again, they weren't taking any chances.

"Well, well," Control's voice said as Luke eased his way out of the disemboweled

droid and stood up. "Took a wrong turn, did you, Mensio?"

"No, I think it was Lanius who took the wrong turn," Luke said, keeping his

hands away from his blaster as he looked around. They were in a large,

high-ceilinged room, with stacked boxes lining two of the walls. His box had

been set down in an otherwise unoccupied corner away from the rest of the

merchandise; the eight pirates were arrayed in a rough semicircle around him. He

didn't spot the Defel, but it was probably somewhere between him and the only

door, across the room behind the ring of blasters. "I came to see your captain,

not your inventory."

One of the pirates facing Luke growled something unintelligible. "I think you

ought to know that Hensing there really despises sarcastic jinks," Control said.

"Really," Luke said, sending another casual glance toward the door area. The

glow panel switch was just to the side of the panel: a simple push plate that he

could trigger with the Force. Perfect. "Sorry to hear that."

"You could get a lot sorrier," Control warned. "He has a theory that jinks get

less sarcastic when they've had a hand or two blown off."

Luke smiled grimly, flexing the fingers of his artificial right hand. "He's

right about that," he said. "Take my word for it."

"Just so we understand each other," Control said. "Take out your blaster-I'm

sure you know the routine."

"Sure," Luke said, pulling out his blaster with exaggerated care and lowering it

to the floor in front of him. "You want the spare power packs, too?" be asked,

pointing to the two small flat boxes riding the other side of his gunbelt.

"No, you're welcome to hide behind them if you'd like," Control said. "Just kick

the blaster away from you."

Luke complied, using the Force to make sure the weapon skidded to a halt

precisely at Hensing's feet. "Happy?"

"Happier than you're going to be," Control said. "I don't think you realize how

much trouble you're in here, Mensio."

It was time, Luke decided, to switch tacks. "Fine, no more nonsense," he said,

putting an edge into both his voice and his posture. "I'm here to talk to your

captain about making a deal."

If Control was impressed by the new Mensio, his voice didn't show it. "Sure you

are," he said. "What, you couldn't call for an appointment?"

"I wanted to check out your security," Luke told him. "See if you're the sort of

people my employer would be interested in doing business with."

"And what would this business consist of?"

"I was instructed to discuss it with your captain," Luke said loftily. "Not

underlings."

Hensing growled again, lifting his blaster. "Then your employer is either stupid

or a fool or both," Control said. "You have five seconds to give me something

solid. After that, I turn Hensing loose on you."

"If you insist," Luke said, crossing his arms across his chest and looking

across the room at the glow panel switch. That warning tingle had returned . . .

We understand that you're using clones to crew some of your ships. We want to

discuss hiring some of them from you."

Control tsked. "Sorry-wrong answer. Take him." The pirates lifted their

blasters&mdash

And reaching out through the Force, Luke flipped off the glow panels.

There was a snarled curse, almost drowned out by the sputtering of multiple

blaster bolts cutting through the air where Luke had been standing. But Luke was

no longer there. A Force-strengthened leap had sent him sailing over their heads

toward the door, lightsaber ready in his hand. If they'd been overconfident

enough not to leave a guard outside the door&mdash There was a flicker of

premonition, and he had the lightsaber

in guard position just as he spotted the Defel's pale red eyes gazing down at

him from, the top of one of the stacks of boxes. He sensed rather than saw the

weapon tracking toward him, igniting the lightsaber just as the blaster's flash

sparked from between the red eyes.

The green blade blazed into existence, startlingly bright in the darkness,

deflecting the Defel's blaster bolt harmlessly away. But even as he hit the

floor beside the door, Luke realized the Defel had won this round. His shot had

missed, but he had forced Luke to reveal both his location and his true

identity.

The other pirates weren't slow in picking up on either. Someone across the room

swore-"It's Skywalker!" another shouted&mdashand suddenly a fresh volley of

blaster fire was raining through the air toward him.

Luke backed to the door, letting the Force guide his defense. The door had

probably been sealed; jumping sideways toward it to temporarily throw off his

opponents' aim, he slashed twice with his lightsaber. A flat dive out the

opening, and he was free.

The corridor outside was deserted. Rolling back to his feet, lightsaber at the

ready; he stretched out with the Force, seeking the ambush that must surely be

lurking nearby. But there were no other presences that he could detect. "Giving

up already?" he called.

"Hardly," Control's voice came from a speaker set into the ceiling a few meters

away. "Rather foolish of you to give away your identity so quickly."

"I prefer to think of it as an overabundance of confidence," Luke countered,

stretching out a little harder. Still nothing; and if he'd really caught them

off. guard, it wouldn't be smart to give them time to regroup. Picking what he

hoped was the direction he'd come from, he set off at a fast trot. "You ready to

tell me where you're getting your clones from?" he added toward the speaker.

"I'd really rather not have to hunt down your captain and ask him personally."

"Hunt all you like," Control said, his voice now coming from a different speaker

farther down the corridor. Clearly, they were tracking Luke's movements. "You

won't find anyone here who knows. But thank you for confirming that was what you

came here to learn."

"You're welcome," Luke said, clenching his teeth as the tingle of danger again

tugged at him. Ahead, the corridor curved gently to the right, and somewhere

beyond the curve he could finally sense other presences waiting for him.

It was a classic bottle-squeeze setup: pin the enemy in a curve or angle where

he would be trapped in a crossfire without the two ends of the crossfire

shooting' at each other. He could sense the pirates he'd left behind in the

storeroom piling out into the corridor now; a few more heartbeats, and there

would be blaster fire coming at his back.

But the pirates' contingency plans were unlikely to have included the

possibility of a Jedi running loose in their base. Just this side of the curve,

a heavy blast door revealed the presence of a side corridor leading out of the

trap to the left. The blaster he'd left back in the storeroom wouldn't have made

a dent in it; but he had a far more efficient way of opening doors than the

pirates could have anticipated. Skidding to a stop in front of the blast door,

he ignited his lightsaber and slashed throu gh the lock mechanism. It began

sliding ponderously open&mdash

There was a flicker of warning, and Luke spun around just in time to sweep the

lightsaber blade across three incoming blaster bolts. The pirates from the

storeroom, seeing their bottle-squeeze about to fail, were charging full speed

toward him, firing as they ran. Luke blocked two more bolts-the rest were going

wide-and ducked through the still opening blast door into a wide corridor.

The corridor's appearance was a surprise. Unlike the roughhewn feel of the rest

of the base, this area looked like it might have been transplanted straight from

inside a capital starship. Smooth metal-lined walls formed a square cross

section about four meters wide, the corridor itself stretching twenty meters

before ending in a T-junction with another of the more typical rocky corridors.

The only light was the spillover coming from behind Luke and the similar glow

from the far end. Even so, there was enough illumination to see that all the

surfaces of the corridor-walls, ceiling, and floor-were covered with a

decorative pattern of three-centimeter-diameter circles spaced about ten

centimeters apart.

The corridor itself was deserted, and Luke could sense no one skulking around

the corners ahead. Apparently, he had indeed caught them off guard.

But his danger sense was still tingling. Something about the corridor? Still,

with two groups of enemies behind him, there was nowhere to go but through.

Senses alert for a trap, he headed down the corridor.

He'd made it four steps when, without warning, gravity abruptly reversed itself,

sending him falling toward the ceiling.

There was no chance for physical or mental preparation. His head and shoulders

slammed into the metal, sending a jolt of pain arcing through him, the rest of

his body tumbling down with a dull thud and more pain. He gasped for breath-the

impact had knocked most of the air out of him-but before he could get more than

half a lungful he was falling again, this time sideways toward one of the side

walls.

He landed hard on his right side, a fresh stab of pain lancing through head and

shoulder and hip as he scrabbled around for a handhold. But there was nothing to

grip on the smooth metal. Stretching out to the force, he sensed the

gravitational field starting to change again; and then his new floor suddenly

became the ceiling again, and he was falling toward the far wall.

But not toward flat metal this time. Twisting his head around, he saw that what

he'd taken to be decorative circles drawn in the wall were in fact the heads of

flat-tipped metal rods. They had extruded outward from the wall now, rising like

a forest of blunted spears to meet his descent.

Clenching his teeth, Luke reached out to the Force and threw out his hands to

meet the oncoming bars. With their tight spacing there was no chance for him to

slide between them; but if he could grab two of them and slow his fall, he could

at least keep from landing on them at full speed. He caught hold of the two

pointed at his face and chest, reaching to the Force for the strength to slow

himself. He succeeded, and for a brief moment held himself balanced over them in

midair&mdash

And then he was slammed onto them anyway as a corresponding set of bars from the

wall behind him jabbed hard into his back and legs, driving him forward. He

grunted as the wind was again knocked out of him, trying to twist around against

the forest of bars digging into him.

But even as he struggled to work his left arm through the rods pinning it, two

more sets of bars slid out from the floor and ceiling, slamming into his

shoulders, head, and legs and pinning him even tighter in place. There was

another flurry of gravity changes that did little except jam every part of his

body in random turn against the various sets of bars&mdash

And then gravity settled back to its original vector, leaving him

suspended more. or less upright in the room.

"Well, well," Control's mocking voice said into the silence. "Surprised, are

we?"

"A little," Luke conceded, fighting past the dizziness left over from the

gravity changes and looking around as best he could with his head pinioned

rigidly in place. The entire corridor had become a huge three-dimensional

crosshatch of rods, filling the whole space between the blast doors that had

slid into place at both ends, sealing him inside.

"We set this up about five years ago," Control continued. "Your Yavin academy

was seeding the galaxy with cocky little would-be Jedi, and we figured it would

be only a matter of time before one of them dropped in on us. So we figured to

have a surprise ready for them. Never figured on having the Grand High Moffling

himself show up. So, what do you think?"

"It's inventive, I'll give you that," Luke said, testing the strength of the

bars with his shoulders and arms. He might have saved himself the effort. "I

hope you're not expecting it to hold me for long."

"You might be surprised," Control said. "I take it you haven't noticed where

your lightsaber ended up?"

Luke couldn't even remember when during all those gravity switches he'd dropped

it. Now, straining out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the weapon fifteen

meters away across the room, wedged just like he was within the interlocking

sets of bars. "You can see it's a tighter group of bars over at that end,"

Control pointed out. "Holds the thing pretty solidly in. place."

Luke smiled. Clearly, for all his preparation, the pirate hadn't learned enough

about Jedi. Reaching out with the Force, he activated the lightsaber's switch.

With a snap-hiss the green blade flashed into existence; reaching out again,

Luke attempted to twist the handle sideways.

Nothing happened.

"You see the genius of the design," Control said conversationally. "It's held at

just the right angle so that the blade sticks out in the gap between bars,

without touching any of them. Clever, eh?"

Luke didn't answer. The lightsaber seemed to be solidly wedged in place . . .

but if the blade wasn't touching the bars, the handle ought to slide freely

either backward or forward. Getting a Force grip on it, he slid it forward.

"Oh, it'll go that direction, all right," Control said as the light-saber began

to move. "Unless it gets hung up by its switch or something. But that won't do

you any good. The blade still won't touch any of the bars-"

The tip of the blade had reached the wall now. Luke continued forcing it that

direction, pushing the blade straight into the metal plating.

"-and naturally we weren't stupid enough to put any critical equipment behind

the walls for you to cut into," Control finished. "A little more impressed now,

are we?"

"Maybe a little," Luke said. "Now what?"

"What do' you think?" Control retorted, his voice suddenly dark. "We know what

you Jedi can do, Skywalker-don't think we don't. I figure that from that little

ride through our base alone you've probably already dug out enough dirty silt

about our operation to send everyone here to Fodurant or Beauchen for the next

twenty years. You think we're going to just sit here and let you do that to us,

you're crazy."

Luke grimaced with the irony. Control was right: using his full Jedi strength,

he almost certainly could have invaded the pirates minds that deeply. But with

his new reluctance to use his power. so casually, he had in fact done nothing of

the sort. "So what do you want to do, make a deal?"

"Hardly," Control said. "We want you to die."

"Really," Luke said dryly. The bars here might be too strong for human muscle,

but that was hardly the limiting factor for a Jedi. Bending enough of the bars

out of the way for him to get to his lightsaber would be a long and tedious job,

but he bad more than enough depth in the Force to accomplish it. "From old age,

or do you have something more immediate in mind?"

"I'm actually kind of sorry," Control said. "Seems a waste, dusting you like

this, especially after what this Jedi trap cost to build. But no one's offering

bounties on captured Jedi these days. Even if they were, I don't suppose that

cage would hold you long enough for us to collect. So there it is. Good-bye,

Skywalker."

There was a click, and the speaker fell dead . . . and in the silence, Luke

heard a sound that hadn't been there before.

The quiet hiss of escaping gas.

He took a deep breath, stretching out to the Force. There were Jedi

poison-neutralizing techniques that should be able to handle whatever they were

pumping in at him. Still, he'd better not dawdle on getting out of here. Closing

his eyes, reaching more deeply to the Force, he began bending one of the bars

away from his face&mdash

And then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open as the truth belatedly hit him.

The pirates weren't pumping poison in. They were pumping the air out.

And not even a Jedi could survive for long without air.

Luke took another deep breath, pushing away his rising fear. A Jedi must act

when he is calm, at peace with the Force. All right. Artoo and the X-wing might

already be in the pirates' hands. Even if they weren't, there was no way for the

snubfighter to maneuver its way through the cramped and twisting corridors. He

was on his own here, with no resources but the few pieces of equipment he was

carrying: a comlink, glow rod, datapad&mdash

And two spare blaster power packs.

Luke reached out with the Force, lifting the small flat boxes off his belt and

floating them up to where he could see them. Back during the height of the

Rebellion, the mechanical genius General Airen Cracken had found a way to rig

blaster power packs to explode. All it took was two or more packs fastened

together with their overload sturm dowels removed, and in thirty seconds they

would blow with the power of a medium-sized grenade.

The blast should have enough power to shatter or twist any of the bars in its

immediate vicinity. Unfortunately, it would do similar damage to Luke himself.

But with a little ingenuity . . .

It was the work of a few seconds to remove the overload, dowels from the power

packs. Then, holding them pressed together with the Force, he maneuvered them

carefully through the maze of bars toward the far blast door. If Control was

still monitoring him-and if the pirate knew about this trick-he would probably

conclude that Luke was trying to punch a hole in the blast door and let in some

air. He would also undoubtedly conclude that the metal was more than strong

enough to withstand such an explosion.

Which was fine with Luke. The longer the pirates operated under false

assumptions, the slower they would react when they finally figured out what he

really had in mind.

His makeshift bomb was nearly to the blast door now, with only about ten seconds

left to go. Keeping the bomb moving, be reached out to the Force and slid his

lightsaber backward along its single line of free movement until the belt ring

was pressing against the wall. The bomb reached the other end of the

lightsaber's track and Luke settled it there against one of the bars.

The critical question now, he knew, was whether the explosion and resulting

burst of shrapnel might damage the lightsaber. On sudden impulse, he stretched

out and ignited the weapon, bringing the green blade snapping out to point

directly toward the bomb. The blade should disintegrate whatever shrapnel hit

it, providing at least some protection for the handle and the mechanism inside.

Now there was nothing to do but wait and fight to keep from passing out in the

rapidly thinning atmosphere&mdash

And with a tremendous blast of fire and thunder, three seconds early, the power

packs blew up.

Luke bit down hard as a dozen red-hot metal splinters stabbed and slashed into

his left arm and side. But the results were all that he could have hoped for.

Across the room, visible through the drifting smoke, the neat array of bars had

been altered by the explosion. Not much, but maybe enough. Reaching out to the

Force, he slid the lightsaber forward to the bomb-mangled bars and twisted the

handle.

Not much, but indeed enough. The lightsaber, partially freed from its

confinement, could now reach to the side just enough to snick off the end of one

of the nearest bars. Luke twisted again, this time sending two more bars

clattering to the floor. He twisted again, and again, each sweep going a little

wider as he methodically carved out some space around the lightsaber&mdash

And suddenly the weapon was free, spinning like a propeller as it cut through

everything in its path.

White spots were beginning to dance in front of Luke's eyes as he sent the

weapon through the blast door, cutting a triangular hole that brought a welcome

gush of air rushing into the partial vacuum. He took a deep' breath, and as his

vision cleared he brought the lightsaber back toward him, the spinning blade

mowing through the bars like a scythe through a field of tallgrain.

A minute later he was back in the rocky corridors, thumbing on his comlink as he

headed for the landing bay and his ship. "Artoo?" he called. "You there?"

The only answer was another burst of jamming static. Picking up his pace, using

Jedi techniques to suppress the pain in his side and arm, he prepared himself

for the pirates' next move.

But that move didn't come. He emerged from the corridor into a large but

deserted chamber and crossed into another corridor without seeing or sensing

anyone.

For that matter, he hadn't sensed anyone since his escape from their Jedi trap.

Were they all hiding somewhere? Or had they all simply packed up and left?

The rock floor beneath his feet shook slightly, and somewhere in the distance he

heard the faint sound of an explosion. He was through the corridor and into

another room when he heard and felt a second explosion, this one noticeably

closer.

And abruptly his comlink twittered. He thumbed it on&mdash "Artoo?"

"Not quite," a familiar voice answered dryly. "Are you in trouble again,

Skywalker?"

Luke blinked with surprise, then smiled with the first genuine pleasure he'd

felt since arriving at this place. "Of course I am," he told Mara Jade. "Have

you ever known me when I wasn't?"

CHAPTER

9

"Offhand, I can't think of a time," Man had to admit, gazing out the Starry

Ice's bridge viewport at the asteroid field stretched out in front of them.

"Though I have to say that taking on a whole nest of pirates alone is beyond

even your usual audacity level. What are you doing in there, anyway?"

"Attempting to get out," the other answered dryly. "What are you doing here?"

"Karrde asked me to check on you," she said. "Seemed to think you might need a

hand."

"That I do," he conceded. "Where are you?"

"At the moment, on the outside looking in," Mara told him, frowning. Had that

been an explosion over there on the Cavrilhu's main asteroid? "Are you setting

off bombs or something?"

"No, but somebody is-I can hear explosions in the distance. Can you see what's

happening?"

Seated at the next console, Captain Shirlee Faughn tapped Mara's arm. "Take a

look at the starboard end of the asteroid," she murmured, pointing. "We've got a

flotilla heading for deep space. I make it . . . eighteen ships."

"Terrific,". Mara muttered. "You've got trouble, Luke-your rats are staging a

mass desertion. Faughn's got readings on eighteen ships; probably more on the

way. Ten to one those explosions you're hearing are the base's self-destruct

system kicking in. You got any transport?"

"I had a Y60 freighter when I came in, with Artoo and a hidden X-wing aboard,"

Luke said. "But I haven't been able to raise him."

"Well, don't panic yet," Mara advised, giving the displays a quick glance.

"They're still jamming your primary comlink frequency-we just happen to have the

equipment to sneak in on a harmonic. How far are you from your landing bay?"

"I don't know exactly-"

Faughn snapped her fingers, pointed to one of Mara's displays. "Hold it ," Mara

cut in. "Their jamming's just gone off. Let me release your comlink back to

primary freq."

She looked across the bridge at the comm station. "Corvus?"

"Already cleared," the other reported. "I'll key you back in on primary."

Abruptly the comm speaker burst into a staccato flow of astromech droid machine

language. "Slow down, Artoo," Luke's voice cut in through the warbles and

squeals. "I can't understand a thing you're saying."

"He says he and the X-wing are okay," Mara told him, watching as the translation

scrolled across her computer display. "They were coming for him, so he popped

the X-wing out of its hiding place-"

She grimaced. "And chased them away by blasting the landing bay's atmosphere

shield generators."

There was a long moment of silence. "Which I presume means the landing bay is

now full of hard vacuum?" Luke asked.

"Up to its brim," Mara confirmed. "I suppose it would be too much to hope there

might be a vac suit locker near the bay somewhere."

"I don't know, but I wouldn't want to count on it," Luke said.

"Me, neither," Mara agreed. "Faughn, you used to fly Y60s, didn't. you?"

"More often than I care to remember," the other woman said. "You thinking about

him trying a cold-shirt crossing?"

"It's the simplest way to get him out of there," Mara said. "Can he do it?"

"I doubt it," Faughn said. "Skywalker, is the freighter's landing ramp up or

down?"

"Down, last I knew."

The R2 unit twittered, the droid's confirmation scrolling across the display.

"It's still down," Mara said.

"In that case, not a chance," Faughn said, shaking her head. "The Y60's ramp

mechanism is a piece of junk. Getting it sealed and repressurizing the ship

would take at least fifteen minutes."

"I was afraid of that," Mara said. "A little long for him to hold his breath."

"What about his X-wing?" Faughn suggested. "It can't take very long to

pressurize a cockpit that size."

"Except that most fighter canopies are pressure-locked these days," Mara pointed

out. "Opening them to vacuum without squeezing the manual override usually pops

the ejector seat. It's a safety mechanism-I don't think the R2 can override it."

"You're right, he can't," Luke said. "I'd better hope I can find a vac suit."

"Sure." Mara hissed softly between her teeth, measuring the distance to the

asteroid with her eyes. The chances that the pirates would have vac equipment

within handy reach of potential escapees were somewhere between slim and none.

"In case you can't, we're coming in."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Faughn turn startled eyes on her. "Jade, we

don't know the safe path in," the other woman muttered.

"No, but Skywalker's astromech droid does," Mara reminded her. "Droid, how about

feeding us some numbers?"

The R2 warbled acknowledgment, and a course layout appeared on the computer

display. "Got it," Mara said. "Let's go."

Faughn turned back to the helm, still obviously less than enthusiastic about

risking her ship this way. There was a brief surge of acceleration, and the

Starry Ice began moving forward. "The path doesn't look too bad," Mara told her,

studying the display.

"It didn't," the captain said, tapping her nav display. "There's just one slight

problem: the asteroids aren't in the same relative positions anymore."

Mara shifted her attention to her own nay display. Faughn was right.

"Blast-they've scrambled it," she said, getting out of her chair and heading for

the door. "We'll have to bantha-roll our way in. I'll take Number One; get Elkin

and Torve to the others."

She had reached her turbolaser station and was strapping in when Faughn

signaled. "We've just tripped an automatic beacon warning us away," the captain

reported. "Ought to be hitting the first wave of trouble anytime."

"Understood," Mara said, kicking the turbolaser into emergency warm-up and

wishing for about the twentieth time this trip that the Jade's Fire wasn't stuck

on Duroon getting its nay systems refitted. Karrde had done a good job of arming

his freighters, but the Fire had as much sheer laser power as the Starry Ice and

a lot more maneuverability on top of it.

But it wasn't here, and there was nothing she could do about it. Rubbing her

palms briefly on her jumpsuit to dry them, she got a firm grip on the controls

and stretched out to the Force. She might not be as glorious and powerful a Jedi

as the great Luke Skywalker, but she'd be willing to match her finely honed

danger sense against his any day.

The problem was that the danger sense wasn't particularly directional. And there

were a lot of different directions out there for trouble to come from.

"Here we come, Luke," she called into her headset. "Last chance for you to wave

your hand and sweep all the traps away."

The instant the words were out of her mouth she was sorry she'd said them. Luke

was too far away for her to fully touch his mind; but even so, she could sense

him wincing from her remark. She opened her mouth to apologize&mdash

And suddenly her danger sense flared, an asteroid drifting along nearby catching

her full attention. She spotted a circle of unnatural smoothness on its edge-the

faint glint of metal&mdash

Her turbolaser flashed, shattering the suspect asteroid into rocks and rubble.

From the expanding dust cloud came a single reflexive burst of answering

turbolaser fire: too little, too late, and well wide of its target.

"Good shooting, Mara," Elkin's voice came in her ear.

Mara nodded, too preoccupied with her task and her guilt over that snide remark

to reply. Her guilt, and a growing annoyance at herself for feeling guilty in

the first place. After all, it was Skywalker and his apprentice Jedi, not her,

who were playing fast and casual with their power. If having someone point it

out bothered him, that was his problem, not hers.

There was another flicker of warning; but before she could identify the source

of the danger, multiple shots of red fire lanced out from Tone's turbolaser and

a string of small boulders exploded prematurely into clouds of knife-edged

shrapnel bursts

Mara winced as a few stray shredders bounced off the Starry Ice's deflector

shield in front of her canopy; and then the ship was past that trap and on its

way to the next. Resettling her fingers on the controls, Mara again stretched

out to the Force.

Among the three of them they had blasted eight more traps by the time the Starry

Ice reached the main base. "We're here," Faughn's voice announced in Mara's ear.

"Skywalker? Where are you?"

"I'm at my landing bay," Luke replied. "Artoo, fire a few blasts at the rim to

mark it."

The droid beeped, and a shadow between two rocky ridges flickered with laser

fire. "Okay, we've got you," Faughn said. "Coming in."

The laser flashes stopped; and as they did, another of the muted explosions

flickered on the asteroid surface, uncomfortably close to the target bay. "There

goes another blast," Mara said.

"You've been missing most of the performance out there," Luke said. "I've been

hearing one go off every ten seconds or so.' They seem to be working their way

my direction."

Another explosion flashed, this one even closer to the landing; bay. "Too close,

if you ask me," Faughn grunted. "You sure you, want to risk putting down there,

Jade?"

"Not especially," Mara conceded, "but we don't seem to have a lot of choice.

You're going to owe us big for this one, Luke."

"I'll put it on your account," Luke promised. "Better hurry&mdashno, wait. Back

off!"

"What?" Faughn asked.

"You heard him," Mara snapped as her own danger sense tingled. "Back off!"

The Starry Ice lurched back and as it did so one of the ridges framing the

landing bay began crackling with sequential blasts like an Endor Day multistage

show rocket. "Jade, this is crazy," Faughn said. "I can't put down there. The

whole area could go anytime."

"She's right," Luke said . . . and as Mara stretched out to the Force she felt a

subtle grimness touch his emotions. "I guess we've only got one option left."

Wave your hand and sweep all the traps away? "What's that?" she asked aloud.

"I'll have to meet you halfway," he said. "You have a docking bay that'll handle

my X-wing?"

"We've got a pair of half-ports with tractor assists," Faughn told him. "They'll

put an air seal around the cockpit, anyway."

"Good. Artoo, get out there right now and dock with them-"

Wait a second," Mara tut him off. There was something in Skywalker's voice and

thoughts that told her he was about to try something really stupid. "You're not

thinking of cold-shirting it all the way out to us, are you? We can't get in

close enough for that."

"I know," Luke said. "I'm going to have to go into a Jedi hibernation trance as

soon as I clear the blast door."

She'd called it, all right-something really stupid. "And how are you expecting

to accomplish that?" she demanded. "You'll have to go into the trance right

after you've blown the door. That won't leave you any air reserve."

"If I cut open the door properly there should be a burst of air that comes out

with me," Luke pointed out. "That ought to give me enough to start the

hibernation, as well as nudging me your direction."

"You've got rotten odds."

"Last-ditch options are like that. And if we take too much time discussing it,

we won't have any odds at all."

"Sounds like one of Solo's lines," Mara growled. But he was right, and as if to

emphasize his words, the other flanking ridge began its own disintegration. "You

win. Let's do it."

"Right," Luke said. "Artoo, get going."

The droid gave an unhappy twitter, but the X-wing lifted obediently out of the

landing bay and headed toward the Starry Ice. "Faughn?" Mara called.

"Tractor assist is ready at the half-port," Faughn said. "The outer door of the

starboard airlock is open, with an atmosphere barrier in place, and Krickle's

standing by inside with a medpac. We're ready whenever he is."

"You copy that, Luke?"

"Yes," he said. "I'll set up the phrase welcome aboard' to snap me out of the

trance."

"Welcome aboard,' right."

"Okay, here we go. Don't miss me."

Mara smiled tightly. Don't miss me. Once, those words would have had a totally

different connotation for her. Luke Skywalker in her blaster sights, the

Emperor's dying command that she kill the upstart Jedi echoing through her mind

. . .

But she'd gone through that crisis ten years ago inside Mount Tantiss, and the

Emperor's voice was now only a distant and powerless memory.

Skywalker would have his own crisis to go through one of these days. Maybe he

was in the middle of it right now.

She hoped so.

There was a flicker from Luke's emotions. Mara concentrated, visualizing the

flash of his lightsaber as the green blade slashed through the thick metal of

the blast door&mdash

And then, abruptly, he vanished.

"Faughn?" Mara called, closing her eyes as she stretched out as hard as she

could. But Luke's presence was no longer detectable, at least not by her. Either

he'd gone into his hibernation trance, or else he was dead.

"Here be comes," Faughn said.

Mara opened her eyes. He was there, all right, looking like a broken puppet as

he glided rapidly toward the Starry Ice. His limbs flailed limply as his body

tumbled slowly end over end, the flickering light from the asteroid's ongoing

self-destruction adding a surreal air to the whole scene.

With a jolt that startled her, the Starry Ice began moving down toward the

surface: Faughn, maneuvering the ship to match Luke's trajectory.

Or rather, trying to match it. Mara frowned at the approaching figure, trying to

extrapolate his trajectory and impact speed-Faughn, with access to the ship's

computer, got the answer first. "We've got trouble," she said tightly. "With the

speed I'm having to use to catch him, he's either going to bounce off the hull

or else hit the back airlock wall hard enough to break his neck."

"You just get him inside," Mara said, hitting the quick-release on her

restraints and scrambling to her feet. "I'll make sure he lives through it."

He was almost there by the time Mara reached the airlock, cartwheeling toward

them far faster than was healthy. "Computer says we're right on target,"

Faughn's voice called over the speaker as Mara peered through the atmosphere

barrier. "Impact in ten seconds."

Taking a deep breath, Mara braced herself against the airlock bulkhead and

stretched out to the Force.

The Emperor had taught her the basics of using the Force to move objects,

rudimentary training that Skywalker himself had developed further during their

trek through the Wayland forest and later for a brief time at that Yavin academy

of his. She'd kept up practice on her own after that, and had thought she'd

become pretty proficient with the technique.

But moving small objects like her lightsaber was one thing. Catching Luke as he

fell toward her was something else entirely, rather like trying to stop the

Starry Ice with her teeth. She threw everything she had into the effort, dimly

aware that her whole body had gone rigid with the strain, fighting to at least

slow him down before he barreled past her through the atmosphere barrier. She

could sense him slowing-knew it wouldn't be enough-And at the last possible

second she stepped away from the

bulkhead directly into his path.

He slammed into her full tilt, the impact driving both of them back and down.

"Welcome aboard," Mara gasped, an instant before the two of them slammed

together to the deck.

A landing that was considerably less painful than she had expected it to be. She

blinked, trying to shake the lingering stars from her vision&mdash

"Thank you," Luke murmured into her ear.

The stars cleared, and Mara found herself looking up into a strange face-Luke's

face, she realized, heavily disguised. He was straddling her, hands and feet on

the deck, apparently having come out of his trance just in time to take his

share of the impact instead of adding extra dead weight to hers. "You're

welcome," she managed. "Nice disguise."

"Thanks," he said. "It worked, too, mostly."

"Mostly' doesn't count for much, does it?" she said. "How come you didn't use a

Force illusion, like you have before?"

"I've been trying to cut back on my use of the Force except when absolutely

necessary," he explained. "It didn't seem necessary in this case."

"Ah," Mara said. That was interesting. Very interesting indeed. "So. You want to

get off me, or were you just getting comfortable?"

"Oh-sure," he said awkwardly, some of that old farmboy embarrassment flicking

across his face as he scrambled off her. "Sorry."

"No problem," Mara said, getting to her feet and running a critical eye over

him. Some nasty-looking shrapnel tears in his clothing, with what were probably

some equally nasty injuries underneath them. "Looks like you need a pass through

the medical bay."

"No time," he said, shaking his head. "I'm okay for now, and we've got to get

out of here. Did my X-wing get docked?"

"I don't know," Mara said, slapping the control pad to close the outer airlock

door. "Faughn?"

"It's been secured in B-port," the captain said. "Skywalker, you know a safe

route Out of this death trap?"

"I used to," Luke said, keying the inner door. "It's probably not any safer than

any other path now."

"We'll follow the pirates," Mara decided, waving Krickle away as be hurried up

with his medpac and leading Luke down the corridor toward the Starry ice's

half-ports. "They'll probably shoot at us, but you can't have everything."

"Problem: we seem to have run out of pirates to follow," Faughn said. "Nothing's

left the asteroid in nearly two minutes."

Mara felt her stomach muscles tighten. "Which means the grand finale of their

self-destruct system is probably ticking down right now."

"Probably," Faughn agreed. "What do we do, pick a direction and go?"

"More or less," Mara told her. "Start pulling away from the main base, but not

too fast. I want to be on my turbolaser before we get into anything nasty."

"Give me time to get out there, too," Luke added. "I can run ahead of you and

trigger the traps."

"Only if you can see them coming," Mara pointed out, giving him a hard look.

"I've got a better danger sense than you do; maybe I should take your ship and

break trail."

"I can do it," he said firmly. "Anyway, it's my responsibility-you're here

because of me."

He had a point. "If that's how you want it," Mara said, pointing down the

corridor. "Take the first left, then break right. Make it fast."

She needn't have worried. By the time she reached her turbolaser station the

X-wing was already burning space ahead of them. "I'm ready," she announced as

she strapped in again. "Get going, Luke. Good luck."

"May the Force be with you," he said with what she decided was probably mild

reproof. "Stay sharp."

The trip in through the asteroids had been nerve-racking. The trip out, to

Mara's surprise, was almost casually easy. Time and again the X-wing would shift

course slightly and fire, setting off a distant cluster trap or shredder bomb or

automatic turbolaser nest, usually before Mara's own danger sense had even

triggered. It quickly settled into a pattern: the X-wing would maneuver, fire,

and dodge, with the Starry Ice following stolidly behind, its own turbolaser

crew needing to do only occasional cleanup work. Whether by design or accident,

Luke seemed, to be running slightly above the freighter, doing his most thorough

job of minesweeping within Mara's angle of fire. Most of the cleanup work thus

wound up in Elkin's or Torve's sectors, leaving Mara little to do except help

watch for any surprises the pirates might have left behind, wait patiently for

them to clear the asteroid field, and wonder darkly if Luke was d eliberately

being overprotective just to annoy her.

It was on one of her visual sweeps of the sky ahead that she spotted the .ship.

Her initial thought was that it was a TIE fighter: it was similarly sized and at

first glance bad something of the same silhouette. But even as she opened her

mouth to alert the others the craft made a turn&mdash

"We've got company," she snapped. "Poking near the edge of the asteroid field at

about twenty by fifty."

"Got it," Faughn said. "Looks like . . . what does it look like?"

"You got me," Mara said. "I thought it was an Imperial, but those aren't TIE

solar panels on its sides."

"Whatever they are, it's got two more of them flaring aft at the tail," Elkin

pointed out.

"Doesn't necessarily mean it's not an Imperial," Faughn grunted. "Skywalker? You

up on current Imperial starfighter design?"

"Not really," Luke said, his voice showing signs of the strain as he was forced

to split his attention between the intruder and the more immediate task at hand.

"I've never seen anything like that before, though."

Mara gazed out at the distant spacecraft. Clearly, it was watching them. Did it

realize they'd spotted it? "I think one of us ought to try for a closer look,"

she said.

"Let's not, shall we?" Faughn growled. We don't need to borrow any more trouble

than we've already got."

"Besides, with our luck it'd just be another of those useless Qella things,"

Corvus added scornfully. "Like she one Lando Calrissian chased all over space."

"I say we take a look," Mara said, putting the firmness in her voice that made

it an order. "Luke, you're the faster ship. You want to see if you can catch

it?"

"I can try," he said, an odd tone to his voice. Was he feeling the same thing

about that ship that she was? "Can you spare me?"

"I think so," Mara said. "We have to be pretty close to the edge of the pirates'

defense sphere by now."

"Okay. Artoo, get all the recorders and sensors going. We're going to want a

complete record of this."

The droid beeped acknowledgment and with a suddenness that even surprised Mara

the X-wing angled off and shot toward the intruder. It dodged past the drifting

asteroids, cutting close beside them for the maximum of cover. Mara kept her

turbolaser targeted on the other spacecraft, wondering tautly whether they would

choose to fight or run.

But the X-wing was still closing, and so far there was no reaction. Could the

intruder somehow be looking the other direction? Ridiculous. So what was it

waiting for?

Luke was nearly to close-combat distance now. Behind him, a stray asteroid

floated leisurely between the intruder and Mara's line of sight&mdash

Her only warning was a sudden jolt in Luke's emotions. An instant later she

caught a single glimpse of the intruder as it flicked at incredible speed across

the sky, making for the edge of the asteroid field.

"There he goes!" Tone yelped as Mara tried to swing her turbolaser around to

target the distant spacecraft. But too late. Even as she fought to get a lock on

it another asteroid cut across between them, again blocking her view. There was

the flicker of pseudomotion from the asteroid's edge, and the ship was gone.

Someone on the intercom swore softly. "I give up," Faughn said. "What the blazes

was that?"

"You got me," Man said. "Luke? You still there?"

"Right here," Luke replied. "Did you get all that?"

"Only part of it," Mara told him. "He waited until we were blocked by an

asteroid before making his move."

"Interesting," Luke said. "The ship gave off a very unusual energy signature as

he took off-I recorded what I could of it, but I doubt my sensors were able to

pick up more than a fraction of what was really there."

"Maybe that's why he waited until we couldn't see him."

"Probably," Luke agreed. "He'd have guessed a ship your size would have better

sensors than mine."

Mara rubbed her lips. Well, unless you want to follow his hyperspace vector,

there's not a lot we can do about him right now. How about feeding us what your

sensors got?"

The astromech droid made a rude sound. "It's all right, Artoo," Luke soothed. We

can consider this their rescue fee."

"Part of their rescue fee," Man corrected. "We'll settle on the

rest later."

"Understood," Luke agreed. "Here it comes."

"Got it," Faughn said.

"Thanks," Mara said. "You need anything else, Luke?"

"Not at your prices," he said dryly. "Seriously, thanks for everything."

"Glad we could help," Mara said. "Don't forget to have those injuries looked

at."

"I won't," he assured her. "Artoo's already pulling up a list of the nearest New

Republic medical facilities. See you later."

"Right. Watch yourself."

The comm clicked, and with a flicker of pseudomotion the X-wing made its jump to

lightspeed. Mara gazed after it, a strange mixture of emotions chasing each

other through her mind. The glowing reports she'd read of Luke's glorious

achievements . . . and yet, they were a far cry from what she'd seen him do just

now. Had something happened to him?

Or was be finally coming to his senses?

"Jade?" Faughn asked. "What now?"

Mara exhaled softly, putting Skywalker out of her mind. We shoot a report off to

Karrde," she said, doing a quick time calculation. "See if he wants us to get

back on schedule for the Nosken rendezvous or else try to track the pirates'

escape route."

"Right," Faughn said. "Incidentally, Jade, in case no one's ever mentioned it

before, you and Skywalker make a pretty good team."

Mara gazed out at the drifting asteroids. "Bite your tongue, Faughn," she said

softly. "Bite your tongue."

CHAPTER

10

It was a hot day in this part of Dordolum. Hot and sunny, with an oppressively

still and heavy atmosphere that seemed to wrap around the silent lunchtime crowd

like a wet grov-fur blanket.

The speaker currently shouting at the crowd from his perch atop the Stand of

Public Expression was adding to the heat, too. But unlike the weather his heat

was a fiery one, a mixture of words and thoughts and stage presence carefully

designed to inflame the emotions and stir up the dozens of long-simmering

resentments represented out there today. Practically everyone listening to the

diatribe harbored at least one such quiet grudge, whether it be Ishori toward

Diamala, Barabels toward Rodians, or Aqualish toward humans.

Or almost everyone toward Bothans. Letting his eyes drift across the crowd to

the elaborate sign of the Bothan-owned Solferin Shipping Company directly across

the plaza to their right, Drend Navett permitted himself a private smile.

It was a good day for a riot.

The speaker had made it to his main topic now, and as he hammered in graphic

detail at the horror that had been the destruction of Caamas and the Bothans'

cowardly and loathsome role in it, Navett could sense the crowd's anger finally

edging toward the mindless fury that he'd been waiting for. Slowly, careful that

his movement not break the spell for those around him, he began drifting toward

the area closest to the shipping company. Klif might be a genius at demagoguery;

but it was he, Navett, who knew how to gauge a crowd's mood and pick the right

time for action.

Almost there. Navett was in position now, within easy targeting range of the

shipping company. Dipping a hand into the bag banging unobtrusively at his side,

he withdrew his weapon of choice and waited. Another few seconds . . . and . . .

now.

"Justice for Caamas!" he shouted. "Justice now!" Cocking his arm over his

shoulder, he spun and hurled at the Bothan building&mdash

And right on target, the overripe blicci fruit hit the door, splashing with a

sickening thud and leaving a brilliant red stain behind.

There was a startled gasp from a couple of Duros standing nearby. But neither

they nor anyone else in the crowd was going to be given enough time to think

about what they were being suckered into here. From a half-dozen other places in

the crowd the cry for justice was echoed, and a half-dozen other pieces of fruit

splattered the building. "Justice for Caamas!" Navett shouted again, hurling

another blicci fruit. "Vengeance for genocide!"

"Vengeance!" someone picked up the call, the cry accompanied by more of the

nuisance missiles. "Vengeance for genocide!" Navett threw another blicci fruit,

and another&mdash

And then from somewhere an alien voice called hoarsely, echoing the call for

vengeance . . . and as if that were somehow a signal, the crowd suddenly and

gratifyingly collapsed into a mob. A rain of foodstuffs began to pelt the

building, drawn from lunch bags and cartons and propelled by the mindless fury

and pent-up rage that Klif had s o skillfully stirred up in

them.

A rage that Navett had no intention of wasting on a few fruit stains. Reaching

past the last blicci fruit in his bag, he pulled out a rough stone. Violence

begets violence, he silently quoted the old maxim, and let fly.

It hit its target window dead on, shattering the plastic with a crash that could

barely be heard above the roar of the mob. "Vengeance for genocide!" Navett

shouted, waving his fist at the building and pulling out another stone.

The crowd were fast learners. The rain of fruit and eggs continued, but it began

to be joined by some of the edging stones that lined the plaza's walkways and

flower beds. Navett threw another stone as four more windows became jagged

holes, then took a quick moment to search the skies around them. Even taken by

surprise this way, the Dordol authorities wouldn't take forever to respond.

And there was the expected response now, rapidly approaching from the direction

of the spaceport: three brightly colored customs airspeeders with an escort of

maybe half a dozen speeder bikes. Moving fast, too; they'd be at the plaza in

less than two minutes.

Which meant it was time to go. Slipping a hand inside his tunic to his hidden

comlink, Navett tapped the call button twice, the signal for the rest of his

agitation team to move to the edges of the mob and vanish into the afternoon

sunshine. Then, reaching past the last two stones in his pouch, he pulled out

his final present to the Bothans.

It was a grenade, of course. But a very special grenade. Navett had personally

taken it from the dead hand of a Myomaran resistance fighter ten years ago,

during the Empire's brief reoccupation of that world under the meteoric reign of

Grand Admiral Thrawn. What made this particular grenade so useful was that that

resistance cell had somehow talked a visiting Bith into designing their weaponry

for them. When the remains of the grenade were studied-as they most certainly

would be-the New Republic would b e forced to the conclusion that even the

generally pacifist Bith were beginning to join in on the side of the anti-Bothan

sentiment.

Perhaps that wouldn't matter. Perhaps none of this really mattered. Perhaps the

aliens and alien-lovers had so beaten down the Empire that nothing Navett and

his team did could make any difference anymore.

But as far as their duty was concerned, such possibilities didn't really matter

either. Navett had seen the glory of the Empire, as well as its darker days . .

. and if that glory couldn't be revived, then it was only fitting that he help

bury it beneath the ashes of the New Republic.

Pulling the safety, he flicked the detonator and threw. The grenade dropped

neatly through one of the broken windows on the upper floor and vanished inside.

He was halfway to the edge of the crowd when it went off, collapsing the roof

and sending a spectacular fireball roiling into the sky.

He was out of the plaza and walking unconcernedly down the street with the rest

of the noonday strollers when the authorities arrived at the scene of the fire.

***

The petition scrolled to the end past the long list of signatures. Leia looked

up from her datapad, an ache in her stomach. No wonder President Gavrisom had

looked so solemn as he ushered her into his private office. "When was this

delivered?" she asked.

"Approximately one hour ago," Gavrisom said, the tips of his wings brushing

restlessly across the stacks of datacards that awaited his attention. "Under the

circumstances, I thought you and Councilor Fey'lya should be given advance

notice."

Leia looked at Fey'lya. The Bothan was hunched in his seat, fur pressed

completely flat against his skin. "Why me?" she asked.

"Because you were the one who found the Caamas Document in the first place,"

Gavrisom said, flicking his tail in a Calibop shrug. "Because like the Caamasi

you've had a world destroyed from underneath you and can therefore understand

their plight better than most. Because as a revered hero of the battle for

freedom, you still have a great deal of influence with the members of the

Senate."

"I can't match the influence of these signatures," Leia warned, gesturing toward

her datapad. "Besides"-she hesitated, looking again at Fey'lya-"I'm not sure I

don't agree with them that this is a reasonable compromise."

"A compromise?" Fey'lya asked, his voice dead. "This is not a compromise,

Councilor Organa Solo. This is a sentence of ruin for the Bothan people."

"The three of us are alone in this room, Councilor Fey'lya," Gavrisom reminded

him mildly. "There's no need for rhetorical hyperbole."

Fey'lya looked at the Calibop, his eyes as dead as his voice. "I speak neither

rhetoric nor hyperbole, President Gavrisom," he said. "Perhaps you do not

comprehend how much time and effort would be involved in even merely locating an

uninhabited world that would be suitable for the remaining Caamasi." His fur

rippled. "But then to further insist that we bear the costs of reforming that

world to Caamas's original specifications? We cannot possibly afford such an

undertaking."

"I'm familiar with the likely costs of such a project," Gavrisom countered, his

tone still patient. "It was done at least five times during the Old Republic-"

"By peoples arrogant in their power and their wealth," Fey'lya snapped, suddenly

seething to life. "The Bothan people have neither such power nor such wealth."

Gavrisom shook his mane. "Come now, Councilor, let us be honest here. The

current state of overall Bothan assets is quite adequate to cover such a

project. Certainly it would be a serious sacrifice, but not a ruinous one. I

would further suggest that it represents your best chance of resolving this

matter quickly and peaceably."

Fey'lya's fur rippled stiffly across his body. "You do not understand," he said

quietly. "The assets you speak of do not exist."

Leia frowned. "What are you talking about? I've seen the market reports. There

are whole pages of listings of Bothan holdings."

Fey'lya looked her in the eye. "They are lies," he said. "It is nothing more

than a cleverly contrived datapad illusion."

Leia looked at Gavrisom. The other's restless wings had suddenly stopped moving.

"Are you saying," the Calibop asked carefully, "that the leaders of the Combined

Bothan Clans are engaged in fraud?"

The Bothan's rippling fur became even stiffer. "It was to be only a temporary

deception," he said, his voice dark with pleading. "As our financial troubles

themselves are only temporary. A gripful of bad business decisions has drained

the Combined Clans of their resources and left us deeply in debt And then this

controversy arrived, causing even more uncertainty. New investors and contacts

were needed, and so . .

He trailed off. "I see," Gavrisom said. His voice was still calm, but there was

an expression on that long face that Leia had never seen there before. "You put

me in a most awkward position, Councilor Fey'lya. How exactly do you suggest I

proceed?"

Fey'lya's violet eyes met the Calibop's pale blue ones. "We can recover,

President Gavrisom," he said. "It will just take a little time. Premature

revelation of this information would be devastating, not only for the Bothan

people but also for those who have invested with us."

"Who have trusted you," Gavrisom corrected coldly.

Fey'lya's eyes slipped away from that accusing glare. "Yes," he murmured. Who

have trusted us."

For a long minute the room was silent. Then, rustling his mane again, Gavrisom

looked at Leia. "You are a Jedi Knight, Councilor Organa Solo," he said. "As

such, you have the wisdom of the ages and the guidance of the Force. I would ask

your recommendation."

Leia sighed. "I wish I had one to give," she said.

"Have you made any progress in the search for the names of the Bothans involved

with Caamas?"

"Not yet," Leia said. "Our Intelligence people are still working on the original

datacard, but Crypt Chief Ghent tells me we already have everything we're going

to get from it. We're also searching through the old Imperial archives at

Kamparas, Boddolayz, and Obroa-skai, but so far we haven't found anything."

"It was probably kept in the Special Files section," Gavrisom said with a

whinnying sigh. "The records Imperial forces were ordered to destroy before

retreating."

"Probably," Leia said. "We're still hoping a copy somewhere might have

survived."

"A small hope, though."

"Yes," Leia had to concede. "Fey'lya, how much time will the Combined Clans need

to get back on their feet?"

"The current projection is to have our major debts retired within three months,"

the Bothan said. "But at that time we will still be far from the financial

position we are currently thought to be in."

Gavrisom made a noise deep in his throat. "And how long until you'd be able to

take on this kind of project?" Leia asked, tapping her datapad.

Fey'lya closed his eyes. "Perhaps ten years. Perhaps never."

Leia looked back at Gavrisom. "I wish I could offer you advice, President

Gavrisom," she said. "But at the moment I can't see a clear path here."

"I understand," Gavrisom said. "May I encourage you to meditate and seek further

guidance through the Force?"

"I'll certainly do that," Leia assured him. "The one thing that is clear,

though, is that the Bothans aren't going to be able to meet the demands of this

petition anytime soon."

"Indeed," Gavrisom said heavily. "I'll have to attempt to buy some time."

"How, by offering it for debate?" Leia asked doubtfully. "That could be risky."

"More than merely risky," Gavrisom agreed. "If someone decided to bring it up as

an official bill, the full Senate could end up ratifying it. At that point I

would have no maneuvering room at all."

Leia grimaced. No room for Gavrisom, and even less for the Bothans. They would

then have to go ahead and create a new homeworld for the Caamasi or face the

consequences of defying New Republic law.

"But as you know, the President is not entirely without resources," the Calibop

continued. "And there are certain parliamentary tricks that can be applied. I

should be able to hold this up for a while."

Leia looked at Fey'lya. "But not for the next ten years."

"No." There was another brief silence. "Well," Gavrisom said. "There seems to be

little we can do right now. Except for one thing: I want the Combined Clans'

financial records examined to confirm that the situation is indeed as described.

Councilor Organa Solo, would you be willing to travel to Bothawui for such a

purpose?"

"Me?" Leia asked, surprised. "I'm not a financial expert."

"Yet you surely must have been taught the basics by your father Bail Organa when

you were younger," Gavrisom pointed out.

"The basics, yes," Leia said. "But that's all."

"That will be all you need," Gavrisom assured her. "The trickery will be in the

falsified documents, not the true ones." He gestured to Fey'lya with one wing.

"She will be allowed to see the true ones, will she not?"

"Of course," Fey'lya said, his fur rippling unhappily. "I'll alert the Combined

Clan leaders you will be coming."

"You'll do no such thing," Gavrisom said firmly. "They are to have no notice

whatsoever."

Fey'lya's eyes flashed. "You insult the integrity of the clan leaders, President

Gavrisom."

"You may see it any way you choose," Gavrisom said. "But they are to have no

advance warning. And do not forget that Councilor Organa Solo is a Jedi Knight.

If your clan leaders are not genuinely surprised by her arrival and request, she

will be instantly aware of it."

Leia kept her face expressionless. In point of fact, she'd always found the

average Bothan somewhat difficult to read, and wasn't at all sure she'd be able

to tell if the clan leaders had been tipped off.

But of course Fey'lya didn't know that. "I understand," he muttered. "When do

you wish her to leave?"

"As soon as possible," Gavrisom said. "Councilor Organa Solo?"

"We could probably leave within a couple of hours," Leia said, running quickly

through a mental list of the necessary arrangements. Han would want to come

along, of course. Come to think of it, it would be a good chance for the two of

them to have same quiet time together. "Chewie and the Noghri can watch the

children here for us."

"The Noghri," Fey'lya murmured, an edge of bitterness to his voice. "They should

have killed that Devaronian on Wayland. Then none of this would have happened."

"The Devaronian did nothing deserving of death," Gavrisom said quietly. "And

there has been far too much killing throughout the galaxy already."

"With more yet to come," Fey'lya countered darkly. Would sacrificing one life to

prevent it have been such a bad bargain?"

"That is a question all beings eventually ask themselves," Gavrisom said. "For

those who wish to remain civilized, there can be only one answer." He settled

his wings back into resting position across his withers and back. "Thank you

both for coming, Councilors. I will speak with you again later."

Moff Disra laid down his datapad. "Very satisfactory," he said, looking at the

others. "It all seems to be going quite well."

"It all seems to be going quite slowly," Flim countered sourly, leaning back in

his seat with his feet hoisted up on a corner of Disra's ivrooy desk. We have,

what, a few pirate raids and maybe a hundred riots to our credit?"

"Patience is a virtue," Tierce reminded him. "Even for soldiers. Especially for

soldiers."

"Ah, well, that must be the problem," Flim countered. "I'm a con artist, not a

soldier. But I can tell you that in my world, you can't afford to string things

out too long. You have to hook the target, taut the line, and then boat him-zip,

zip, zip. You give him too much time to think, and you'll lose him."

"We're not going to lose them," Tierce soothed. "Trust me. This is a delicate

stew we're creating. It merely needs to simmer a bit longer."

"Then maybe you should turn up the heat a little," Flim said. "This is my

greatest role ever; and so far the only people who've seen it have been the two

of you and four Star Destroyer captains. When do I get to really show it off?"

"Keep it up and you may not get to show it off at all," Disra told him, trying

hard to hold on to his temper. Flim was starting to show all the eccentricities

and quirks of a self-important stage entertainer, a personality type Disra had

always despised.

"Don't worry," Tierce soothed. "You'll get your chance for at least a private

performance for the Rebels. But not until we know where it will do the most

good. We need to know which alien governments are for heavy sanctions against

the Bothans and which are for forgiveness and peaceful conciliation."

"Which means you'll probably be showing off for a Mon Calamari or a Duros,"

Disra growled, glaring under his eyebrows at Tierce. This particular scheme was

one of the Guardsman's latest brain twists, and Disra still wasn't at all sure

he approved of it. The whole idea here was to use Flim to quietly inspire their

Imperial forces, not scare the New Republic into coming down on their heads.

"Actually, the time is much closer than it looks," Tierce went on, ignoring

Disra's comment. "Our spies on Coruscant have heard rumors of some petition

that's been filed with the President. If they can get hold of a copy and

circulate it publicly, that should speed up the process. A few more days, I

think, and we'll be able to move on to the next phase."

"I hope so," Flim said. "Incidentally, I presume it's occurred to you that

there's a very simple way the New Republic could resolve this whole crisis and

cut the ground out from under us."

"Of course it has," Disra said with strained patience. "All they need to do is

find out which specific Bothans were involved with Palpatine's agents on

Caamas."

"And you've taken steps to prevent this from happening?"

"What do you take me for, a fool?" Disra snapped. "Of course I have. The only

intact set of records is here on Bastion, and I've already dealt with them."

"Actually, that's not entirely accurate," Tierce said thoughtfully. "The records

at the Ubiqtorate base on Yaga Minor may also contain a copy."

Disra frowned at him. "Why haven't you said anything about this before?"

"The subject of enemy information raids hadn't come up before," Tierce said. "I

knew you'd been into the Bastion records; I suppose I was assuming you'd taken

care of the Yaga Minor copies as well."

"I haven't, but I can," Disra said. "I'll head out for Yaga Minor tonight."

"That might not be a good idea," Tierce said. "You going personally, I mean. The

general in charge of the base knows Admiral Pellaeon fairly well and with the

Bastion library right here at hand, you really don't have a good excuse to

examine his records."

Disra frowned at him. "So who's going to go there? You?"

"I am the logical choice," Tierce pointed out. "General Hestiv doesn't know me

by either name or sight, and I can make up a story that won't link me to you. As

long as Pellaeon's grand tour of the Empire doesn't drop him there the same time

I am, there shouldn't be any problems."

"Except how you're going to get into the Special Files section," Disra said.

Tierce shrugged. "I'll use a copy of your decryption method, of course."

Disra frowned a little harder. "You know, this is the second time you've tried

to get that decrypt from me," he pointed out. "One might wonder why you're so

anxious to get hold of it."

"Would you rather the Rebels got to the Caamas Document first?" Tierce

countered. "What in the Empire are you so afraid of, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Disra said darkly. "Perhaps that all you really want-that all

you've ever wanted from the start-is to get your nose into those files. Maybe

I'm thinking that once you've gotten whatever it is you're looking for, you'll

vanish and leave us holding the bag."

Tierce smiled tightly. "A minute ago you were upset that I seem to be taking

over your grand project," he pointed out "Now you're worried that I might

suddenly desert it? Make up your mind."

"You haven't answered my question," Disra bit out "What is it you're looking for

in those files?"

"I don't know," Tierce said. "The Emperor had many secrets, some of which are

bound to be useful to us. But I can't know which ones until I have a chance to

look them over, can I?"

"If it's all that simple and aboveboard, why didn't you suggest it in the first

place?" Disra demanded. "I could have let you look through the Bastion records."

"Fine," Tierce said. "Consider the request made. However, if I go look at the

files at Yaga Minor I can take care of two problems at once, can't I?"

Disra grimaced. Except that if Tierce did his searching at Yaga Minor, he

wouldn't be able to look over the Guardsman's shoulder while he did it.

Across the desk, Flim stirred. "We're all in this together, Your Excellency," he

reminded Disra. "Whatever secrets Major "Fierce digs up, he can't possibly use

them by himself as effectively as he can together with the two of us."

"Exactly," Tierce said, nodding. "In fact, I'll go further. One of the files I'm

hoping to find will only be useful in conjunction with the two of you."

So there has something specific he was after. "And that mysterious secret is . .

. ?" Disra prompted.

Tierce shook his head. "Sorry. I'll definitely need help from the two of you to

utilize it; but it's possible the two of you won't need me. No offense, but at

this point I'd prefer to remain indispensable."

Disra grimaced, but he could tell that this part of the conversation was now

over. He'd pushed Tierce as far as the Guardsman was willing to be pushed, and

had learned all he was likely to learn, and that was it.

At least for now. "You're still indispensable as the master tactician of our

little group," Disra reminded him, waving a hand in dismissal. "But if this will

make you feel a little safer-"

He broke off at a quiet beep from the desk. "What's that?" Flim asked.

"My private comm," Disra said, frowning as he opened a drawer and looked at the

access code. What in the Empire-?

"You going to answer it?" Film prompted.

"Stay out of sight," Disra said curtly, keying for the connection. "Both of

you."

He straightened up and faced his desk display, arranging his expression into

something hard and regal. The status report that had been on the display cleared

and became a face&mdash

"All right, Disra," Captain Zothip snarled. "Let's hear it. What in blazes is

going on?"

"It's Your Excellency, Captain," Disra corrected him. "And I was about to ask

you that same question. You know the rules about contacting me this way."

"Vader take your rules! I want to know-"

"You know the rules," Disra repeated, the sheer iciness of his tone somehow

silencing the other. "This channel is never to be used except in case of

emergency." He lifted his eyebrows. "Or are you trying to tell me something has

happened that the Cavrilhu Pirates can't handle?"

"Oh, it's been handled," Zothip said viciously. "It cost me two men and one of

my best bases, but it's been handled. What I want to know from you is how and

why Luke Skywalker just happened to drop in for a visit."

Disra frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't twist me around, Disra," Zothip warned. "Skywalker was at Kauron, asking

about your precious clones. Got out of our Jedi trap, and we wound up having to

blast and bust."

"I mourn with you in your loss," Disra said sarcastically. "What does this have

to do with me?"

"What doesn't it have to do with you?" Zothip shot back. "First you pull out all

your clones-no explanation-and now suddenly Skywalker drops in for a visit." The

pirate's eyes hardened. "You know what I think? I think you decided you don't

need us anymore and pointed Skywalker our direction to try to close us down.

What do you say to that?"

"I say I'm looking at a pirate chief who's lost his nerve," Disra said bluntly.

"What in the Empire would I have to gain by eliminating the Cavrilhu Pirates?

Even assuming I could pull off such a feat?"

"You tell me," Zothip grated. "I hear Admiral Pellaeon's people have been

sniffing around the boots of our financial associates on Muunilinst and Borgo

Prime. Maybe you're trying to burn your skyarches behind you before he connects

us together."

Disra snorted. "Let me tell you something. Not only am I not worried about

Admiral Pellaeon, neither you nor anyone else in the galaxy has reason to worry

about him, either. Not for long, anyway."

"Really," Zothip said, scratching under his shaggy black beard. "I thought good

Imperials didn't assassinate each other anymore."

"He's not going to be killed," Disra assured him with a smug smile. "He'll

simply stop being a threat, that's all."

At the side of the desk, Tierce muttered something under his breath and snagged

Disra's datapad. "Yeah, sure, whatever," Zothip said. "So then what was

Skywalker doing here?"

Disra shrugged, watching Tierce out of the corner of his eye. The other seemed

to be writing a message at furious speed. "Perhaps he identified you during that

botched job at Iphigin," he suggested to Zothip. "You said yourself that the

ships that drove you away were a YT-1300 and an X-wing. Solo and Skywalker?"

"Could be, I suppose," the pirate conceded with ill grace. "He still knew I'd

been using your clones."

Disra waved a hand in dismissal. "He was hunting shoal darters, Zothip. Trying

to make a connection-any connection-between you and the Empire. He doesn't know

anything."

"Maybe nothing about you," Zothip growled. "But what about me? He's a Jedi

Master, remember? He could have picked up all sorts of dirt from my men."

"Then you'd better bury yourselves somewhere for a while, hadn't you?" Disra

suggested, feeling his patience starting to shred around the edges. He didn't

have time for this. "Someplace where big bad Jedi can't find you."

Zothip's face darkened. "Don't try to dismiss me like a child, Disra," he said,

his voice rippling with soft menace. "Our partnership's been extremely

profitable, for both of us. But you don't want me as your enemy. Trust me on

that."

"That works both directions," Disra countered. "Fierce had finished whatever he

was writing and had stepped around behind the desk, holding the datapad just

over the display where Disra could read it. "Trust me on that," the Moff

continued, leaning casually forward as he tried to talk and read at the same

time. "There's no reason to end our relationship over something this trivial."

"Trivial?" Zothip echoed. "You call the loss of a major base trivial-?"

"Besides, I have another job to offer you," Disra said, leaning back in his seat

again and throwing Tierce a faint smile. Score another one for their master

tactician. "If you're interested, that is."

Zothip studied Disra's face suspiciously. "I'm listening."

"In approximately three weeks Admiral Pellaeon and the Chimera will be leaving

Imperial space for a secret meeting at Pesitiin," Disra said. "I want you to

attack him there."

Zothip laughed, a single ranphyx-like bark. "Right, Disra. Attack an Imperial

Star Destroyer with a few Telgorn Pacifiers and maybe a Kaloth battlecruiser or

two. Sure, no trouble."

"I don't mean attack with any intent of doing serious damage," Disra said

patiently. "All that's necessary is for him to come under fire. You can do that,

can't you?"

"I can do it, sure," Zothip said. "Question is, why should I?"

"Because I'll pay you twice your usual fee for harassing New Republic shipping."

Disra let his voice drop to a soft purr. "And because if you do, the Cavrilhu

Pirates will be first in line to reap the rewards when all of this is over."

"You're expecting there to be enough rewards to be parceled out, are you?"

"More than you can possibly imagine," Disra assured him. Zothip snorted. "You'd

be surprised how much I can imagine," he said. But there was a thoughtful edge

to his gaze now. "Okay, I'll run with this a while longer. Pesitiin, you say?"

"Right," Disra said. "One other thing: I want whatever ships you send against

the Chimera to be marked with Corellian insignia."

"Do you, now," Zothip said, scratching under his beard again. "Any particular

reason?"

"The same reason I don't care whether or not you actually inflict any damage on

him," Disra said. Why don't you see if you can figure it out for yourself?"

"I'll do that," Zothip promised. "In the meantime, you see if you can figure out

how to deposit the fee into our account, all right?"

Disra smiled thinly. "A pleasure doing business with you, Captain Zothip."

"As always, Moff Disra," the other countered. "I'll be in touch."

The display blanked. "Through the proper channels next time, if you please,"

Disra muttered toward the empty screen, allowing himself to slump slightly in

his seat. Conversations with Zothip always left him feeling drained. "At any

rate, that should keep him off our backs for a while."

"As well as performing a useful service for us," Tierce said, taking the datapad

back and blanking it. "There's another military virtue for you, Flim: never

throw away allies until you're absolutely sure you won't need them anymore."

"We have similar rules in the fringe," Flim said dryly. "Not so eloquently put,

of course. What exactly was that all about?"

"What, Zothip's attack on Pellaeon?" Disra asked.

"The attack itself I understand," Flim said. "You're trying to make Pellaeon

think the New Republic has rejected his peace offer and is ambushing him

instead."

Disra cocked an eyebrow at the con man. "Very good-you're learning. Though of

course vision is always clearer in backsight."

"You're too kind," Flim said, tilting his head slightly in a faintly mocking

salute. "What I don't understand is why Corellian insignia instead of New

Republic ones."

"Because that would be too obvious," Tierce told him. "It would imply all of

Coruscant had flatly rejected the idea of a meeting. Pellaeon knows they

wouldn't do that, and would guess it was a setup."

"This way it will look like it's just Bel Iblis, who's a Corellian, who is

turning him down," Disra added. "Pretending they're Corellian defense ships

should also help explain why there aren't any Star Cruisers or other major

capital ships in the attack."

"Right," Tierce said. "Also bear in mind that we don't want Pellaeon giving up

entirely on this surrender idea, at least not yet. If Bel Iblis has rejected his

advances without official sanction, then Pellaeon's next move would be to seek

someone else to make his overtures to. That will take time, which plays into our

hands. More importantly, it will also require him to leave Pesitiin prematurely.

Even if enough of Major Vermel's message got through before he was captured at

Morisbim, chances are Pellaeon and Bel Iblis will miss each other."

"It should work quite well," Disra said casually, carefully concealing his own

surprise. That last part hadn't even occurred to him until Tierce brought it up,

but he had no intention of letting either of the others know that. Tierce was

entirely too self-assured as it was, and Flim wasn't nearly respectful enough

toward either of his superiors for Disra's taste. "In the meantime, in Major

Tierce's words, our stew needs a little more stirring. Are we ready for the

Bothawui riot yet?"

"If not, we're very close," Tierce said. "We'll use Navett's team, I

think-they've been the most successful agitators."

"And we definitely want this one to be memorable," Disra agreed. "I'll order

them into position."

"We should also start activating the rest of the sleeper groups," Tierce said.

"There's no way to precisely plan our timetable, and we don't want them still

asleep when we need them."

"Yes." Disra snorted gently. "Especially considering that if the real Thrawn

were in charge, he'd probably have had the whole operation timed down to the

minute."

"We'll just have to do the best we can," Tierce said. "And trust our enemies to

fill in the gaps for us. Meanwhile, I'll get over to Yaga Minor and see what I

can dig up."

"Let's hope you find something useful," Flim said, getting to his feet. "One

thing that still bothers me. What was Skywalker doing nosing around a Cavrilhu

Pirate base?"

"As I told Zothip, trying to connect us to them," Disra said. "Don't worry, he

won't be able to."

"But-"

"Besides, it's irrelevant," Tierce cut him off. "Very soon now a few clones and

a grubby little pirate gang will be the least of the Rebellion's worries."

CHAPTER

11

The door slid open, and Karrde stepped onto the Wild Karrde's bridge. "Good

afternoon, gentlemen," he said. "How are we doing?"

"Fine, Chief," Dankin said, half turning around in the helm seat to look at him.

"We're almost to the Nosken system-just a few more minutes."

"Good." Karrde took a step toward him, sending a quick look around at the other

stations&mdash

And paused, frowning. What are you doing up here, H'sishi?" he asked the young

Togorian female at the sensor station.

She turned to face him. [Dankin asked me to take the station,] she said, her

mewling Togorian speech as purringly feline as her appearance. [He said it was

time I took some bridge practice.]

Karrde looked at Dankin. The other was gazing studiously at his board against

his face in profile, but even so Karrde could see the secret amusement bubbling

there. "Yes, I suppose it is," he said, taking a second look around the bridge

at the other stations. Odonnl, in the copilot seat, was wearing the same

expression as Dankin. So was Pormfil at the engine monitor, though on his

Kerestian face it was a little harder to spot. Even Chin, who tended to be

rather grandfatherly toward new recruits these days, was having to try hard not

to smile. "Have you done a status check against the baseline recently?" he

asked, looking back at H'sishi.

The Togorian's yellow eyes seemed to cloud over a little. [No, Chieftain,] she

said. [I will do one now if you request it.]

"Please," Karrde nodded. "The baseline datacard is in the computer room."

[I obey,] H'sishi said, uncoiling her lithe body from her seat. She padded

across the bridge, her claws making little clicking sounds against the metal

floor as she walked, and exited.

"All right, gentlemen," Karrde said mildly as the door slid shut behind her. "Am

I going to have to guess?"

"Oh, it's nothing much, Chief," Dankin said, radiating a thoroughly unconvincing

innocence. "It's just that she's never been to Terrik's place before. I thought

she'd get the best view if she was up here when we came out of hyperspace."

"Ah," Karrde said. "And you were curious to see how high she'd jump?"

"Well . . . yeah, maybe a little," Dankin admitted.

"We like to think of it as her full initiation into the crew," Odonnl added

helpfully.

"I see." Karrde looked around at the others, all of them grinning openly now. "I

suppose it hasn't occurred to you that startling a Togorian this way might be

just the slightest bit dangerous?"

"Oh, come on, Captain, it's harmless fun," Odonnl said. "Mara lets us do this

when she's on the bridge."

"Anyway, Cap't, these are a long tradition," Chin said. "Billey's folk surely

cooked up something like it when you joined up with them, hee?"

"Billey's people weren't nearly so creative," Karrde said dryly. "As for Mara,

her excuse is that she wants to use the Force to examine how new crew members

behave under stress."

"Sounds like a good reason to me," Dankin offered. "Better we check them out

here than find out what they're made of when we're in the middle of a genuine

crisis."

"You're rationalizing, of course," Karrde pointed out.

"Probably," Dankin agreed shamelessly. "Come on, Chief, give us a break. It's

been deadly quiet around here lately."

"An enraged Togorian would certainly break up the monotony," Karrde said,

shaking his head. Still, horseplay aside, they did have a point. If H'sishi was

going to become a permanent member of the Wild Karrde's crew, they really did

need to find out how she reacted when startled. "Be it upon your own heads. I'll

watch from over there."

He stepped over to the bulkhead beside Chin, where he had a good view of the

sensor station; and as he did so, the door slid open and H'sishi padded back in.

[I have the datacard, Chieftain Karrde,] she said, holding it up for his

inspection.

"Good," Karrde confirmed, giving the label a quick check. H'sishi had a good

grasp of spoken Basic, but her Aurebesh reading skills were still a little

shaky. "Go ahead and set it up."

[I obey.] She sat down at her console again, clawed hands tapping delicately at

the controls.

"Here we go," Dankin said. "Stand by sublight engines."

Gripping the levers, he eased them back. The mottled sky turned to starlines and

collapsed to stars&mdash

And there, floating in the darkness directly ahead of them, was

an Imperial Star Destroyer.

H'sishi came half out of her seat, hissing something vicious sounding in her

language that Karrde didn't catch. Her mouth was stretched wide open, the fangs

glistening whitely in the pale bridge lighting. Her fur stood stiffly out from

her body, making her look half again as big as normal, and in her yellow eyes

was a crazy fire.

"Star Destroyer directly ahead," Dankin called out, as if someone on the bridge

might somehow have missed it. "Range, two kilometers."

"Turbolaser batteries swiveling toward us," Odonnl put in. "Pormfil?"

"Engines at full power," the Kerestian said, his eight cheek nostrils wheezing

rhythmically.

"Picking up a transmission, Cap't," Chin announced.

"Acknowledge it," Karrde said, watching H'sishi closely. She hadn't moved, but

was still half standing staring at the dark bulk and glittering lights ahead.

"Are they activating any tractor beams?"

For about half a second the bridge seemed to hold its collective breath. Then,

with a quiet hiss, H'sishi sank back into her seat and began tapping keys on her

control board. [No tractor beams have yet been activated,] she mewled. [The

turbolaser batteries . . .]

Her stiffened fur seemed to wilt a little as she tapped more keys. [There is no

power in them,] she said, sounding confused. [No. There is power in . . .]

She turned to face Karrde, her yellow eyes narrowing. [There are three

functional turbolaser batteries,] she said. [No more.]

"Good," Karrde said calmly. "That means we're in the right place. Always good to

know that. Chin?"

The owner awaits, Cap't," Chin said, smiling openly now as he tapped the comm

key. "He'd like to speak with you."

"Thank you," Karrde said. "Hello, Booster. How are things?"

"Never better, you old pirate," Booster Terrik's cheerful voice boomed from the

bridge speaker. "Welcome to the Errant Venture. You shopping today, or just

breaking in a new crew member?"

H'sishi hissed softly, her fingers rubbing gently against the control board. But

she said nothing. "We're shopping," Karrde said. "For information, mostly."

"Are you really," Booster said in a tone that made Karrde picture him rubbing

his hands together. "Well, well. This is definitely my star-shining day. You

want to bring the Wild Karrde aboard, or should I send you a shuttle?"

"We'll come aboard if you have the space," Karrde said. "I'm not in the market

for any hardware myself, but I imagine my people will want to browse."

"Well, come on in, then," Booster said cheerfully. "Traders' Alley is open and

ready for business, as are the rest of our little boutiques. Go ahead and

take-let's see-Docking Bay Fifteen. I'll have someone there to escort you up to

the bridge after you've turned your people loose. Don't forget to remind them

that Traders' Alley is a cash-only business."

"Of course," Karrde said. "I'll see you soon."

He motioned to Chin, and the other shut down the comm, "Take us in, Dankin," he

said. "You know how to get into the docking bays?"

"No problems." Dankin said, getting busy at his board.

At the sensor station, H'sishi stood up and turned to face Karrde. [Was this

then a joke, Chieftain?] she asked. Her tone and expression were rigid, not

betraying anything of what she was thinking. [I do not appreciate being made to

look foolish.]

"You didn't look foolish," Karrde assured her. "You merely looked startled,

after which you returned to your assigned duties."

The Togorian looked briefly around at the others. [Humans enjoy making others

look foolish,] she said, an edge of challenge in her voice.

"Humans do enjoy jokes," Karrde acknowledged. "But humor was not the primary

purpose of the exercise."

H'sishi's fur had been stiffening again. Now, slowly, it settled back down. [You

wished to see if I would run in fear.]

"Or freeze, or panic," Karrde agreed. "If you had done any of those things-"

[I would have been executed?]

Karrde shook his head. "I don't execute my people, H'sishi," he told her. "Not

unless a serious crime has been committed against me or the organization. No,

you'd simply have been moved to a different position, some post where you'd be

less likely to face this kind of stress. An information gatherer, perhaps, or

else a shadow business liaison."

H'sishi's ears twitched. [I do not wish such a post.]

"I'm glad to hear that," Karrde said, "because frankly I think you would be

wasted there. You'd be far more useful aboard the Wild Karrde or one of my other

ships."

The Togorian seemed to think about that. [I would prefer to stay here, if that

would be possible.]

"I think there's a good chance of that," Karrde said. "We'll speak more about it

later." He gestured to her control board. "You can return the datacard to the

computer room-we won't need to run that baseline check until we leave."

H'sishi showed her fangs again. [I obey, Chieftain,] she said. Delicately

plucking the datacard from its slot with the tips of her claws, she padded from

the bridge.

"Well, gentlemen," Karrde said, stepping over behind H'sishi's vacated chair.

"You've had your joke, and we all lived through it. Did she pass?"

"Definitely," Dankin said. "With banners waving, I'd say."

"Agreed," Odonnl nodded. "Took her a second to gather her wits, but then she got

right back down to business."

"And she did not forget how to use her console, as some have done," Pormfil

added, whistling emphatically through his nostrils. "I do not believe even Elkin

did so well when he was thus tested."

"Perhaps," Karrde said. "Though I'd wager H'sishi left something behind that

Elkin didn't."

Pormfil sniffed the air. "The aroma of nervous sweat?" he suggested.

"No." Karrde pointed at the group of small indentations in the edge of H'sishi's

control board. "Claw marks."

A familiar figure was waiting for Karrde and Odonnl as they headed down the Wild

Karrde's ramp. "Ah-Captain Karrde," Nawara Ven said, dipping his head in a

formal Twi'lek bow. "It is good to see you again."

"And you, Ven." Karrde nodded back. "I trust life is treating you well?"

"It is all enjoyment aboard the Errant Venture," Ven said, smiling thinly.

"Come. Booster's waiting for you on the bridge."

The Twi'lek led the way toward a bank of turbolifts, limping only slightly on

his artificial leg. "I notice you've lost some of your turbolasers," Karrde

commented. "My people were reading only three active batteries as we came in."

"Fortunes of business, I'm afraid," Ven said, keying the turbolift call. "We had

to break two of them down for parts for three others, but then had to sell those

three to purchase components for the hyperdrive."

"By my count, that still leaves five from your original ten batteries," Karrde

pointed out.

"Yes," Ven said, rearranging his head-tail on his shoulder as the turbolift door

slid ponderously open. "The other two are currently under repair."

They stepped into the turbolift. The door closed again, and the car began to

move. "Only two of the turbolifts in this section are still working," Ven said.

"You'd be amazed at how many things there are to go wrong on a Star Destroyer."

"I can imagine," Karrde said. "Back during the height of the Rebellion I heard a

Special Operations man describe a Star Destroyer as 174,000 design flaws waiting

to be exploited."

Ven tossed his head. "A low-end estimate. Booster finally gave in and hired a

group of two hundred techs-Verpine, actually-to upgrade some of our systems.

That was seven months ago, and they're still at it."

"I suppose that's what you get when you try to run a ship this size with less

than what's supposed to be the bare-minimum skeleton crew," Karrde suggested,

looking around the car. "Entropy will always get ahead of you. I presume Booster

isn't thinking of selling?"

Ven favored him with a sly grin. "Why? Are you thinking of buying?"

"I could probably be persuaded," Karrde said. "Certainly if it comes down to the

ship falling into someone else's hands. I wouldn't want to face down a Hutt in

one of these things."

"Oh, I don't know," the Twi'lek said dryly. "Given the Hurts' past performance,

it might be entertaining to watch."

"Not if it was someone like Jabba."

"True," Ven conceded. "At any rate, I'll pass your offer on to Booster."

The turbolift car settled to a slightly clunky stop, and the door slid open to

reveal the aft bridge. "Booster asked me to apologize for not welcoming you in

person, incidentally," Ven said as he waved them toward the archway that led to

the main bridge. "You'll understand in a moment why he couldn't."

"No problem," Karrde said, glancing casually around at the aft bridge consoles.

Here and there an indicator light still winked, but for the most part the

consoles seemed to either be on standby or to have been shut down completely. He

stepped into the archway, turning back around to throw a quick look at the aft

bridge's hologram pad-which also seemed to be shut down&mdash

"Talon Karrde!" Booster's voice boomed. Welcome aboard."

Karrde completed his turn. Booster was striding down the command walkway toward

them, arms flung wide open in expansive welcome.

And walking right behind him&mdash

"And look who else has come to visit the old man," Booster continued, half

turning to gesture just as expansively at them.

"Yes, indeed," Karrde said, motioning Odonnl forward. "Odonnl, I don't believe

you've met Booster's family. This is his lovely daughter Mirax, and his

son-in-law Commander Corran Horn. Former-I'm sorry; current member of General

Wedge Antilles's celebrated Rogue Squadron."

"Ah," Odonnl said guardedly. "Pleased to meet you. That's the group Ven here

used to be with, isn't it?"

"Nawara and I used to fly together, yes," Corran said, his tone equally guarded,

Booster, I suppose I don't mind that Karrde knows we're here, but-"

"Relax, Corran," Booster soothed, stepping forward to briefly grip Karrde's

hand.

"Karrde's top people are just as trustworthy as he is."

Corran shot Karrde a decidedly ambivalent look. "That makes me feel so much

better."

"Don't worry," Karrde assured him, offering his hand. "We won't tell Coruscant

one of its most revered heroes is associating with riffraff."

Corran took the proffered hand, his face relaxing into a slight smile. "I

appreciate that. How's Mara doing these days?"

"Quite well, thank you," Karrde said. "As a matter of fact, she should be along

anytime-she's temporarily flying with the Starry Ice, which is supposed to be

meeting me here." He shifted his gaze to the woman. "Hello, Mirax; it's been a

long time. Where's the little one?"

"Valin's right down there," Mirax said, giving Karrde a far more genuine smile

than her husband's as she waved toward the starboard crew pit. "And he's six

years old-not so little anymore."

"Indeed not," Karrde said, taking a couple of steps to the side and looking down

the crew pit. The boy was perched on a couple of extra cushions in one of the

chairs, staring at one of the displays, completely oblivious to the visitors or

the scattering of Booster's men manning some of the other consoles. "Teaching

him to fly the ship?"

"Hardly," Mirax said, coming up beside him and smiling fondly down at her son.

"Dad set up one of the tractor beam consoles so he could play games. Do you want

to say hello?"

"Don't disturb him," Karrde said. "Perhaps we'll have time later. Is he still

keeping up with his music?"

"Like a mynock with his tail on fire," Booster said wryly. "I just bought him a

new chordokeylo-he'd already worn out his first one. But seriously, Karrde, I'd

appreciate it if you would keep Corran's presence here to yourself. This is

supposed to be a quiet meeting-only a handful of New Republic officials know

anything about it."

"I understand," Karrde said, eyeing Corran again. "A secret mission, eh? Cloak

and blade, skulking around darkened cantinas, whispered conversations with

shadowy contacts-that sort of thing?"

"I'm sure you realize we can't discuss it with you," Corran said, his face not

quite stony.

"Yes, of course," Karrde said. "Say no more." He nodded toward the crew pit.

"Though I can't say I approve of your superiors allowing you to take your family

along on such a dangerous mission."

"It's nothing like that," Booster said with a touch of mild exasperation. "All

Corran needs is a little information-"

"Booster!" Corran snapped, glaring at his father-in-law. "Seal your word port,

will you?"

"Perhaps I can help," Karrde offered. "I do have certain information sources of

my own. Some of which, I daresay, are better even than Booster's."

"Thanks for the offer," Corran said. "We'll manage."

"He does have a point, Corran," Booster said, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully.

"Maybe you ought to lay the situation out for him."

"No." Corran shook his head. "No offense, Karrde, but this is high-level stuff.

You're not authorized to know anything about it.,'

"Yes, but-" Booster began.

"No, that's all right," Karrde said, holding up a hand. "If his superiors don't

even want outsiders knowing he and his family are here, they certainly wouldn't

want him discussing his errand."

"Exactly," Corran said. "Thank you for understanding."

"So if I may, I'll just borrow Booster for a few minutes to discuss my errand,"

Karrde continued, reaching into his inside jacket pocket and pulling out a

datacard. "But before I forget, Mirax, I brought this for your son."

Mirax frowned as he handed her the datacard. "What is it?"

"An Ettian tonal card for his chordokeylo," Karrde told her blandly. "I

understand it's proper etiquette for a guest to bring a small gift for his

hosts' children."

Corran leaned over her shoulder to look at the datacard, a slightly sandbagged

look on his face. "But how did you know-?" He looked back at Karrde, shifted a

rapidly hardening glare to his father-in-law. "Booster?"

"Not guilty," Booster said hastily, holding up both hands. "I didn't tell anyone

you were coming. Not even my own people."

"As I said," Karrde said quietly. "My information sources are quite good."

For a minute the bridge was silent Corran looked at Booster, then at Mirax, got

no help from either of them, and finally looked back at Karrde. "What's it going

to cost me?" he sighed.

Karrde shrugged. "Whatever it's worth, of course. We can negotiate price later."

Corran looked at Booster. "I've heard that before."

"If you'd prefer, we could leave that part up to Councilor Organa Solo," Karrde

offered. "In the past she and I have always been able to arrive at a mutually

acceptable arrangement."

"I'd hate to think what some of those arrangements might have cost us," Corran

growled. "All right, fine. I presume you're aware we've had a lot of

demonstrations and riots lately against Bothan businesses and consulates."

"Over the revelations contained in the Caamas Document," Karrde murmured.

"Right. Well, in and among all these protests we're starting to hear the name

Vengeance' being batted around. Not as a word, but as a group or organization."

Karrde looked at Odonnl. "Have we heard anything about that?"

"I haven't personally," Odonnl said. "But there's a lot of stuff our sources

send in that I don't have time to look at."

"We'll do a data search when we get back to the Wild Karrde," Karrde said. "What

are Coruscant's conclusions?"

"No conclusions yet, just questions," Corran said. "The main ones being who and

what this Vengeance is . . . and whether they're home-grown or getting help from

outside."

"Let me guess. The Empire?"

Corran's eyes narrowed slightly. "You say that like you don't believe it."

"Not exactly," Karrde corrected. "I say that like someone who rather cynically

notices that whenever anything goes wrong in the New Republic, official blaming

fingers immediately zero in on the Empire."

"That's a little unfair," Booster said. "Especially considering the Empire's

long history of this kind of meddling."

"I'm not saying they're not involved," Karrde said. "I'm simply warning against

the automatic assumption that they are."

"But-"

"No, he's right," Corran said reluctantly. "There are a lot of beings who

remember the Empire doing exactly the same thing to us: blaming the Rebellion

for everything, then using that as an excuse to tighten their grip. That's why

my visit here was supposed to be kept secret, in fact-General Bel Iblis didn't

want it leaking out that we were even thinking in this direction."

Karrde nodded. He should have guessed Bel Iblis would be the one who'd put this

Ratitan whisperfly in Con-an's ear. Unlike some of the New Republic's leaders,

Bel Iblis knew how to keep his eye on his goal. And, when necessary, to ignore

the shortcomings of the people he might have to deal with in order to reach that

goal. "Understood," he said. "We'll check our files; if there's nothing there,

we'll start some quiet inquiries and see what we can find."

"Sounds good," Booster said. "And as long as we're trading wish lists here, you

also had some information you wanted, right?"

"Two simple questions, actually," Karrde said. "First of all: our friend Luke

Skywalker is trying to locate the Cavrilhu Pirates. Any idea as to which rock

they might have buried themselves under?"

"I know they've got a base on Amorris," Booster said, pulling out a datapad and

keying it on. "And-let's see-seems to me their major stronghold is-right, here

it is. A hollowed-out asteroid in the Kauron system."

Karrde shook his head. "They've abandoned their Amorris site," he told Booster.

"And according to Mara, Skywalker just finished chasing them off their

asteroid."

"What did he do that for?" Booster held up a hand. "Never mind; I don't want to

know. Well, if those are gone then I can't help you. Second question?"

"Before he went to Kauron, Skywalker helped stop a pirate raid at Iphigin,"

Karrde said, glancing casually around the bridge. No one else was in earshot.

"No idea which group was involved. During the battle, he sensed what he thought

was a group of clones aboard one of the pirates' ships."

No one moved, but the atmosphere was suddenly rigid. "I thought the Empire had

already run through its supply of Mount Tantiss clones," Mirax said, a shadow of

dread in her voice.

"That's what Coruscant says," Booster confirmed, not sounding any happier than

his daughter. "At least to us outsiders. Corran?"

"As far as I know, it's the truth," Corran said. "It's been years since we ran

across any clone casualties in military action."

"How long has it been since you looked for them?" Odonnl asked.

"Good point," Corran conceded. "I don't know."

"It's hard to believe there could be any of them left," Booster said. "They were

some of the best and brightest troops Thrawn had. You'd think Daala or someone

else would have spent them long ago."

"Unless Thrawn put some in deep cover where Daala couldn't find them," Karrde

said.

"What for?" Booster scoffed. "Saving them? For what?"

"And why would they suddenly be making their appearance now?" Corran added.

"We don't know that they are suddenly making their appearance," Odonnl reminded

him tartly. "Maybe they've been out there all along and it's just that you

hotshot military guys haven't noticed."

Corran took half a step toward him. "Look, Odonnl, when we're busy trying to

keep peace around the galaxy-"

"Easy, gentlemen," Karrde said, stepping between them and holding up a hand.

"Let's try to remember we're all on the same side here, shall we?"

Odonnl's lips puckered. "Yeah. Sure."

"Why don't you head back to the Wild Karrde, Odonnl," Karrde suggested. "Get

started on that data search."

"Sure," Odonnl muttered again. "Good idea."

"I'll escort you down," Ven offered, stepping forward. Karrde looked at him in

mild surprise-the Twi'lek had been so quiet he'd almost forgotten he was there.

"It's easy to get lost on a ship this size."

The expression on Odonnl's face clearly indicated his opinion of that as an

excuse, but he merely nodded and headed aft, Ven at his side. "My apologies,

Commander Horn," Karrde said quietly as the two of them crossed under the

archway and disappeared into the aft bridge. "Odonnl doesn't have the same fond

memories of the New Republic military that I do."

"That's all right," Corran said darkly. "I have certain unfond memories of

smugglers myself."

"Corran," Mirax said warningly, taking his arm.

The X-wing pilot patted her hand. "Present company excluded, of course," he

amended. "Let's get back to business."

"Thank you," Karrde said. What we know for sure-and all we know for sure-is that

Skywalker sensed clones aboard those ships. Our first job is to answer one

simple question: whether they're Imperial leftovers, or whether someone else has

found an-other cache of cloning cylinders."

"Someone such as the Cavrillhu Pirates?" Mirax asked.

"That thought has crossed my mind," Karrde agreed soberly. "It could very well

be that my two questions for your father are in fact interconnected." He smiled

at Booster. "In which case, of course, I'd expect a discount on price."

Booster rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, for-"

"Yo, Captain," a voice called from one of the crew pits.

What is it, Shish?" Booster called back.

"Got a ship incoming-reads out as the Starry Ice," Shish reported. "Pilot wants

landing instructions. You want me to fix her up?"

"Key the transmission over to me," Booster instructed him, pulling out his

comlink. "She'll probably be asking about you anyway," he added to Karrde as he

handed him the slender cylinder. "Might as well save ourselves a little time."

"Thank you." Karrde thumbed the comlink on. "Mara, this is Karrde. How are

things?"

"Running quite smoothly, thank you," Mara said. If she was surprised to hear his

voice, she was hiding it well. Though now that he thought about it, there

weren't a lot of things that ever seemed to surprise her. "Afraid we didn't have

time to swing by Dronseen for that cargo."

"That's all right," Karrde said. "Faughn can make the pickup after she drops you

here. How did the pirate hunt go?"

"Complete washout," she said. "We tracked their vector to Di'wor but then lost

it completely. The traffic around there was fierce-Starspeeder 3000s all over

the place."

"It's pollination season for the singfruit groves," Booster murmured. "Peace

breeds tourists."

Karrde nodded. "Don't worry about it," he told Man. "I wasn't really expecting

them to leave a trail you could follow. Have Faughn bring the Starry Ice aboard

and we'll-"

"Jade!" Faughn's voice cut in. "Over there-coming in from starboard."

"I see it," Mara said, her tone suddenly crisp. "Terrik, you've got

company-coming in one-one-seven by fifteen, your vector."

Booster was already running along the command walkway toward the forward

viewport, Corran right behind him. "One-one-seven by fifteen, Bodwae," he

snapped. "What do you see?"

"Nothjing," a bewildered Laerdocian voice said from one of the crew pits. "These

shas'mink sensors-"

"It's hard to see," Mara put in, her voice coming now from the Errant Venture's

main bridge speaker system. "Small and dark-looks a little like a severely

modified TIE fighter."

"Doesn't show up well on sensors, either," Faughn added.

"Stjill see nothjing," Bodwae insisted.

"Skip it," Booster said tartly. He and Corran were standing together now by the

forward viewports, Booster's head turning slowly back and forth as he searched

the sky. "Get the deflector shields up, and stand by turbolasers."

"Shjields shortjing out agajin," Bodwae said. "Turbolasers-"

"I'm getting a transmission now," Shish barked. "Strong signal. It's . . . well,

stang it all, I don't know what it is."

"Mara?" Karrde asked.

"We're picking up the edge of it," Mara confirmed. "Pretty faint out here,

though. So far the computer's not making anything of it."

"There it is," Corran snapped, jabbing out a finger. "Coming straight at us."

"Get that bridge deflector up!" Booster snapped. "Now!"

"Mara?" Karrde called.

"We're still out of firing range," she said tightly. "Better take cover."

Karrde glanced around, belatedly wondering where Mirax was. He spotted her at

once, heading at a dead run back toward the relative safety of the aft bridge,

her bewildered-looking son Valin clutched in her arms. For a moment he

considered joining her, realized it was already too late, and turned back

instead toward the forward viewports. He could see the unknown intruder now,

burning space directly toward them. Like no ship he'd ever seen . . .

"Brjidge deflector not comjing up," Bodwae snarled. "Shjip gojing to hjit."

"Hit the ground!" Booster snapped, grabbing Corran's arm and dropping them both

flat on the command walkway. Karrde took a long step toward the nearest crew

pit, realized he wouldn't have time to jump down into it, and stopped. The

intruder was still coming&mdash

And then, at the last second, it made a strange corkscrewing maneuver to one,

side and shot around and above past the viewport.

It took Karrde a second to find his voice. "Mara?"

"You all right?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, we're fine," he assured her, breaking his paralysis and starting down the

command walkway toward where Booster and Corran were still stretched out on the

deck. "Where did it go?"

"Overshot the command superstructure, cut around behind the drive nozzles where

we couldn't see it, then jumped to light-speed," she told him. "Same trick as

the one Luke spooked."

Karrde frowned out the viewports. "This was the same type as that one?"

"It looked like it," Mara told him. "Torve's doing a scrub of the sensor data

now."

Booster and Corran were back on their feet by the time Karrde reached them. "Did

you see that?" Booster demanded, shaking his head as he brushed himself off. "Of

all the stupid, cherfer-brained stunts-"

"Captain, this is Torve," the young man's voice cut him off. "It's confirmed:

same type of ship as before."

"Where did you see this other ship?" Booster asked.

"In the asteroids near the Cavrilhu's Kauron base," Karrde told him. "Mara, what

about that transmission?"

"We're running it now," she said. "It consists of what seems to be a short

message, followed by a pause, followed by a repeat of the message. So far we're

not coming up with a match to any known language, code, or encrypt."

"Probably something useless like that Qella ship Calrissian chased halfway

across the galaxy," Booster said with a scornful sniff.

"That's what we thought at first," Mara said. "I don't think so anymore."

"Why?" Booster asked. "Just because it was transmitting something?"

"Because it was transmitting specifically toward this ship," Karrde said. "And

the fact that it paused and then repeated itself implies it was expecting an

answer."

Booster scratched his cheek. "Does kind of sound that way, doesn't it? Mara,

you're running Imperial codes against it, too, aren't you?"

"First thing we tried," she told him. "Nothing came even close."

"Yet they came in for a close look at an Imperial Star Destroyer," Karrde mused.

"And before that they were poking around a pirate base with suspected Imperial

ties."

"Sounds like they're either already involved with the Empire or else want to

be," Mara said.

"Or maybe it's something else entirely," Faughn put in, her voice suddenly

tight. "I've just run a phoneme analysis on that transmission; and I think I've

found the name Thrawn' in there."

Karrde frowned. "Let's hear it."

There was a brief pause; and then over the comlink came a sputter of alien

language.

Squarely in the middle of the gibberish&mdash

"I heard it," Booster said. "It was kind of broken up, like he was stuttering or

something."

"That's because you were getting his full name there," Mara said, her voice

suddenly grim. "Mitth'raw'nuruodo. Thrawn was what he called his core name."

Out of the corner of his eye, Karrde saw something flash across Corran's

expression. "So you were on a full-name basis with the guy?" Booster asked with

forced casualness.

"Hardly," Mara said. "But I did know his full name. And there weren't a lot of

people in the Empire who did."

Karrde chewed his lower lip. "You know anything about his history? His early

history with the Empire, I mean?"

"Not really," she said. "Some Imperial commander ran into him on a deserted

world just inside the Unknown Regions while chasing smugglers. He was impressed

by his tactical ability, and brought him back to Coruscant. Rumor was his own

people had exiled him there, incidentally."

"Why?" Booster asked.

"I don't know," Mara said. "But it could be that ship was someone who's finally

figured out where he went and has come looking for him."

Booster snorted. "They're going to be real disappointed when they find out

they're ten years too late."

"Maybe not," Corran muttered. "It could be it's not Thrawn they're looking for."

Karrde studied the other's face. There was something there, all right. "I take

it that's not an idle guess," he said mildly. "Would you care to share it with

the rest of us ?"

Corran's lip twitched. "I wasn't supposed to say anything about this to anyone

but Booster," he said reluctantly. "But under the circumstances . . . That

Devaronian you got the Caamas Document from, Karrde? He found some other

datacards in the same batch. One of them was labeled The Hand of Thrawn.'"

Karrde nodded slowly. So that was the secret Leia had been holding out on him at

Wayland. And the reason she'd been giving Mara such a strange look.

"The datacard was so badly scrambled that they couldn't get anything from it,"

Corran continued. "Councilor Organa Solo thought it might be Thrawn's version of

an Emperor's Hand. General Bel Iblis wanted me to ask Booster if he'd run across

the term before."

"Never," Booster said, shaking his head. "Karrde? Mara?"

"No," Karrde said.

"Me, neither," Mara said. "And personally, I find it hard to picture Thrawn

having that kind of shadow agent. He wasn't into the same kind of political

manipulation that the Emperor was. Besides, he had the Noghri if he needed

something special done."

"Yet there was a datacard with that title in the Emperor's private files,"

Karrde pointed out. "It must mean something."

"How do you know it was from his private files?" Booster asked.

"Because if it was something Bel Iblis could have looked up in the Kamparas

archives, he wouldn't have sent Corran to ask you about it," Karrde pointed out

"Point," Booster rumbled. "So you figure these ships are looking for either

Thrawn or this Hand of Thrawn?"

"Or else the person in the ship is the Hand of Thrawn," Mara said. Whichever,

it's starting to look more important than ever that we try to track these ships

down."

"Agreed," Karrde said. "How do you suggest we start?"

"We've got the vector from their jump a few minutes ago," Mara said. "We' also

got the vector from the Kauron ship. Faughn's plotting an intercept point."

"Got it," Faughn said. "It's an unexplored system in Gradilis sector, right on

the boundary between Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. It's listed as the

Nirauan system, so someone must have visited the place, but there's no other

data."

"Sounds too easy," Booster rumbled. "They wouldn't really be stupid enough to

jump directly to their base like that, would they? Especially not with us

watching."

"Depends on how they make their jumps," Karrde pointed out. "They may not have

the computing power aboard to handle complicated hyperspace' calculations. Or it

could be that their return home is preprogrammed to make sure none of their

ships go astray."

"They also may not realize we can still pull their vector for a few microseconds

after they jump," Mara added. "Both times now they've made sure they were out of

our line of sight before kicking in their hyperdrive. They might think that's

all they need to do."

"At any rate, it's a place to start," Karrde said, an odd reluctance seeping

into him.

A reluctance Mara evidently could hear in his voice. "Would we rather not go?"

she asked. "We could just turn all this over to the New Republic and let them

handle it."

"Corran?" Booster prompted.

The X-wing pilot was still staring out the viewport at the stars. "I can take it

back to Bel Iblis, no problem," he said, sounding vaguely distracted. "But I

doubt he'll be able to do anything about it, at least not now. This whole Caamas

thing has everybody in a knot-tie twist."

Karrde nodded, his instinctive reluctance turning still darker. Booster was

right: this was too easy. A trap, perhaps, or at the very least a wild tresher

hunt and a waste of time.

But if it wasn't . . .

"No, you'd better check it out," he sighed. "Have Faughn transmit her schedule

to Chin before you jump; we'll sort her assignments out among the other ships."

"Right," Mara said. "Anyplace in particular you want us to rendezvous when we

get back?"

"Just get in touch with the network-they'll find me," Karrde told her. "And be

careful."

"Don't worry," Mara assured him grimly. "If they're trying some game, they'll be

sorry they tried it on us. See you later."

Karrde thumbed off the comlink. "Good luck," he said softly.

"Don't worry, they'll be fine," Booster said, plucking the comlink from Karrde's

hand and replacing it in his own belt. "Mara and Faughn are both pretty sharp,

and the Starry Ice is a good ship. Better than this one, anyway," he added,

glowering as he brushed past Karrde and stomped back down the command walkway.

"All right, Bodwae, what the blinking mradhe muck is going on with those

shields?"

He squatted down to hear the Laerdocian's excuses; and as he did so, Karrde

stepped over to Corran's side. "You were right here when that alien ship went

past," he said quietly. "Did you happen to sense anything unusual about it?"

Corran threw him a sideways look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean whatever it is that Skywalker picks up when he gets near a group of

clones," Karrde told him. "Whatever this disturbance is that it creates in the

Force."

For a long moment the only sound on the bridge was the argument going on behind

them, now become three-way as Shish joined in on Bodwae's side. "I don't know

what Luke senses when there are clones nearby," Corran said at last, his voice

barely audible. "All I felt here was the presence of something alien."

Karrde nodded. "I see."

Corran turned to face him. "My . . . talent . . . is not exactly public

knowledge, Karrde," he said, his tone somewhere between challenge and threat.

"Yes, I know," Karrde replied evenly. "Wise of you to keep it that way."

"I think so," Corran countered. "Problem is, you're in the business of selling

information."

"Ah, but I'm also in the business of survival," Karrde said. "And in this big,

dangerous galaxy one occasionally needs a helping hand." He cocked an eyebrow.

"I always think it's nice when there are cards in that hand which the opposition

doesn't know about."

Corran's forehead furrowed slightly. "So that's how it works, huh? You keep

quiet, and I owe you one?"

Karrde looked back along the command walkway. From around the corner of the aft

bridge Mirax and Valin had reappeared, Mirax looking cautious, the boy tugging

impatiently at his mother's hand with the obvious wish to run to Daddy. "Yes,

you owe me one," he told Corran. "But be assured that when I collect, it'll be

something safe. I owe Mirax that much." He considered. "Either that, or

something vital that absolutely has to be done."

Corran snorted gently. "That covers a lot of ground."

Karrde shrugged. "As I said. It's a big, dangerous galaxy."

CHAPTER

12

The west wall of the Resinem Entertainment Complex was dirty and salt-encrusted,

discolored with age and pitted by the debris from the explosion fifteen years

earlier that had leveled the rival gambling hall down the street. From the far

side of the fifty-meter depression that marked the explosion's center the

Resinem's west wall was said to be rather attractive, the random bits of damage

weaving themselves into intriguing visual patterns, particularly in the shifting

glow of a Borcorash sunset.

But sunset was long past, and Shada wasn't on the far side of the pit, anyway.

She was three-quarters of the way up the west wall, digging her climbing hooks

carefully into the various cracks and cavities; and from this perspective, all

she could tell was that the wall was dirty and not much fun. Join a smuggling

group, she thought darkly for about the fifth time since beginning her climb.

Visit a side of the galaxy the tourists never see.

It wasn't fun, but it was necessary. Very soon now Mazzic and Griv would be

escorted onto the Resinem's ultra-private top floor for a meeting with a

smooth-talking Kubaz who represented a shadowy Hutt crime cartel. Griv was

carrying a small case full of ryll, the Kubaz would be carrying a similarly

sized case full of Sormahil fire gems, and in theory the gathering would break

up with a simple and mutually profitable exchange.

In theory.

Somewhere in the distance off to her right an airspeeder swung around in

preparation for landing; and as its landing lights sent a brief splash of pale

illumination across the wall in front of her, Shada felt a fresh surge of

depression sweep through her. She hadn't been home to Emberlene for over twelve

years now, not since Mazzic had hired her on as his bodyguard, but the grime and

deterioration of this wall had brought all those memories back as if it had been

yesterday. Memories of growing up amid the ruins of what had once been great

cities. Memories of the death that had struck so often around hen death by

disease, by malnutrition, by violence, by hopelessness. Memories of pervasive

hunger, of eking out an existence by the vermin she was able to catch and kill,

and on her share of the meager foodstuffs that came in from what was left of the

countryside's arable land.

And on the outworld supplies that finally began coming in. Supplies not donated

by caring offworlders or a generous Republic, but earned by the blood and sweat

and lives of the Mistryl shadow guards.

They were the elite of what remained of Emberlene society, commissioned

personally in their crusade by the Eleven Elders of the People; and from her

earliest childhood Shada had wanted with all her heart to be one of them. The

Mistryl roamed the starlanes, a sisterhood of exquisitely trained warrior women,

hiring out their services and combat skills to the oppressed and powerless of

the galaxy and receiving in exchange the money vital for keeping the remnants of

their devastated world alive.

A world whose people no one had ever even noticed, let alone cared about.

Unlike, say, Caamas.

With an effort, she choked down the ripple of resentment at all the attention

Caamas had been getting the past couple of weeks. The destruction of Emberlene

was too far in the past to get emotional about anymore, even for her. No one in

the galaxy had cared back when it was attacked; they certainly couldn't be

expected to care now. Yes, it was unfair, but no one had ever claimed the

universe was fair.

From just above and to her left came a soft, questioning burp. Shada paused,

looking up into the darkness, and spotted the reflection from a faint pair of

close-set eyes looking down at her from deep shadow. "It's okay," she murmured

toward the eyes, cautiously pulling herself up for a closer look. On this part

of Borcorash it was probably a harmless blufferavian, but it never hurt to be

careful.

The caution turned out to be unnecessary. It was indeed a blufferavian, resting

on a nest built into a particularly deep niche in the wall. From beneath its

wing she caught a glimpse of a couple of speckled eggs.

"Don't worry, I'm not hungry," she soothed the creature. Once upon a time, she

remembered darkly, she'd been quite good at catching avians that size. They'd

tasted much better than the city's scavenger insects .

Shaking away the thoughts, she shifted her weight to free up one hand and pulled

a safety anchor off her climbing harness. Her Mistryl instructors would probably

have criticized her use of a safety line, pointing out that it took time to

fasten the anchors and that a true Mistryl would never slip in the first place.

But her climb training was many years in her past, and all the speed in the

galaxy would gain her nothing if she fell before reaching the rooftop.

On the other band, if there was anything to Mazzic's suspicions about this

meeting, getting up there too late would be just as futile as not getting there

at all. About two meters of wall left, she estimated as she glanced upward, with

maybe twice that number of minutes left before Mazzic and Griv arrived upstairs.

Locking the slender, nearly invisible safety line into the anchor, not waiting

until the faint hiss of the molecular welding between anchor and wall had faded

away, she passed the blufferavian's nest and continued her climb.

She had made it to the top, and was just reaching a hand up toward the edge,

when she heard a faint sound.

She froze, listening, but the sound wasn't repeated. Easing her hand down, she

pulled another safety anchor from her harness and set it against the wall as far

to her left as she could reach. Hoping the hissing sound was too quiet to be

heard by whoever was up there, she locked her safety line into the anchor and

also locked the feed at her harness. Now, if she was shot at when she poked her

head up over the edge, dropping down would swing her around that point in a

tight arc to pop up a meter and a half to the side. It wasn't much, but in a

gunfight the ability to throw off an opponent's aim even that much could make

all the difference. Easing her blaster from its holster, she flicked off the

safety&mdash

"Hello, Shada," a soft voice said from directly above her.

She looked up. A cloaked figure was standing at the edge looking down at her.

But even in the gloom Shada could see enough of the other's face .. . "Karoly?"

she murmured.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Karoly D'ulin said. "Just put your blaster

up here on the roof, would you? Then come on up."

Shada reached up and set the weapon beside Karoly's feet. Then, remembering to

unlock the line feed from her harness, she pulled herself the rest of the way.

Straightening up, she took a quick look around. Here at the edge the roof was

flat, but a few meters inward it rose at a sharp angle another meter or so

before flattening out again. Beyond the rise Shada could see the top of the long

skylight enclosure that crowned the upper room.

The room where Mazzic was about to get down to business.

"You're probably the last person I would have expected to see up here," she

commented, looking back at Karoly.

"I imagine so," Karoly agreed. She'd picked up the blaster while Shada was

finishing her climb, and now tucked it away somewhere inside her cloak. "You can

take off those climbing hooks, too-we'll be going back down by one of the

interior stairways. Just set them down on the roof, if you would."

"Of course," Shada said, unstrapping the hooks from her forearms and setting

them down on the roof beside her. They weren't all that useful as weapons, but

Karoly obviously wasn't interested in taking chances. Kneeling down, she undid

the foot hooks as well, then straightened up again. "Happy?"

Karoly pursed her lips. "You act as if we're enemies, Shada. We're not."

"I'm glad to hear that," Shada said, studying the younger woman's face. It had

indeed been a long time since they'd worked together-almost twenty years, in

fact, since Tatooine and that near fiasco with the Imperials' Hammertong

project. The memory Shada had brought away from that incident was one of Karoly

as young and inexperienced and a bit prone to becoming flustered.

But the memory wasn't the woman who now stood before her. Sometime in those

twenty years Karoly had developed grace and poise, and an air of considerable

competence. "How did you know I'd be coming up this side?"

"We didn't," Karoly said, shrugging. "The rest of the approaches to the rooftop

are also being watched. But I thought I spotted you slipping around the side of

the building in that layered blue dress of yours, and I guessed you might try

this way." She gestured to Shada's elaborately coiled and plaited hair, then at

her tight-fitting combat jumpsuit and climbing harness. "I must say, the dress

suited that hairstyle better than the fighting gear. What are those things

holding it together?"

"They're lacquered zenji needles," Shada told her. "Mazzic likes me to look

decorative."

"Useful camouflage for a bodyguard," Karoly said. "Speaking of camouflage, I'd

guess one of the needles must be a disguised signaler or comlink. Just drop it

on the roof, all right?"

Shada grimaced. "You don't miss a trick, do you?" she said, pulling the signaler

out from its place behind her right ear and adding it to the pile of climbing

hooks. "I'm so glad we're not enemies. Who is this we' you mentioned?"

"I have a client with me." Karoly nodded toward the higher section of roof.

"He's over there."

Crouched beside the skylight with a sniper's blaster rifle? "Doing what?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Karoly said. "As of right now, you've been pulled

off the job."

Shada frowned at her. "What are you talking about? I've been with Mazzic for

over twelve years now. You can't end that kind of relationship with the snap of

a finger."

"We can, and we are," Karoly said. "It's clear now that Mazzic's group isn't

going to become the galaxy-spanning organization that the Mistryl hoped when

they first planted you on him. And with Talon Karrde's Smugglers' Alliance all

but defunct, the Eleven have decided you're just being wasted here. It's time

for you to move on."

"Fine," Shada said, taking two steps back away from Karoly along the roof edge

and craning her neck as if trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of

Karoly's client. "I'll tell Mazzic tonight that I'm resigning as his bodyguard.

We can leave in the morning."

Karoly shook her head. "I'm sorry. We leave now."

Shada looked back, leveling a hard stare at Karoly and surreptitiously gauging

the distance between them. Three meters; just about right. "Why?" she demanded.

"Because your new client wants to murder him?"

Even in the dim light she could see Karoly wince a little. But when the other

woman spoke her voice was firm enough. "I suggest you try to remember who we

are, Shada," she said. "We're Mistryl. We're given orders and we follow them."

"I'm also Mazzic's bodyguard," Shada said quietly. "And once upon a time the

Mistryl were given honor and obeyed duty. Not just orders."

Karoly snorted under her breath. "Honor. You have been out of touch, haven't

you?"

"Apparently so," Shada countered. "I've always tried to believe that being a

Mistryl put me a few steps above the garbage heap of mercenaries and

assassins-for-hire. Forgive my naïveté."

Karoly's face darkened. "We do what's necessary to keep our people alive," she

bit out., "If some slimy Huts wants to back-blade some other slimy smuggler,

that's none of our concern."

"Correction: it's none of your concern," Shada said. "It is mine. I have a job

to do, Karoly; and you can get out of my way or you can get hurt." She reached

up to her harness and locked her safety line&mdash

Karoly's hand seemed to twitch, and suddenly there was a small blaster in it.

"Freeze it," she ordered. "Move your hands away from your body. Empty."

Shada held her arms loosely out from her sides, fingers spread to prove she

wasn't holding or palming anything. "You'll have to kill me to stop me," she

warned.

"I hope not. Now turn around."

This was it. Arms still held away from her body, Shada rotated ninety degrees to

face the skylight&mdash

And taking a step backward, she dropped off the edge of the roof.

She'd half expected Karoly to get a quick blaster shot off before she

disappeared over the edge. It didn't happen; Karoly either freezing with

surprise or else too self-controlled to fire uselessly. But Shada didn't have

time to speculate on which it was. The safety line snapped taut, and suddenly

she was caroming off the wall as she swung down and to her right, pivoting about

that last anchor she'd set near the rooftop. Another two seconds, she estimated,

and she would pass the midpoint of her oscillat ion and swing up again to the

rooftop where Karoly and her blaster waited.

She had just those two seconds to find a way to take down her onetime friend.

The startled blufferavian didn't even have time to squawk as Shada snatched it

from its nest. She managed to grab one of the eggs with her other hand, and then

she was swinging back up toward the roof.

And her two-second grace period was over. Even as she cocked the bird over her

shoulder in throwing position Karoly appeared above her at the edge of the roof,

hurrying toward the spot from which Shada had jumped, her eyes and blaster

tracking down the side of the building. She caught sight of Shada-floundered off

balance for a split second as she tried to halt her forward movement and shift

her aim&mdash

And with a grunt of exertion, Shada hurled the blufferavian at her face.

There was no time for Karoly to think, no time for her even to pause and

evaluate. There was a sudden confused flurry of wings in front of her as the

blufferavian tried to recover its equilibrium; and in the absence of thought,

powerfully ingrained Mistryl combat reflexes took over. She jerked back, the

movement eroding her precarious balance even further, twisted the muzzle of her

blaster toward the incoming missile, and fired.

The blaster bolt caught the blufferavian dead center, and suddenly the flapping

wings became a turmoil of flame and sparks and acrid smoke. Karoly ducked away

from the fireball, twisting her head to the side&mdash

Just in time to catch Shada's thrown blufferavian egg squarely across the bridge

of her nose.

She gasped as the egg splattered into her eyes, throwing her free hand up to try

to wipe away the semiliquid mass blinding her as Shada hit her safety-line feed

release again and vaulted up onto the rooftop. Circling a couple of meters to

her right to get out of the line of fire of the blaster still waving in her

general direction, she angled in.

She reached Karoly just as the younger woman got her eyes cleared, kicking the

blaster out of her hand as she tried to bring the weapon around toward her. The

blaster hit the edge of the roof behind Karoly and bounced off into the darkness

below. "Shassa," Karoly hissed the old curse, jumping to her right out of

Shada's reach and producing a gleaming knife from somewhere. "Shada-"

"I'm obeying my duty," Shada said, sidestepping to her right away from the knife

tip. "You've still got the option of getting out of my way."

Karoly hissed something else and lunged forward. Shada sidestepped again toward

her right, feinted toward Karoly, took another quick step to the side and then

changed direction back toward the skylight.

But Karoly had anticipated the move. Blinking more of the egg out of her eyes,

she took a long step the same direction, her knife waving warningly. Shada

countered by stepping perilously close to the roof edge and taking two quick

strides along it in an attempt to get around onto Karoly's left side away from

her knife hand. Karoly spun around in response, knife held ready. "Don't make me

do this, Shada," she snarled.

Snarled. And yet, Shada thought she could hear a buried note of pleading there

as well. "All right, Karoly," she said softly. "I won't." Snapping on her

climbing harness's feed lock again, she leaped backward one last time along the

edge of the roof&mdash

And the safety line that her carefully choreographed sparring maneuvers had

threaded neatly around behind Karoly snapped up tautly to catch the younger

woman across the tops of her low boots. Flailing her knife uselessly as her feet

were yanked out from under her, she fell with a painful sounding thud flat onto

her back.

Shada was on her in an instant, one foot coming down on Karoly's knife wrist as

she slapped away the other hand and then jabbed stiffened fingertips into the

soft spot beneath her rib cage. With an agonized grunt Karoly folded up around

the impact and toppled over on her side. Shada jabbed again, this time behind

Karoly's ear, and the younger woman relaxed and lay still.

Breathing hard, Shada reached over and snatched the knife from Karoly's limp

hand, cutting her safety line before she wound up tangled in it herself. The

fight hadn't taken long and had been reasonably quiet, but odds were that

Karoly's client had heard the ruckus and would be coming to investigate. If she

could arrange to meet him halfway&mdash

A movement at the corner of her eye was her only warning. But it was enough.

Even as she threw herself to the side in a flat dive a blaster bolt sizzled

through the air where she'd been standing. She rolled back to her knees, eyes

sweeping the raised section of rooftop and locating her assailant: a prone

figure in a black poncho and hood, the protruding snout of his blaster rifle

tracking toward her. Snapping her hand up, Shada threw Karoly's knife toward

him.

The sniper rolled instantly to the side, leaning his head into the relative

protection of his arms and rifle, the weapon now spitting its deadly fire on

repeater mode as it tracked toward her. But in this case the old bounty hunter's

reflex had betrayed him. The knife spun precisely into its intended target not

the dodging sniper himself, but the flicker of blaster fire from his weapon. It

cut across right in front of the gun barrel, the bolts catching the blade and

blasting it apart in a blue of molten shards and reflected light.

And for the next pair of heartbeats the sniper would be effectively blind.

Two heartbeats was all Shada needed. She came all the way up off the roof,

leaping over the sputtering blaster fire now tracking blindly toward her,

fingers darting into her plaited hair for one of the lacquered zenji needles. It

came free in a cascade of loosened coils; and as her feet hit the roof again,

she threw it.

And with a muffled clatter the blaster fell silent.

She was beside the sniper in an instant, twisting the weapon out of the dead

man's hands and running across the roof. If the sniper was merely the backup and

not the main attack, she might still have failed. Skidding to a halt beside the

skylight, she crouched at its edge and peered down into the high-ceilinged room

below.

She hadn't failed. Three meters below her was an ornate decorated table, with

Mazzic and Griv on one side and the Kubaz and a rough-looking human on the

other. The two sides had already exchanged cases and were in the process of

checking their new prizes. The Kubaz shut his case after what seemed to be a

cursory examination, standing stiffly behind the table with an obvious air of

expectation about him. It took Mazzic another minute to be similarly satisfied

with his side of the trade, then he too close d his case. He nodded pleasantly

to the Kubaz and took a step back from the table, his mouth moving with what

were probably his usual farewell remarks. The Kubaz remained where he was .

and as Mazzic and Griv took another step back, his air of expectation gave way

to one of puzzlement. His long snout twitched in indecision, clearly wanting to

look up but just as clearly not wanting to telegraph the surprise ending he was

still expecting.

Still, if a surprise was all he wanted, Shada could oblige him. Lining the

blaster rifle up on the base of the alien's long snout, she tapped the barrel

lightly against the skylight.'

All four of them looked up. The Kubaz's expression was impossible to read, but

his companion's more than made up for it. His mouth fell open in stunned

disbelief, his hand dropping to the blaster belted at his side. Shada shifted

her aim to his forehead; slowly, he raised the hand-empty-to his chest. Out of

the corner of her eye she saw Mazzic throw her an abbreviated salute, and then

he and Griv walked out of her field of view.

Shack kept her weapon trained on the Kubaz and his friend for a count of thirty.

Then, throwing them the same salute Mazzic had just given her, she backed away

from the skylight.

"It's over?" Karoly's voice asked from behind her.

Shada turned to look. The younger woman was standing beside the dead assassin at

the edge of the upper roof, her expression impossible to read. "Yes," Shada told

her. "Your client decided not to go back on the deal after all."

Karoly looked down at the body at her feet. "The Eleven aren't going to be happy

about this."

"I'm used to people not being happy with me," Shada sighed, lowering the blaster

rifle to the rooftop. "I'll get by."

"This is not a joking matter, Shada," Karoly growled. "You've been given a

direct order. You stay with Mazzic now and they'll have a squad on you before

the week's over."

"I'm not staying with Mazzic," Shada said. "As I told you, I'll resign as his

bodyguard tonight."

"And you think that will fix this with the Eleven?" Karoly scoffed.

"I suppose that depends on whether any of them still remembers who we are,"

Shada said, a deep sense of sadness flowing into her. A sadness that felt as if

it had been collecting around her heart for a long, long time. "The Mistryl that

I joined twenty-two years ago was an honorable clan of warriors fighting to

preserve what was left of our people. Honorable warriors don't knowingly deal in

murder. I would hope at least some of the Eleven remember that."

"Maybe the Eleven have changed." Karoly looked away across the dark rooftops of

the city. "Maybe the Mistryl have changed."

"Maybe they have," Shada said. "But I haven't." She studied her friend. "But

then, neither have you."

Karoly looked back at her. "Really. I'd like to know what I said to give you

that impression."

"It's not what you said," Shada told her. "It's what you did. After I kicked

your blaster away, when you pulled that knife on me."

"Pulling a knife convinced you I was on your side?"

"Yes," Shada said. "You still have my blaster." Karoly put her hand to her side.

"Yes, I suppose I do. I imagine you want it back."

Shada shrugged. "It might be harder to explain what happened here if you still

have it when you get back to Emberlene."

"Point," Karoly conceded. She flicked her wrist, and the blaster sailed in a

flat arc to drop neatly into Shada's waiting hand. "Speaking of Emberlene, I'd

stay away from there if I were you. For that matter, I'd stay away from any

other Mistryl, period. For the next ten years, if you can manage it."

"I won't need to hide that long," Shada said, sliding the blaster back into its

holster. "Looks like the galaxy is coming to a boil again over this Caamas

thing. The Eleven will soon have more important things than me to think about."

Karoly spat something. "Caamas. Caamas, and Alderaan, and even that mudwater

Noghri planet Honoghr. It almost makes me laugh sometimes when I think about

which worlds get cried over."

"Being bitter about it won't help," Shada said.

"So what will?" Karoly retorted. "At least being bitter proves you're not dead

yet."

"Perhaps," Shada said. "If that's what you're willing to settle for."

"I suppose you've found something better?"

"I don't know," Shada said. "There has to be something, though." She pointed to

a small rectangular shedlike structure on the far side of the skylight "That the

exit over there?"

"One of them," Karoly said. "If you don't mind taking a chance on running into

the Kubaz and his pals on the way down."

Shada smiled tightly. "They'll make room for me."

Almost unwillingly, Karoly smiled back. "I'm sure they will." The smile faded.

"But understand this, Shada. Whatever I did here, I did it for-well, the reasons

are complicated. But if the Eleven send me after you . . ."

"I understand," Shada nodded. "I'll try not to put you in this position again."

"Never mind me," Karoly said. "You just be careful of you." She cocked her head

slightly. "You have any idea what you're going to do?"

Shada looked up at the stars. "As a matter of fact," she said quietly, "I do."

***

"Hold still, please, sir," the Emdee droid said in its deep voice, its

mechanical fingers wielding the probe with microscopic precision as he lined it

up. "I expect this to be the final pass."

"Good," Luke said, taking a deep breath and cultivating his patience. He'd been

sitting here for nearly half an hour now, but it was almost over.

The droid eased the probe into Luke's right ear, with a sensation that

oscillated between an itch and a tickle. Luke braced himself; and then, with a

loud slurping sound it was over.

"Thank you, sir," the Emdee said, lowering the probe into the reclamation

container beside him and discharging a final few drops of bacta into it. "I

again apologize for the time and inconvenience this has caused you."

"That's all right," Luke assured him, sliding off the table and rubbing the last

vestige of the itch/tickle away with a fingertip. "I know it's easy to say

there'll never be another bacta shortage like the one during the war. It's not

always so easy to believe it."

"I was with this facility during that time," the Emdee said gravely. "We could

not afford to buy the black market bacta, even if it had been available to us. I

saw many die who could have been saved."

Luke nodded. And as a result, for the past twelve years the medics in charge

here had made it a rigid policy to conserve every single drop of bacta, even to

the point of siphoning it out of patients' ears when necessary. "I can't say

this last part was very pleasant," he said. "On the other hand, I'd hate to have

arrived and found out you didn't have enough bacta to treat me."

"Perhaps it is simply the path of old habit," the droid said. "Still, I am told

it is wise to remember the past."

"It is indeed," Luke agreed soberly, nodding to the bacta reclamation container.

"And even wiser to learn from it."

Artoo was waiting in their assigned room, plugged into the desk and warbling

softly to himself as he conversed with the medical facility's main computer. His

dome swiveled as Luke came in, the warbling changing to an excited whistling.

"Hi, Artoo," Luke said. "Keeping busy?"

The little droid made an affirmative-sounding twitter, which changed to

something questioning. "Oh, I'm fine," Luke assured him, patting his side. "Some

of the shrapnel was in pretty deep, but they got it all out. A little dip in a

bacta tank, and I'm good as new. The medic said I shouldn't fly for another hour

or so, but it'll probably take that long to get the ship rolled out and prepped

anyway."

Artoo whistled again, rotating his dome around in a complete circle. "Yes, I see

they did a good job with you, too," Luke agreed. "Did you ask them to take a

look at the X-wing?"

Another affirmative twitter. "Good," Luke said. "Then I guess the only question

left is where we should go next."

Artoo's dome swiveled back again to face him, a distinctly suspicious note to

his next warble. "We're not out here on vacation, Artoo," Luke reminded him,

pulling up a chair beside the droid where he could keep an eye on the desk's

computer display for more complicated translations. "We're here to track down

those clones and find out where they're coming from. We're not going to

accomplish that by going home to Yavin or Coruscant."

He looked out the window at the hills rising steeply behind his room, their

carpet of gold-colored grasses gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Yes, the

mission statement itself was perfectly straightforward. Unfortunately, the

necessary procedure for completing it was anything but. He'd tried the

surreptitious approach to that Cavrilhu base; all he'd gotten for his trouble

had been yet another swim in a bacta tank. And, of course, the chance to see

Mara again.

He grimaced. Mara. He'd been expecting to run into her again ever since that

pirate raid he and Han had thwarted off Iphigin-in fact, he wouldn't put it past

Han to have had something to do with Mara showing up at the Kauron asteroid

field that way. He'd expected to run into her, and had secretly dreaded the

prospect.

And yet, looking back on it, the encounter hadn't been nearly as tense as he'd

feared it would be. She'd been cooperative and polite, or at least as polite as

Mara ever got. More significantly, the quiet but strong animosity he'd sensed

radiating toward him at their last couple of brief encounters hadn't been

present.

Or maybe it had been there and he just hadn't noticed. Maybe his deliberately

diminished use of the Force these days had simply prevented him from sensing

that deeply into her mind without a deliberate probe.

He scowled out at the hills. There was definitely some kind of cause and effect

at work here-that much he was sure of. The question was, which was the cause and

which the effect?

Artoo warbled questioningly. "I'm trying to figure it out," Luke told him,

glancing at the translation. "Just relax, okay?"

The droid warbled again and fell into an expectant silence. Luke sighed and

settled back into his seat, gazing out at the hills. Mara was a puzzle, but she

was a puzzle that would have to wait. At the moment, his immediate future was

focused on this cloning question.

His future...

He glanced back at Artoo, the memory of their time with Yoda drifting to mind.

Luke's Jedi training, and that first time he'd gotten a glimpse into the future.

A glimpse that had nearly resulted in disaster. He'd rushed off madly to Cloud

City to try to save Han and Leia, and had instead nearly gotten all of them

killed.

But he'd learned so much about the Force since then. And he had been able to

draw other visions of the future without doing anything rash. Lately his efforts

in that direction had been strangely unrewarding; but as long as he was supposed

to take it easy for an hour or so anyway, it wouldn't hurt to give it a try.

"Artoo, I'm going to meditate for a while," he told the droid, slipping out of

the chair and settling himself cross-legged on the floor. "See if I can get some

direction. Don't let anyone disturb me, all right?"

The droid buzzed an affirmative. Taking a deep breath, Luke closed his eyes and

stretched out to the Force. His thoughts-his emotions-his entire being-slipped

into the proper pattern.

And suddenly the whole universe exploded in front of him into a brilliant

kaleidoscope of color and motion.

He gasped, the vast image wavering momentarily like desert heat-shimmer as he

nearly lost control. It was like no vision he'd ever had before. Like nothing

he'd ever seen before. A hundred different scenes, a thousand different

possibilities-brilliant colors, sharp-edged sounds, joy and contentment and fear

and death-all of it swirled together with the fury and randomness of a Tatooine

sandstorm. Lines of possibility wove around each other or else crashed together,

sometimes merging, sometimes bouncing apart again, always forever changed by the

encounter. Familiar faces were there among unfamiliar ones, passing in front of

him or else flickering behind other events unfolding at the edges of his sight.

He caught a glimpse of Wedge and Rogue Squadron as they swept past in the fury

of battle; saw his Jedi students inexplicably fanning out across the New

Republic, leaving the Yavin academy all but deserted, saw himself standing on a

balcony against the wall of a darkened canyon, gazing down at a sea of th

ousands of tiny stars; saw Han and Leia facing a huge mob&mdash

Han? Leia? With an effort, he grabbed on to that last line, trying to stay with

it long enough to see more. For a moment he succeeded, the image sharpening into

focus: Leia standing in a wide hallway, her lightsaber blazing in her hands, as

a mass of bodies pushed through a tall door; Han, standing on an outside balcony

with drawn blaster, looking down' at the crowd. The crowd inside flowed

mindlessly forward-a hidden rooftop sniper lined up his blaster rifle&mdash

And then they were gone, vanishing into the swirling mass of sights and sounds.

For a moment Luke tried to join the flow himself, the taste of fear mixing with

the other sensations of the vision as he tried to catch up and see what was

going to happen to them. But they were gone, and with a sense that came from

outside himself he knew that he'd seen all of that vision that he was going to.

Easing out of the flow, he made his way back to the single fixed point in the

storm, the solidness of his own being. He'd learned all he could here, and now

it was time to leave. He began to draw back, the vast array of images beginning

in turn to recede and darken.

And then, abruptly, one final vision appeared in front of him: Mara, surrounded

by craggy rock and floating in water, her eyes closed, her arms and legs limp.

As if in death.

Wait! he heard himself shout But it was too late. Mara's image faded with the

rest of the vision&mdash

And with a sudden gasp of air he found himself back in his room, gazing out the

window at the hills.

Hills that no longer glowed golden, but were instead outlined by the subtler

gloss of starlight.

"Whoa," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He would have sworn that vision had only

lasted a few minutes.

Beside him, Artoo twittered in obvious relief. "Yes, it took longer than I

expected, too," Luke agreed. "Sorry."

The droid warbled questioningly. Getting to his feet, wincing at the sudden

prickling sensation in muscles left too long in one position, Luke looked at the

question scrolling across the computer display. "I don't know," he had to

concede. "I saw a lot of things. But I didn't see anything that seemed to have

anything to do with our search."

Which might mean, he realized suddenly, that hunting for clones was no longer

what he was supposed to be doing.

But then what was he supposed to do? Go to wherever Han and Leia were and warn

them? Go find Mara and warn her?

He took a deep breath, shifting tired muscles. Always in motion is the future,

Yoda had told him after that first vision on Dagobah. At the time Luke had

wondered about that remark, his vision of Han and Leia in Cloud City had seemed

so simple and straightforward. But if Yoda had instead seen something more akin

to this last vision, with all its tangles and complications, then it all made

sense.

Or had he seen something like that? Could it be that what Luke had experienced

here was something entirely different? A special event reserved for special

occasions?

It was an intriguing possibility. But for the moment, it was an issue he could

put aside. What mattered was that he'd received the guidance he'd sought, and

needed to act on it.

All he had to do was figure out exactly what that guidance was.

Stepping over to the window, he looked up at the stars. You will know, Yoda had

also told him, when you are calm, at peace. Taking a deep breath, Luke set about

calming his mind.

Artoo's soft warbling was starting to take on a concerned tone by the time he

turned back around. "All right," he told the droid. "I saw a world with a wide,

deep canyon that had buildings built into the sides and a lot of lights at the

bottom. Check the main computer and see where that might be."

Artoo warbled an acknowledgment and jacked into the computer outlet. Luke

stepped to his side and watched as a planet name and description came up on the

display. "No, it wasn't Belsavis," he said. "The surface wasn't covered with

glaciers, and there were no domes. It was also a lot more pleasant." He frowned,

pulling the image back from his memory. "There were bridges arching all the way

across the canyon I saw. There were . . . I saw a group of nine of them,

arranged in a diamond pattern: one starting on one level, two more side by side

crossing from the next level down, three on the next, then two and then one."

Artoo whistled and searched some more. A half-dozen more systems scrolled across

the display&mdash

"Wait a minute," Luke said. "Back up one-Cejansij system. See if there are any

pictures in the datafile."

The display backed up, then altered to a succession of orbital, aerial, and

ground pictures. Luke watched as they went past, and by the time the series came

to an end, he knew it was the place. "That's it," he said. "The Canyonade on

Cejansij. That's where we're going."

The droid twittered uncertainly, his question scrolling across the bottom of the

display. "I don't know why," Luke told him. "I just know I need to go there."

There was another twitter, this one sounding slightly incredulous. "To be

honest, I don't understand it myself," Luke conceded. "I saw a lot of things in

that vision, things that are happening or maybe are about to happen. I saw my

students leaving the academy-why, I don't know. I saw Leia and Han in some kind

of trouble-"

The droid warbled anxiously, and another question appeared. "No, I don't know if

Threepio was with them," Luke told him. "The point is that there are a lot of

places out there we could go where I might be able to affect things. Too many

places."

He pointed at the view of the vast canyon. "But the Canyonade is the only place

where I actually saw myself. The one part of the vision where I felt peace."

He looked out at the stars again. "So that's where we'll go."

For a moment there was silence. Then Artoo warbled again. "Point taken," Luke

agreed with a smile. "If we're going to go, let's stop dithering and go."

Besides which, he told himself as they headed for the docking bay, Leia's a Jedi

in her own right. She can take care of herself. And Han's got a long history of

beating the odds, too. And Rogue Squadron could manage without him, and wherever

his Jedi students had been going they surely had a good reason for doing so.

Whatever this trip to Cejansij was all about, all of them could do without him

for a while.

Forty minutes later, once again in space, he pulled the hyperdrive lever and

sent the X-wing jumping to lightspeed. Trying hard not to think about the vision

he'd had of Mara.

CHAPTER

13

Ceok Orou'cya, First Secretary of the Combined Bothan Clans, was urbane, polite,

and completely gracious. But beneath the polish, as near as Leia could tell, he

also seemed genuinely surprised by her visit.

And beneath the surprise, she suspected, was a great deal of worry.

"You must understand my position here, Councilor Organa Solo," he said for the

third time as he ushered Leia, Han, and Threepio past the outer reception

station and into the sumptuous three-story lobby/atrium that filled the front

third of the Combined Clans Center Building. "Your visit, unannounced this way,

is highly irregular. Your request"-his fur twitched despite obvious efforts to

control it-"is even more so."

"You have the letter from Gavrisom," Han put in gruffly. "You have the letter

from Fey'lya. What more do you want?"

The secretary threw a sideways look at Han, and despite the seriousness of the

situation Leia had to fight to keep from smiling. Han was at his absolutely most

intimidating: standing stiff and tall, scowling unblinkingly, his hand resting

on the blaster holstered at his side. The knuckles of his gunhand were slightly

whitened with pressure as he gripped the weapon, a subtlety she'd suggested to

him on the trip here from Coruscant and one that clearly wasn't lost on its

intended audience.

He would have been even more intimidating with Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh standing

there beside him. But Bothans didn't much like Noghri, and Leia had decided this

situation was ticklish enough already without that extra strain. The two Noghri

were lurking somewhere outside, a quick comlink call away if they were needed.

But she wasn't expecting them to be. Between the official weight she was

bringing to bear and the threat of more physical consequences from Han, they had

Orou'cya in a tight squeeze already. With luck, that should give them a good

chance of getting to the financial records before anyone was able to hide or

alter them.

"I personally need nothing more, Captain Solo," the secretary said. "The problem

is that only one of the Combined Clan leaders may grant authorization to see the

records you are requesting, and none are on this part of Bothawui at present."

Han took another step toward him. "You've got the letter from President

Gavrisom-"

"Please." Leia held up a hand. "Secretary Orou'cya, I understand your situation.

I believe that there may be another way out of the problem. Do I understand

correctly that in his capacity as New Republic representative Councilor Fey'lya

would also have access to the financial records we seek?"

The Bothan's eyes darted between the two of them, clearly suspecting a trap. "I

believe he does," he answered cautiously. "I would have to check the

regulations."

Leia looked at Han, lifted her eyebrows slightly. "Here," Han said, thrusting a

datacard at the secretary. "I've marked the place."

Orou'cya started to take the card, hesitated, then dropped his hand back to his

side. "I'll accept your word on that," he said. "But I don't see how that point

is relevant Councilor Fey'lya isn't here, and a mere letter cannot extend such

privileges to another person."

"True," Leia said with a nod. "However, such privileges do extend to Councilor

Fey'lya's personal possessions, do they not?"

Orou'cya frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean possessions such as his personal computers," Leia said. "Or his droids."

The Bothan looked at Threepio, and this time the fur definitely flattened.

"His-? But-"

Han nudged his shoulder with the datacard. "That part's marked, too."

"And here's the record of Fey'lya's ownership," Leia added, producing another

datacard.

Mechanically, Orou'cya took the two datacards, his eyes on the golden droid

standing silent and aloof with quiet hauteur.

At least, that's what Leia hoped he saw. In actual fact, Threepio was being

aloof and silent for the simple reason that he was too embarrassed and chagrined

for words. It was bad enough, he'd complained over and over on the trip here,

that Luke had "given" him to Jabba the Hutt during their rescue of Han on

Tatooine. But to be summarily sold to a Bothan diplomat without any notice

whatsoever was an utter disgrace.

It didn't matter to him that the sale was only on datafile and not genuine. As

far as he was concerned, the deceit involved only made it worse.

But Orou'cya didn't know that. "I see," the Bothan said, his voice rather flat,

his eyes still on Threepio. "I . . ." He trailed off.

"Records room's on the third floor, right?" Han demanded into the silence.

"If you'd rather wait down here," Leia added, "I'm sure we can find what we're

looking for by ourselves."

Orou'cya's fur seemed to wilt. "No, I must escort you," he murmured. "Follow me,

please."

He led them across the atrium to a wide, free-span ceremonial stairway arching

gracefully between the first and second floors, apparently the only route from

the more or less public departments on the first floor to the private offices

and meeting rooms above. At the top of the stairway was a wide overlook balcony,

also clearly designed with ceremony in mind.

Ceremonial or not, though, the Bothans hadn't scrimped on security. A pair of

armed guards stood at the bottom of the staircase, and Leia could see the

camouflaged poles of a static barrier built into the banisters on either side a

few steps up.

She also wondered how many of the privacy-glazed office windows peeking through

the short trees and bushy borscii and kafvris vines from the top two floors had

hidden guards watching the stairway and the atrium. Knowing the Bothans,

probably at least one of them.

But no one, hidden guards or otherwise, interfered as Orou'cya led the party to

the top of the staircase, then along a corridor to a more standard set of stairs

leading to the third floor, and finally to a door marked simply ARCHIVES. There

the secretary paused, but if he was having second thoughts, they weren't going

to be given time to ripen. Brushing past him, Han opened the door and went in.

Five other Bothans were in the room, seated at various data retrieval stations.

All of them were looking at the door as Leia stepped inside behind Han with

expressions and postures that could have been either surprise or guilt. "That

one will do," Leia said, pointing to an unoccupied retrieval station near the

door. "Go ahead and get started, Threepio."

Silently, Threepio shuffled off toward the station. "Thank you, Secretary

Orou'cya," Leia added to their escort. "We'll call you if we need any further

assistance."

"I will be available for whatever you require," Orou'cya said. Turning, he left

the room, closing the door behind him.

Beside Leia, Han made a rude-sounding noise. "You'd think Fey'lya would have

mentioned in his letter that we're on their side here," he muttered.

"I'm sure he did," Leia agreed. "But these are Bothans. They see hidden blades

everywhere."

Han grimaced. "Especially coming from other Bothans."

"It's how their internal politics work," Leia reminded him, squeezing his arm.

"Come on, let's get this over with."

***

The order had specified a large crowd, and Navett had assured Major Tierce that

his team could deliver. But now, looking at the edges of the crowd that he could

see from his rooftop vantage point-a crowd that had already overflowed all

available standing space in the Merchant's Square-even he was impressed. This

time Klif had definitely outdone himself.

"Navett?" Pensin's voice came from the tiny speaker in Navett's left ear. "Looks

like they're ready to move."

"Right," Navett said, moving the attached microphone a little closer to his

lips. It was a military-style comlink, scavenged from a stormtrooper helmet, and

would probably be trouble if he was caught with it. But the hands-free design

was more private and convenient than standard civilian cylinder types, with a

better realtime encryption. Anyway, he wasn't planning to get caught. "You'd

better get in position. What's the makeup like?"

"It's a real mix this time," Pensin said. "Got a bunch of spacers of all types

from the port area, but there are a lot of shoppers and merchants, too.

Everything from human to Ishori and Rodian. Got a bunch of Froffli, too-I can

see those stupid hair spurs poking up above the rest of the crowd."

"Good." Aside from the general hotheadedness of the species itself, the Froffli

government was one of the few that had already come out publicly for sanctions

against the Bothans. A species grounded on vindictiveness; and the fact that the

Bothans had spent the past fifteen years systematically grinding the Froffli

light-machinery industry to dust certainly hadn't helped matters. "Make sure

you're out of their way when they start their charge."

"Don't worry," Pensin said dryly. "Oops-okay, there they go. Next stop, the

Combined Clans Building. You all set?"

"All set," Navett said, stroking the stock of the Nightstinger sniper's blaster

rifle lying on the roof beside him. "Let's do it"

***

"Shh," Han said, frowning with concentration. "You hear that?"

Leia looked up from the retrieval station. "I didn't hear anything."

"It sounded like thunder," Han said, straining his ears. "Or a crowd or-there it

is again."

"It's a crowd," Leia said, that Jedi look on her face. "And they're getting

louder."

Han looked at the other Bothans in the room. None of them seemed to have noticed

the noise. "Must be pretty good-sized if we can hear them all the stay in here."

The Jedi look was getting more intense. "I don't like this, Han," she said.

"There's something not right here."

"Maybe it's one of those demonstrations that have been cropping up lately," Han

said, moving toward the door. "Stay here-I'll go check it out"

The Bothans in the archive room might not have figured out what was happening,

but the rest of the building was already on it. The corridor outside was alive

with hurrying Bothans, some carrying boxes of datacards or other equipment,

others just hurrying. Crossing past an overview that looked down on the atrium,

he saw what seemed to be the entire first-floor staff hustling up the big

ceremonial stairway, most of them carrying boxes and equipment, too.

A handful of Bothans were bucking the trend, heading down the stairs. All of

that group were carrying blasters.

The atrium, Han decided, didn't look like a particularly good place to be at the

moment. Fortunately, he wasn't going to have to go down there. Both the second

and third floors had observation balconies facing the front of the building

where he'd be able to assess the situation. Threading his way through the

hurrying Bothans, he' headed that direction. A bit of trial and error to find

which office the balcony was connected to, and he pushed open the sliding

privacy-glass door and looked outside.

It was worse than he'd feared. The crowd was huge, filling the entire street as

humans and aliens continued to stream toward the building. He stepped out onto

the balcony for a better look, and as he did so, a figure near the front of the

crowd shouted and waved wildly as he pointed up. Automatically, Han's hand

dropped to his blaster&mdash

"Citizens of the New Republic," a deep Bothan voice called from somewhere

nearby. "I respectfully appeal to you for calm." The crowd responded with even

more noise, none of it sounding especially calm or respectful. Stepping to the

edge of his balcony, Han craned his neck and looked down at the second-floor

balcony beneath him. There he was: a distinguished-looking elderly male Bothan

wearing the elaborate sign and signet of a clan leader. "No clan leaders on this

part of Bothawui, huh?" Han muttered, straightening up again. He was no expert,

but it sure didn't look like the sort of mob that a little Bothan sugar-talk

would do much for.

Which suggested the smart thing would be for him to get back inside and back to

Leia. Just in case. Giving the crowd one last look, he started to turn away.

***

The front of the crowd had reached the Combined Clans Building now, the people

behind them pushing and jostling past and filling in around the sides. Resting

the stock of his blaster rifle against his shoulder, Navett squinted

experimentally through the macrobinocular sight running along the barrel. Almost

time . . .

And then, just as he'd known they would, the Bothans sent a representative onto

the lower balcony to talk to the mob. The figure lifted his hands for

silence-without any noticeable effect, of course-and Navett was just beginning

to line up his crosshairs when another figure appeared, this one on the upper

balcony.

A human? Frowning, Navett shifted his aim upward and tightened his focus . .

And felt his eyes widen in disbelief. Han Solo-it was Han Solo. Hero of the

Rebellion, New Republic shipping liaison, and general all-around troublemaker.

And there he was, standing on a balcony right in front of him.

Navett had always considered himself to be leading a charmed life; but sometimes

even he couldn't believe his own luck.

"Navett?" Pensin's voice came excitedly in his ear. "Up on the top balcony-"

"I see him," Navett said, striving to sound cool and professional. Han Solo

himself. This was just too good to be true.

"So which one do we do?"

Navett smiled tightly. "Both, of course. You've got a spare, don't you?"

"Well, yes-"

"So we do both," Navett told him. "And we start with Solo. Give me a count."

"Right," Pensin said. "Five seconds, four, three-"

***

Han had been gone only a few seconds when the door suddenly bounced open again.

"Councilor Organa Solo," Secretary Orou'cya said, breathing heavily. "We

desperately need your assistance. There is a mob moving on this building."

"Yes, I know," Leia said. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Defend us, of course," the Bothan snapped, jabbing a hand at the lightsaber

hanging unobtrusively beneath her loose overjacket. "Are you not a Jedi?"

Leia suppressed a sigh. There were still so many people out there who refused to

see Jedi in any role except that of armed defender or combatant. "Perhaps I

could try talking to them," she suggested gently.

"Askar Clan Leader Rayl'skar has already gone to do that," Orou'cya said, fur

rippling' with nervous impatience. "Please-they may break in at any time."

"All right," Leia said, standing up. So much for there being no clan leaders on

this pan of Bothawui; but this wasn't the time to bring that up. "Threepio,

you'd better come, too."

"Me?" the droid gasped, cringing back as only Threepio could do. "But-Mistress

Leia-"

"I might need you to translate," Leia cut him off. "Let's go." They had to buck

the general flow of Bothans streaming upward as they descended the main

stairway. "Mistress Leia-there seems to be some considerable concern among the

residents here," Threepio called over the hurrying feet and the rumble of the

crowd outside. "Might I suggest we reconsider our strategy?"

"There won't be any trouble," Leia assured him, grabbing hold of one of his arms

to keep them from getting separated. "Most of the time the most these

demonstrators have done is to throw spoiled fruit and stones. If I can persuade

them that their concerns are being considered, maybe I can get them to disperse

without even doing that much."

They reached the bottom of the stairway, easing through the three-deep cordon of

Bothan guards blocking off the lower end, and hurried toward the front doors. "I

merely thought we might wish to reevaluate," Threepio continued, his rapidity of

speech increasing with his nervousness, which was increasing with roughly every

other step. "There are two balconies we could speak from, after all, and even

spoiled produce properly placed can be hazardous to the inner workings of a

droid-"

"Quiet," Leia cu; him off, braking to a halt a few meters from the door.

Suddenly something felt different out there; a hint of evil purpose flickering

at the edges of the simmering anger and resentment of the crowd. She stretched

out with the Force, trying to pin it down&mdash

And then, to her horror, an all-too-familiar sound split through the rumble like

a crack of lightning through distant thunder.

The sound of a blaster shot.

***

There was no warning. None whatsoever. One minute Han was looking out over the

crowd, wondering if he should call Leia and suggest she come out here and talk

to them; and then the next minute there it was, making a sound like a boot in

wet mud as it came out of nowhere to hit the wall by his left shoulder. He half

turned to look at it, got just a glimpse of a mass of a soft-looking gray clay

with a small tube connected to a multifaceted crystal embedded in the

middle&mdash

And suddenly it seemed to explode in a brilliant flash of blaster fire.

He wrenched back, twisting his face away from the flash as a needle-jab of pain

stabbed into his left shoulder. From somewhere below him came a scream of pain,

and even as he dropped behind the minimal protection of the balcony's guardrail

he heard the sound and caught the flicker of reflected light from a second shot.

Yanking his blaster from its holster, blinking around the hazy purple blob

floating in front of his eyes, he tried to see where the attack was coming from.

Wherever the gunman was, he didn't seem in a hurry to give away his position by

shooting again. But his first two shots had already done enough damage. Below

and ten meters ahead, the crowd had opened a circle around a Mishtak writhing in

agony on the ground. A few meters behind him, in the middle of another circle, a

Leresai lay still.

With the two shots the crowd had gone deathly quiet. A motion caught the corner

of Han's eye: someone moving on a rooftop a block away. He half stood up,

lifting his blaster&mdash

"There he is!" someone shouted.

Han looked down again. Someone in the crowd was pointing up; but he was pointing

at Han. "Wait a minute-" Han began.

"There he is!" the man shouted again. "There's the murderer!"

And as if on signal the crowd suddenly came to life again. Roaring like a

hundred berserk rancors, they surged forward beneath the balcony.

And with a slam that shook the whole building, they threw open the doors.

***

"Han!" Leia blurted as the second blaster shot rang out. If he'd been the

target&mdash

No, she realized with a flood of relief. She could still feel his presence,

alert and tense. But somebody out there had been hit, she could sense the waves

of pain. Stretching out with the Force, she tried to locate it.

And then, suddenly, there was a horrendous roar from the crowd outside&mdash

And in front of her the doors slammed open and a solid wall of beings poured

into the atrium.

"Oh, my!" Threepio gasped. "Mistress Leia-"

"Get behind me!" Leia snapped, taking a long step to the side and grabbing for

her lightsaber as she threw a quick glance at the ceremonial stairway at the

other end of the atrium. With some serious effort, she should be able to reach

it ahead of the crowd. But Threepio didn't have that kind of speed. And if she

abandoned him to the mob . . .

"Get behind me," she ordered the droid again, igniting the lightsaber. She had

come here to talk, and she had better get started. The nearest of the crowd

shied away as the lightsaber blade blazed into existence, many of them probably

only noticing her for the first time. "Citizens of the New Republic," she

shouted, holding the lightsaber high. "I'm New Republic Councilor and Jedi

Knight Leia Organa Solo. I call on you to stop."

The people nearest Leia faltered in their charge, many of them coming to an

almost reluctant halt. Or rather, trying to do so. The rest of the crowd behind

them, unaware of Leia's presence, were still pushing forward. Jostling those in

front or forcing their way around and past them, they continued to flow into the

building.

But at least the momentum of the crowd bad been slowed, and Leia had the

beginnings of an attentive audience. Now if she could project her voice to

enough of them-and could find the right words to say with that voice . . .

She took a deep breath, running through her Jedi strength enhancement

techniques, and opened her mouth&mdash

And at that moment there was a shout from the Bothan guards grouped at the foot

of the stairway, and a half-dozen blaster bolts flashed into the crowd.

And the whole thing went straight to chaotic hell.

Leia had thought the crowd had been at the peak of its noise level. She'd been

wrong. The screams from the injured were all but lost in a roar of fury and

terror so loud it hurt her ears. The front rank of the crowd fell apart, many of

the beings trying to hide

behind the short trees and bushes or else scurrying madly for cover toward the

offices lining the atrium's edges. Others simply froze where they were,

unwilling to turn tail and run but equally unwilling to walk into massed blaster

fire.

The Bothans fired again, sparking more screams; but this time the shots were

answered. From a dozen places in the crowd blasters opened up, and six of the

guards toppled to the floor.

"That's it!" a voice from the mob shouted over the roar. "Everyone-get them!"

"Wait!" Leia shouted. "Stop!"

But it was too late. The crowd, mindless with rage, was rolling forward now like

a flash tide, blasters firing freely as the atrium suddenly became a war zone.

Even those whose advance had been slowed by the sight of Leia's lightsaber were

no longer listening, and in fact most had already deserted her or been dragged

away by the mob. Twice she had to lift her lightsaber high over her head as the

buffeting and shoving nearly sent someone into the blade. Dimly over the noise

she heard Threepio wail something, but by the time she was able to turn around

he had vanished. A Khil bounced toward her, whistling excitedly through his

hullepi and waving a blaster toward the stairway, completely oblivious to the

lightsaber blade he was drifting toward&mdash

And with a dark recognition of defeat, Leia shut down the weapon, using the

Force to keep the Khil from slamming into her. There was nothing more she could

do here. Those who were still firing were halfway across the crowd, impossible

for her to reach, and none of the beings nearest her had done anything to

deserve the death or dismemberment that was the only punishment her lightsaber

could mete out. Too many minds here for her to quiet-too many flailing bodies

for her to move aside with the Force-and a ll that was left was for her to try

to keep from getting trampled.

And then, through all the chaos that surrounded her, she caught a faint hint of

something different. Someone not far away; someone quietly terrified for her

safety.

Han.

She strained to see, but without the blazing lightsaber blade to keep them at

bay the crowd had closed in and was now pressing too close for her to be able to

see anywhere but up. For a moment she searched the silent windows facing down

into the atrium as she fought to keep her balance, but if Han was up there she

couldn't spot him.

But there was something there, almost directly above her head now: a thick

tendril of borscii vine jutting out from the atrium wall. Pushing through the

crowd in that direction, using the Force to ease people aside when necessary,

she maneuvered herself beneath it. Then, stretching out again to the Force, she

bent her knees and jumped.

The tendril was no more than two meters above her, an easy jump for a Jedi. She

made it with half a meter to spare, grabbing on to the tendril and using it to

pull herself to the main body of the borscii vine where it clung its meandering

way up the wall. From her new vantage point she was able to see Han now:

crouched beside the railing on the ceremonial balcony, his blaster pointed down

the stairway, his eyes searching anxiously through the mob for signs of his

wife. Flanking him on either side, looking ready to dive off the balcony into

the crowd if and when it became necessary, were Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh.

How and when the two Noghri had managed to sneak into the building Leia didn't

know. But at the moment it didn't matter. The Bothan guards at the foot of the

stairway were down, shot or trampled, and the entire weight of the mob seemed to

be pressed against the static barrier a few steps up.

But it wouldn't hold them back for long. Even at this distance she see the faint

sparking that meant the barrier was about to go down. And when it did, it would

be a disaster for everyone. If Han and any hidden Bothan guards opened fire as

the crowd stormed up the stairway, the result would be the slaughter of dozens

or even hundreds of people.

But if they didn't open fire, there would be an equally callous slaughter of the

Bothans who had escaped to the upper two floors. One way or another, a large

number of people were about to die.

Unless...

One of the Noghri had spotted her now, pointing the others attention her

direction. Han half rose from his crouch, his mouth working with shouted words

she couldn't hear. I'm all right, she thought desperately toward him, risking

her grip to try to wave him back. If he or the Noghri headed down into that

chaos, they'd probably get torn apart.

But no-he understood. Sinking back into his crouch, he waved the Noghri back,

his eyes locked on hers across the atrium. All right, that expression seemed to

say, If you don't want us to come get you, what do you want?

Here, she thought toward him, risking her grip again and unhooking her

lightsaber. For a moment she fought against the bushy tendrils trying to

entangle it; then she got it free and held it up. Cocking her arm over her

shoulder, she threw it across the atrium, catching it midway in a Force grip and

guiding it the rest of the way to drop into Han's hand. For a few heartbeats he

fingered the weapon, frowning across the distance at her. She gestured and sent

her thoughts toward him . . .

And abruptly he got it. Nodding his understanding, he ignited the weapon and

turned the blade to point down.

And began cutting the stairway free from the balcony.

The action hadn't gone unnoticed. Someone in the crowd roared, and a pair of

blaster bolts lanced out, missing Han by bare centimeters as he ducked away. The

Noghri at Han's side-the second Noghri, Leia noticed with mild surprise, had

somehow pulled a vanishing act-fired back, and the other blaster went silent.

Something brushed the back of Leia's head. She twisted around, her mind flashing

back to the deadly vine snakes of Wayland&mdash

But it wasn't a vine snake, or for that matter any other kind of creature, it

was a length of synthrope, dangling from one of the windows directly above her.

With Barkhimkh's anxious face looking down at her from behind it.

Grabbing the rope, she started to climb. She was nearly to the window when,

behind her, the stairway crashed to the floor.

***

"Admiral Pellaeon?"

With a jolt, Pellaeon snapped awake, the disturbing dream vanishing into the

darkness of his quarters. "Yes?" he called.

"Major Tschel, sir," the bridge officer's voice came from the intercom. "There's

a transmission coming in for you, marked with your personal encrypt."

"Understood," Pellaeon said, heaving himself wearily from his bed and padding

over to the computer station. "Transfer it down here, Major," he ordered,

dropping into the chair.

"Yes, sir."

The comm light went on, confirming the connection, and Pellaeon began keying in

the proper decrypt code. Traveling around the Empire trying to beg, argue, or

cajole acceptance of his peace initiative was tiring enough; but having to then

endure these nightmares on top of it was only making the situation worse.

Tonight's edition had featured Grand Admiral Thrawn, reproving him in a calm but

bitter voice for allowing what he'd created to slip away . . .

The computer beeped acceptance of the decrypt, and a quarter-sized image

appeared on the hologram pad. "Admiral Pellaeon, this is Commander Dreyf," the

figure identified himself. "I have a preliminary report for you on my backtrack

of Lord Graemon and his finances."

"Very good," Pellaeon said, suddenly fully awake. "Continue."

"To be blunt, sir, the man's a snake," Dreyf said, not even bothering to hide

his contempt. "He looks to have a finger in every stewpot from Muunilinst to

Coruscant and back again. We've already uncovered fifteen separate lines to New

Republic financial and commodities interests, and we haven't even scratched the

surface yet."

Pellaeon nodded grimly. Yes, that fit the expected pattern. For Moff Disra to

operate this way they had to have equally shady counterparts to Graemon on the

New Republic side of the political borders. "What about connections to known

pirate gangs?"

"Nothing specific with Graemon yet," Dreyf said. "But we have a pretty solid

connection between General Kyte and someone who is definitely linked to the

Cavrilhu Pirates. Kyte sent a transmission to the contact right after your

meeting with the Muunilinst defense hierarchy eleven days ago. We're following

it up."

"I see." So Kyte was indeed a part of this. Despite all the indicators, Pellaeon

had hoped he was wrong. To have Fleet officers involved in treasonous activity

was doubly painful. "Have you been able to backtrack Graemon's contacts the

other direction?"

"Not yet," Dreyf said. "He's not the top of the stack, though-that much I'm sure

of."

"No, he's not," Pellaeon agreed. Still, whatever the connection was between him

and Disra, it would be well hidden. Too well hidden, perhaps, for Dreyf and his

limited resources to dig out. "Keep at it," he continued. "I want the facts, and

I want the evidence."

"Yes, sir," Dreyf said. "If I may make a suggestion, Admiral, all these business

connections to the New Republic ought to be enough to bring down Lord Graemon,

if that's what you want."

"I have no particular interest in bringing any specific person down," Pellaeon

said, not entirely truthfully. "Trade with the New Republic may be technically

illegal, but you know as well as I do that we need the resources too badly for

anyone to actually bother enforcing the laws."

Besides which, he added silently to himself, if and when his peace initiative

succeeded all that official isolationism would have to be changed anyway. But of

course Dreyf had no idea any of that was in the works. "What I want-and all that

I want-is to find out who's been manipulating Imperial personnel and funds this

way and have them stopped," he added aloud. "Clear?"

"Perfectly, Admiral," Dreyf said. "Don't worry, sir; no matter how deep they've

buried themselves, we'll dig them out."

"I'm sure you will, Commander," Pellaeon assured him. "Was there anything else?"

"Actually, sir, yes," Dreyf said, consulting a datapad. "I just got word from

one of my people on Bothawui who was tracking down one of Lord Graemon's

connections there. He says there's been a bad riot over at the Combined Clans

Building in Drev'starn, apparently over this Caamas Document thing."

Pellaeon frowned. "Any other details?"

"Only that there were definitely casualties," Dreyf said. "No idea of the number

yet. Apparently it's just happened-the news hasn't even hit the various services

yet. It'll probably take them a while to sort things out, but I thought you'd

like to know."

"Yes, thank you," Pellaeon said. "Anything else?"

"No, sir, not right now."

"Very good," Pellaeon said, nodding. "Keep me informed, Commander. Out."

For a few minutes he remained seated at the computer station, gazing at the

empty display as he turned that last bit of information over in his head. The

New Republic is unstable; ultimately, it has no choice but to self-destruct. How

many times, he wondered, had that thought been hurled at him in the three weeks

since he'd begun this campaign to persuade the leaders of the Empire that it was

time to concede defeat? A hundred times, it seemed, maybe more; and each time

he'd stood against it, repeating his same list of arguments over and over again

to the point where their precise and polished phrasing now came automatically to

his mind and lips.

And yet . . .

He'd read the reports of the riots that had been springing up over this Caamas

revelation and controversy; had skimmed the Intelligence summaries of the

increasingly heated debates taking place in the New Republic Senate and various

sector assemblies; had read the threat analyses of the growing belligerence

between ancient rivals all across the galaxy.

Was he wrong and all the rest of them right? Was the New Republic on the verge

of destroying itself?

And if it was, what in the Empire was he doing trying to make peace with them?

With a sigh, he levered himself out of his chair and crossed back to his bed.

No, it didn't seem reasonable right now; but then, nothing ever seemed

reasonable in the lonely stillness of the deep night. He'd had good and proper

reasons to start on this path, he knew, and he could only assume that those

reasons would still seem valid when he examined them again in the light of day.

And if this controversy over the Caamas Document got in the way of the

process&mdash

Pellaeon frowned in the darkness, the memory of a comment Thrawn had once made

flickering to mind. Examine all obstacles carefully, the Grand Admiral had

admonished him. With a little ingenuity, they can often be turned into levers.

If the Caamas Document was tearing the New Republic apart . . . what might they

offer in exchange for the Empire's help in putting that controversy to rest?

Reaching across the bed, he snagged his datapad and keyed for his list of

upcoming meetings. Returning to Bastion was out; aside from the disruption it

would cause in his schedule, any attempt to pull a copy of the Caamas Document

out of the Imperial Library there would undoubtedly be relayed directly to

Disra, and he had no interest in giving the Moff any advance warning of his

intentions.

But there was also a complete set of Imperial records at the Ubiqtorate base at

Yaga Minor. And four meetings from now, that was where the Chimaera was going to

be.

Keying off the datapad, Pellaeon set it back on the nightstand and lay down

again. Yes, that was what he would do. Try to find a copy of the complete Caamas

Document and offer it to the New Republic in exchange for political concessions.

Assuming, of course, that that meeting did indeed take place.

For a moment he considered checking with the bridge to see whether there were

any messages waiting from Major Vermel. But the comm officers already had

explicit instructions to alert him immediately if any such messages came

through. Reminding them of those instructions twice a day would only make them

wonder what was going on.

Besides, it had only been eleven days since Vermel's ship could have reached

Morishim. With the political situation on Coruscant the way it was, General Bel

Iblis might well have needed this much time simply to get the New Republic

hierarchy to accept the idea of a meeting.

No, Vermel would call eventually. And in the meantime, Pellaeon had four more

meetings with most likely hostile senior Fleet officers to get through before he

could head to Yaga Minor.

The first of which would be in barely six hours. Rolling over, closing his eyes,

he cleared his mind and tried to get back to sleep.

***

Han shook his head. "No," he said, wincing slightly as Leia carefully dabbed

salve onto his left shoulder. "I did not fire. Not into the crowd; not

anywhere."

"Those we spoke to claim you did," Orou'cya insisted. "They say a blaster shot

came from your balcony."

"Did Clan Leader Rayl'skar also fire?" Sakhisakh demanded. "The survivors say

that as well."

"They are mistaken about that," Orou'cya said, his huffy voice in odd contrast

to the wariness with which he eyed the Noghri. "Clan Leader Rayl'skar had no

blaster."

"Well, I didn't fire mine," Han insisted.

The Bothan's fur rippled. "If that is your word, I must accept it," he sighed.

"It does not really matter."

Han grimaced. No, probably it didn't. With twenty-seven of the rioters dead and

maybe forty more injured-and with the first floor of the Combined Clans Building

a total loss-it hardly mattered anymore who had started it.

Except to the news reporters, of course. Most of whom were blaming him.

The door opened and a pair of Bothan guards stepped in, carrying a few bent

pieces of gold metal. "Here is the rest, First Secretary," one of them said,

offering their prizes to Orou'cya. "We have completed our search, and there is

no more to be found."

Han scowled at the fragments. They'd been sweeping up pieces of Threepio for

nearly an hour now, from nooks and crannies all over the first floor. It was

like Cloud City all over again, only worse.

"He'll be all right," Leia murmured to him. "It didn't look like any of his

major components had been seriously damaged while they were being kicked around.

Most of it is cosmetic."

"We can repair him, if you'd like," Orou'cya offered.

"No, thanks," Han said, wishing Chewie were here instead of back on Coruscant

minding the kids.

Or maybe not. The last time the Wookiee had had to put Threepio back together,

the droid hadn't exactly bubbled over with gratitude. "We've got people on

Coruscant who can do it."

"Of course." Orou'cya hesitated. "Speaking of Coruscant, Councilor Organa Solo,

Clan Leader Rayl'skar has been in contact with the New Republic government.

President Gavrisom would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

Han looked up at Leia. "You want me to need some extra looking after?" he

murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

Leia made a face, but shook her bead. "No, I'd better not put it off," she said,

handing him a bandage. "The sooner we get our side of the story to him, the

better. May I use your communications room, Secretary Orou'cya?"

"Of course, Councilor Organa Solo," the Bothan said gravely, gesturing to the

door. "Follow me, please."

They went out, the other two Bothans following, Sakhisakh rather conspicuously

inviting himself along. Scowling again, Han took advantage of his new solitude

to relieve himself of a few choice words; and he'd just gotten the bandage in

place on his

shoulder when the door opened and Barkhimkh came in. "Leia's gone to the comm

room," he told the Noghri.

"I know," Barkhimkh said, stepping over to him and holding out his hand. "But I

wished you to see this first."

Frowning, Han picked up the charred and twisted device from the Noghri's hand.

"What is it?"

"The remains of an Imperial delusion," Barkhimkh bit out, his voice harsh with

contempt. "A redirection crystal and blast tube filled with Tibanna gas are

mounted in a wad of adhesion material and placed near one who is to be accused

of a murder. A sharpshooter then fires a shot into the crystal, which redirects

the energy into the tube."

"Which then fires just like a regular blaster." Han nodded grimly. Suddenly this

whole thing was coming clear. "A random shot into the crowd, and I get blamed

for it."

"Yes," Barkhimkh said blackly. "Once again, you have been blamed for something

that was not your fault."

"Yeah, but this time they've done a real good job of it," Han said. "Wait a

second, though. How come no one saw the sharpshooter's blast?"

"He was most likely using a Xerrol Nightstinger sniper weapon," Barkhimkh said.

"It fires an invisible bolt."

Han frowned. "You're kidding. I've never heard of a blaster that could do that,"

"The Empire did not advertise its existence," the Noghri said, "And aside from

that sinle advantage it was a decidedly inferior weapon. The blaster gas

required cost well over a thousand per canister, could only be used in specially

designed blasters, and only permitted three to five shots per canister before

replacement. Hardly a weapon for common usage."

"Yeah," Han said. "On the other hand, not exactly a weapon someone would just

happen to be carrying around, either."

"True," Barkhimkh agreed. "Whatever it was that began this confrontation, there

is no doubt it was Imperial agents who turned it into a riot."

"The problem being how to prove that," Han said, hefting what was left of the

gadget in the palm of his hand. "I don't suppose this would be enough on its

own."

The Noghri shook his head. "The device is a single-shot weapon, designed to

disintegrate upon use. I know what it was solely from your description of what

occurred."

And because Noghri assassination teams bad used the gadgets themselves on

occasion? Probably, but there wasn't any point in bringing that up. Even now,

ten years after learning the truth and switching sides, the Noghri were still

touchy about their long service to the Empire. "Well, at least we know about

it," he said, "Who's in charge of the Imperial Fleet right now, anyway? I've

kind of lost track."

"The Supreme Commander is Admiral Pellaeon," Barkimkh said. "He commands the

Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera."

Han felt his lip twist, "One of Thrawn's people, right?"

"Pellaeon served directly under the Grand Admiral," the Noghri confirmed. "Many

considered him Thrawn's primary protégé during those months."

"He sure seems to have picked up the tricks of the trade pretty well," Han

growled. "We'll have to find a way to make him pay for that."

He handed the device back. "Here-try to keep what's left of it in one piece

until we can get it back to the ship. And don't mention it to the Bothans,

either."

"I obey, Han clan Solo," the Noghri said, bowing his head briefly as he slipped

the device into a side pouch. "Will you be able to use this information?"

"Oh, we'll use it all right," Han assured him, brushing the soot from his hands.

Nearly sixty humans and aliens dead or injured; the New Republic in general and

he in particular being blamed for it; and Supreme Commander Pellaeon and

Imperial agents at the bottom of it. "Trust me, we'll use it."

The dark Noghri eyes gazed at his face. "How?"

Han shook his head. "I have no idea."

CHAPTER

14

The starlines faded into stars, and they were there. Wherever in space "there"

was.

"Reading three planets in the inner system," Faughn said, the last syllable half

swallowed as she stifled a yawn. The normal crew rotation had put her off-duty

when they were due to reach the Nirauan system, but she'd insisted on being

awakened for the end of their trip.

Gazing out at the dim red star, Mara wondered whether it had been worth it.

"Second planet looks habitable," Torve reported. "It's got

atmosphere-temperature seems okay-"

"We've got movement," Elkin snapped. "Bearing fifty-three by seventeen."

Mara threw a quick look at the instruments. As per her orders, the Starry Ice

had come out of hyperspace in full sensor-stealth mode, and there was no

indication of the kind of serious high-focus probe that should be necessary to

penetrate that protection. Still, given they were dealing with alien technology,

that might not mean anything. "Where's he headed?" she asked Elkin.

"Second planet for sure," Elkin said, keying his board. "Hang on-let's see if I

can bracket his endpoint."

"Is it the same kind of ship that buzzed Terrik's Star Destroyer?" Faughn asked.

"The profile looks right," Torve said. "Can't tell for sure without doing a

sensor focus."

"Endpoint coming up now," Elkin reported. "It's a spot in the northern

hemisphere, lower latitudes."

"Anything around it?" Faughn asked.

"Nothing obvious," Tone said. "At least, nothing putting out a readable energy

spectrum."

"This whole place makes me nervous," Elkin growled, drumming his fingertips

restlessly on the edge of his control panel. "Why isn't there anything on either

the planet or system in the datafiles? It's got a name&mdashsomeone must have

been here once,"

"Oh, someone was here, all right," Faughn agreed. "But probably not for very

long. For a while back in the Old Republic you could basically just come into an

unknown system, do a quick life-forms scan, and file for development rights-the

name it, claim it' law, they called it. You had systems all over the Outer Rim

put on maps and asset lists without anyone having the slightest idea what was

actually there."

"I remember reading about that," Mara said. "The Corporate Sector was especially

bad about abusing the privilege, and we're not all that far from there."

"Right," Faughn said. "Still, all that having been said, I have to agree with

Elkin's guts on this one. If this is somebody's military base, where are the

defenses? Where's the base itself, for that matter?"

"No one said it was military," Mara reminded her. "They're using an alien

technology-that's all we know." She looked out the viewport. "And it's all we're

going to know as long as we stay out here."

"I don't know," Faughn said. "We've confirmed this is the system. Maybe we

should head back and get some backup."

"Unfortunately, we don't know this is really the system," Mara pointed out. "It

could be just this month's rendezvous point. If we leave now, they may all be

gone by the time we get back."

"I suppose," Faughn said reluctantly. "Well . . . looks like that target zone is

rotating away from us. We could give them a few hours to get around the horizon,

then ease the ship in."

"That assumes they don't have a network of warning sensors scattered around the

planet," Torve put in. "If they do, it won't matter whether the main base is

line-of-sight to us or not."

Faughn shrugged. "It's a calculated risk."

"But not one the whole ship has to take," Mara said, mentally sifting through

the possibilities. Along with its escape pods, the Starry Ice carried three

shuttle-sized ships: two cargo-movers and a highly illegal New Republic Defender

in-system starfighter Karrde had appropriated from somewhere. "What's the sensor

stealthing like on that Defender?" she asked.

"Minimal," Faughn said. "On the other hand, it's got a pretty small sensor cross

section to begin with, and of course no hyperdrive emissions at all. If their

equipment isn't too good and you take it easy, you ought to have a fair chance

of sneaking in."

"All right," Mara said, stretching out to the Force. There was no particular

tingling from her danger sense. At least, not yet. "We'll go with your idea of

letting the target zone rotate away from us for a few hours. Maybe upgrade the

Defender's stealthing a little while we wait. After that . . . I go in and take

a look."

***

From a distance the planet had looked dark and grim and desolate. Up close, Mara

decided, it didn't look a whole lot better.

There was vegetation, certainly, everything from squat trees with wide,

fan-shaped leaves to ground-hugging plants impossible to see clearly at the

speed she was making. But the usual variety of color that was the norm on most

of the worlds she'd visited seemed to have skipped Nirauan somehow. Everything

here seemed to be done in shades of brown or gray, with only occasional splashes

of dark red or deep violet to break up the monotony. Possibly it was a natural

adaptation to the dim red light of the planet's sun; perhaps in the infrared

part of the spectrum the plants were actually quite colorful. Somehow, she

doubted it.

"Starting to get into some hills now," she said to the recorder fastened to one

end of the Defender's control panel. "They look pretty craggy, actually-whatever

dirt was on them seems to have eroded away." She glanced down at her displays.

"Still no indication of sensor probes."

She looked back up from her board, frowning at the landscape ahead. Up there,

between two of the craggier hills . . . ? "Looks like a sort of gully up ahead,"

she said. "No-make that a full-fledged ravine. In fact . . ."

She brushed the Defender's control stick gently, risking a little more altitude

to get a better look. Her first impression had indeed been correct: the deep

canyon ahead was pointing right toward the target zone.

And in fact, unless the terrain was somehow deceiving her, it looked like it

would take her all the way in.

"I think I've found my route," she said, tapping a key to download the

navigational information onto the recorder's data track. "Looks like a straight

run right to their door."

Unless the unknown aliens had the ravine sensor-rigged, of course, in which case

it would be a straight run into an ambush. She would just have to trust her

danger sense to give her enough warning.

The ravine was indeed just as it had looked from a distance: fairly straight,

its width varying from fifty to a hundred meters, its depth averaging around a

hundred meters but dipping as deep as three hundred in places. Most similar

ravines Mara had seen had been cut by rapid rivers, but the bottom of this one

was dry. The walls were composed of craggy gray rock, with small bushes and

tenacious vines clinging to the sides. "Still no sign of sensor activity," she

told the recorder as she settled into the task of flying down the narrow

passage. Standard military logic, she knew, would be for her opponents to launch

their attack somewhere along these first few kilometers, while her

maneuverability was limited but before she got unnecessarily close to their

base. Stretching out to the Force, keeping a wary eye on the pale blue-green sky

above her, she kept going.

But no attack came. The ravine widened, narrowed, then widened again, at one

point changing from a canyon into the open side of a cliff where the left wall

had crumbled down into a wide, forested valley beyond. The breath of open air

was only a brief one; a moment later the wall rose again on her left and she was

again flying through a ravine. As if inspired by its view of the forest, the

vegetation was now becoming thicker and more varied, with the bushes and vines

often completely covering the rocky walls.

And there was something else new, as well. "I'm seeing holes in the sides of the

ravine now," she reported, trying to look into some of them as she passed. But

she was going too fast to see more than that they were too deep for the sunlight

to penetrate all the way to their backs. "Offhand, I'd say they don't look

particularly natural," she continued. "It could be a colony of avians or

vine-crawlers, or it could be part of a sensor array. Suggest the next person in

bring a better sensor package to-wait a second."

She eased off on the throttle, frowning ahead. The ravine was widening again;

and up there to her right&mdash

"I think I may have found the front door," she told the recorder tightly. "Looks

like a cave entrance up ahead on the right, just this side of a slight

right-handed angling. Good-sized opening-a little maneuvering and the ships we

saw could make it inside." She pursed her lips. "And I've now got a decision to

make: take the Defender, or head in on foot."

The Defender was slowing to a halt now, and she shifted to full repulsorlifts as

she tried to think. The obvious decision, of course, would be to take the

Defender in. But in this case, obvious didn't necessarily mean smart. So far

there'd been no response from their quarry, which meant they either hadn't

noticed her yet or else didn't consider her a threat.

And either way, a lone person on foot would probably get farther before sparking

a reaction than a New Republic starfighter roaring in with laser cannons charged

and ready. "I'm going in on foot," she told the recorder, easing the Defender

down to the ground beside a clump of bushes and keying for a bioscan of the air

outside. "There've been no hostile acts toward me yet, and it would be nice if I

could keep it that way."

Reaching down to the small weapons locker beside her right knee, she opened the

panel. "But just in case I can't, I'm taking my BlasTech, sleeve gun, and

lightsaber," she added. "That should give me a head start on whatever happens."

She slid the BlasTech blaster into the holster on her hip and secured the

smaller weapon in the forearm holster hidden beneath her left sleeve. She picked

up the lightsaber .

And paused, gazing at the weapon, feeling the cool metal against her skin. It

had been Luke Skywalker's lightsaber once, made by his father and passed down to

him on Tatooine by Obi-Wan Kenobi. Luke had given it in turn to her after the

Empire's massive counteroffensive under Grand Admiral Thrawn had finally been

stopped.

Then, she and Luke had been allies. Now . . .

With a grimace, she hooked the lightsaber onto her belt. Now, she wasn't sure

what they were.

Or rather, she wasn't sure what he was.

The bioscan beeped: the air was breathable, with no toxins or dangerous

microorganisms that should be able to get through her broad-scale immunization.

"Looks okay out there," she said, dragging her thoughts away from Skywalker and

back to the immediate business at hand. Shutting down the repulsorlifts, she

shifted the Defender's systems to standby and double-checked that the recorder

was set to pulse-transmit back to the Starry Ice. "I'll take my comlink, keyed

to the recorder."

She clipped her comlink to a hands-free position on her collar, then popped the

canopy. Nirauan's air rushed in, cool and crisp, with the subtle yet exotic

odors of a new world. Unstrapping, she stood up, pulling the Defender's survival

pack from its storage locker and hooking its straps over one shoulder as she

climbed down the side to the ground. Settling the pack securely onto her

shoulders, taking one last look around, she closed and locked the canopy and set

off toward the cave.

The grasslike vegetation underfoot was short and broadbladed, with a tendency to

cling to her boots, but otherwise it didn't impede her movements. She listened

as she walked, but there was only the rustling of the vegetation and the quiet

whisper of the breezes through the ravine. No animal or avian sounds at all.

But they were there, she knew, glancing up at the small holes that dotted the

ravine's sides. The animals were there. In the holes, or nesting in the bushes,

or lurking under the rock-climbing vines. She could feel their presence.

And at least some of them were watching her. . . "I could have been wrong about

this," she said into the comlink, drawing her blaster. "That could just be a

cave up there. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

Cautiously, she worked her way to the cave. Just as cautiously, she eased an eye

around the edge.

It was a cave, all right. A dirty, musty, rough-walled cave, stretching back

blackly into the distance, with a thick matting of dead leaves on the ground at

the entrance, cobwebs of some sort wafting randomly in the breeze, and a

lingering hint of dankness from distant standing water.

She lowered her blaster, feeling both anticlimactic and a little bit foolish.

"I'm here," she said to her comlink. "And if this is a disguised landing bay,

they've done a terrific job of it."

She stepped back from the cave's mouth, shading her eyes as she peered up the

side of the cliff. Nothing but cliff that she could see. Just beyond the cave,

as she'd already noted, the ravine veered slightly to the right. More from

curiosity than any expectation of seeing anything interesting, she walked to the

far side of the cave and looked around the bend.

And caught her breath. Straight ahead, perhaps ten kilometers farther along, the

ravine came to an abrupt end at the base of a massive bluff. And sitting atop

the bluff, black against the pale sky, was a building.

No, not just a building. A fortress.

Mara took a deep breath. "I've found them," she said, fighting to keep her voice

steady as she pulled a set of macrobinoculars from their pouch in the side of

her survival pack. There was something about the sight of that structure that

was sending an unpleasant tingle through her. "There's some kind of fortress

sitting on a bluff at the far end of the ravine."

She activated the macrobinoculars and focused on the fortress. "Seems to be

built of black stone," she reported, zooming in the view. "Reminds me of that

old abandoned fortress on Hijarna we sometimes used as a rendezvous point. I can

see-looks like two, maybe three towers from this angle, plus something that

might have been one more broken off near the base. In fact . . .

She lowered her view down the bluff to where the ravine began, the tingling

sensation growing even more unpleasant. "In fact, if you set up the angles

right," she said slowly, "you could make a case that whatever the shot was that

took out that tower was the same blast that gouged out this ravine."

And if so, that would have been one impressive blast. The Death Star could have

done it, but not much else in either the Imperial or New Republic arsenals.

"Regardless, I guess that's my next stop," she decided, sliding the

macrobinoculars back into their pouch. Taking one last look at the fortress, she

turned and headed back toward the Defender. She glanced inside the cave, crossed

to the other side&mdash

And froze, pressing her shoulder against the cool rock beside the cave opening.

Something had suddenly set off her danger sense . . . and as she waited, she

heard it again.

The soft, distant whine of an air vehicle.

"I think I'm about to have some company," she muttered into her comlink, giving

the sky a quick scan. Nothing was visible yet, but the sound was definitely

coming closer. Carefully, still watching the sky, she took a few steps back into

the shadows of the cave.

Abruptly her danger sense flared; but even as she spun around she knew it was

too late; From deep in the cave to her right something dark shot past, flapping

a puff of dank air into her face as it swooped past her head and darted back

into the darkness. She dropped into a crouch, blaster tracking toward the flying

shadow, but it was already out of sight. She fired once into the ceiling, the

blast of light giving her a brief glimpse of rough walls and hanging spikes of

rock. She spotted the flying shado w, shifted her aim warningly toward it&mdash

She had only a glimpse of the second shadow as it dropped from somewhere above

her and deftly snatched the blaster from her hand. Stifling a curse, she yanked

her lightsaber off her belt with her left hand, igniting it and in the same

motion tossing it to her right hand.

And suddenly the whole cave seemed to come to a screeching halt.

It was, Mara realized, a bizarre characterization of what had just happened. But

the impression nevertheless remained. Whatever the flapping creatures were, they

were suddenly watching with new eyes.

And speaking with a new voice.

A new voice? Mara frowned, listening hard. No mistake: there were indeed new

sounds murmuring through the cave.

Through the cave . . . or through her mind.

Backing into a slight depression in the wall, she stretched out as hard as she

could with the Force. The almost-voices seemed to sharpen, but they remained

right on the tantalizing edge of comprehension. "Terrific," she muttered to

herself. An alien and possibly hostile aircraft on its way, and here she was,

pinned down by equally alien creatures who were smart enough to grab her blaster

away. Creatures she could almost, but not quite, communicate with. "Where are

Skywalker and his bag of tricks when you need them?"

It was as if an emotional seismic shock had rippled through the cave. Suddenly

the almost-voices were clamoring even louder at the edge of her mind.

"Skywalker?" Mara demanded. "You know him?"

Again the almost-voices clamored, this time with a coloring of frustration in

their tone. "Yeah, I'm frustrated, too," Mara snapped back. "Come on, speak up.

Or whatever it is you're doing. What does Skywalker have to do with you ?"

If they gave an answer, she never heard it. From the mouth of the cave to her

left came a whisper of movement. She spun around, swinging her lightsaber to

defense position&mdash

And felt her mouth drop open in astonishment. Moving awkwardly into the mouth of

the cave was a huge cloud of dark, vaguely mynock-like creatures, their wings

flapping madly.

And in the center of that cloud, supported on the backs of those beneath it as

it was hauled by the half-hidden claws of the ones above, was her ship.

"What in blazes?" she snapped, jumping forward. Too quickly. Her foot caught on

a pile of dead leaves, throwing her off balance. She twisted around, trying to

recover, and instead swerved the opposite direction. Out of the corner of her

eye she saw a sharp-edged stone jutting out from the cave wall rushing at

her&mdash

She woke gradually, painfully, with a matting of what felt like dried blood on

the side of her head and eyes that didn't seem to want to open.

It was perhaps half a groggy minute more before she was conscious enough to

realize that her eyes were in fact open. It was simply a matter of its being too

dark to see anything.

"Uh-oh," she muttered, her voice echoing oddly. Had she been unconscious long

enough for it to become night? Or had she been dragged or carried farther back

into the cave?

The survival pack was still strapped to her back. Pulling the glow rod from its

pocket, she flicked it on.

She had indeed been moved deeper into the cave. And, for good measure, it had

also become night outside.

"Nice to know I can still call em," she muttered in disgust, glaring at her

chrono. She'd been unconscious for nearly three hours, far longer than she would

have expected. Either she'd hit the wall harder than she realized, or else her

kidnappers had dropped her a few times on the way here.

Wherever "here" was.

For a moment she played the beam from the glow rod around the walls and high

ceiling of the cavern around her, comparing it with her memory of the brief

glimpse the illumination from her earlier blaster shot had given her. But

nothing matched. That put her at least thirty meters inside, she estimated,

probably more. Not an unreasonable hike, assuming she didn't get lost in a maze

of side passages. And assuming her Defender was waiting somewhere along the way

for her to find.

And assuming that if assumptions one and two worked out there would be some

place for her to go.

She looked at her chrono again. Three hours. The recorder had been set up to

dump a pulse-transmission back to the Starry Ice if she either shut off the

comlink or else stopped talking for fifteen minutes. Which meant Faughn bad had

the record of her trip for over two and a half hours now, including that last

startled yelp before she'd knocked herself out The question was, what had she

decided to do with it?

Unfortunately, there was only one likely answer. Faughn had no other fighters

aboard; had no way to come to Mara's aid except to bring the Starry Ice itself

in. She knew better than to risk her ship that way, particularly when she was

the only one who had the information Mara had sent.

Which meant the Starry Ice was long gone. And with no hyperdrive on the

Defender, that meant Mara was stuck here.

"I suppose I could walk to the fortress and see if they've got a room to rent,"

she muttered. But that really didn't sound like a smart idea; and even as she

said it, she could hear a strong note of disapproval enter the almost-voices

tickling at the edge of her mind. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," she

growled. It was their fault she was marooned here, after all.

On the other hand, depending on who or what had been in the aircraft she'd

heard, it was possible they'd also saved her life. Under the circumstances, she

supposed, it was a fair trade-off.

And it wasn't like this was permanent exile, either. A few days-two weeks at the

most-and Karrde would have a force here to get her out.

In the meantime, she bad survival to worry about. Balancing the glow rod on an

outcropping where it could give her some working light, she unstrapped her pack

and began setting up camp.

CHAPTER

15

Lando looked up from his datapad at the grizzled man sitting across the tapcafe

table from him, face half hidden behind his mug. "You must be joking," he said,

waving at the datapad. "Fifty thousand? A month?"

The other shrugged. "Take it or not, Calrissian-makes no difference to me. But

if you want to hire the best, you gotta expect it to cost you."

"Oh, come on," Lando growled. "This is me you're talking to, Reggi. We both know

the Soskin Guard is hardly the best."

"Maybe not," Reggi allowed, taking another swig from his mug. "But they're the

best you're gonna have any shot at hiring."

"Look, I'm talking about running ore freighter security here," Lando said,

fighting against the sinking feeling he'd had so many times in the past ten

days. "Not invading Alion or boarding a Star Destroyer or something."

"Too bad," Reggi said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Those

sound like more fun-the Soskins might give you a discount on one of them."

"My point is that we're not talking the kind of job that's worth fifty

thousand," Lando pushed ahead doggedly. "We're talking one shipment of ore per

month out of Varn, plus a few shiploads of casino customers coming in and out.

That can't be worth more than, say, five thousand a month."

Reggi sighed. "Look, Calrissian-" He paused, glanced around the tapcafe. "Look

over there," he continued, pointing across at a group of aliens bunched together

around a table, their horny heads almost touching. "See those Clatear? They've

got a six-hundred-year-old feud going with the Nhoras that five separate

generations of Jedi tried to stop and couldn't Ever heard of it?"

Lando nodded. "Yes."

"Good," Reggi said. "Well, with this new bands-off policy that's come out of

Coruscant, they figure no one outside their sector is going to care anymore what

they do to each other. Ergo, it's time to start fighting again.

"Now, the Clatear, they've got a pretty good military-they were under Imperial

guns a lot for a while-so they're in pretty good shape. The Nhoras were

luckier-or maybe not, depending how you look at it. They got ignored by the

Empire, so they've got nothing much to fight with."

Lando sighed. He could see where this was going. "So they're hiring

mercenaries."

"You got it, old friend," Reggi said approvingly. "They've got the Dhashaan

Shield in to guard their systems-even talked old Dharus himself out of

retirement to handle logistics and strategy for them. And they're ladling out

thirty thousand for them. That's per day."

He shook his bead in disbelief. "It's definitely a seller's market out there for

anyone with soldiers and ships, Calrissian. Everyone's figuring on settling old

grudges. And who out there't hasn't got a grudge or two against someone?"

"But the Nhoras are hiring for a full-scale war," Lando said, trying one last

time. "All I want is someone to help keep pirates off my shipments."

Reggi shrugged. "Some of those pirate gangs are worse than taking on a whole

system defense force. Course, that depends on the system."

Lando grimaced. "Reggi, look-"

"And if you're going to bring up Taanab again, don't," the other interrupted

him. "You've been squeezing that bit of history for favors for, oh, must be

fifteen years now. Not going to do you any good this time."

"It's always nice to see gratitude," Lando said frostily, getting to his feet.

"See you around, Reggi. Have fun with whichever war you settle on."

The afternoon Cilparian sunlight seemed especially harsh after the cool dimness

of the tapcafe. For a minute Lando stood beside the entrance, studying the

business flags that flew all up and down Spacer's Street and wondering if it

would be worth the effort to try checking out their current clientele.

No. Reggi was right: any mercenary group worth hiring these days was looking for

bigger game than freighter escort duty. And a higher pay scale than Lando could

afford.

After nearly two decades of agonizing struggle, the galaxy had finally found

peace . . . and all they wanted to do with it was get back to the petty little

wars the Emperor's New Order had so thoughtlessly interrupted.

With a tired shake of his head, he turned back toward the spaceport.

The noise of the crowd reached him long before he came into sight of them. It

was a good-sized mob, as these things seemed to be going: probably three hundred

humans and aliens, milling noisily around the entrance to Docking Bay 66. This

group was better organized than most, though, with signs as well as the usual

shouted demands for justice for Caamas.

The mood he was in, he would have welcomed the opportunity to shove his way

through them, maybe get a chance to burn a little of the simmering resentment

out of his system. But the universe wasn't going to cooperate even that far with

him today: the Lady Luck was two bays down in 68. Muttering under his breath

about people who had nothing better to do than protest something that had

happened before most of them were even born, he stomped past the crowd and

headed toward his bay. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he got off Cilpar,

the better.

He was a good ten meters past the edge of the crowd when a stray fact managed to

penetrate his blanket of grouchy self-pity. These protests invariably targeted

Bothans: Bothan merchants or diplomats or businesses. But there were no Bothans

at Mos Tommro Spaceport-they used a different facility entirely.

So what were the protesters doing here?

Keeping a wary eye on the crowd, he backed into an alley out of their sight and

pulled out his comlink. He keyed it to run through the Lady Luck's comm system

and punched for the spaceport control center. "This is Lando Calrissian in Bay

68," he identified himself to the bored voice that answered. "I'd like a listing

of the ships in Bay 66."

"There will be no need for that," a calm voice said from the alley behind him.

Lando spun around, his hand twitching aside the edge of his cloak with practiced

ease and landing on the butt of his holstered blaster. Standing a few meters

away, decked out in full diplomatic regalia, were a pair of white-maned,

leathery-faced Diamala. "Yes?" he asked cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I believe you can," the taller of the two aliens said. "Allow me to

introduce myself. I am Porolo Miatamia, Senator to the New Republic. May I

confirm that my ears did not deceive me and that you are General Lando

Calrissian?"

"Former general, yes," Lando nodded, releasing his grip on his blaster and

shutting off his comlink. The crowd of protesters at Bay 66 was starting to make

sense now. "May I confirm in turn that this is not a chance meeting?"

Miatamia smiled thinly, the only way Lando had ever seen a Diamal smile. "You

are correct," the Senator assured him. "My aide spotted you five streets away as

you were approaching." One fan-shaped ear dipped to point at the Diamal beside

him. "We have paralleled you to this point, seeking a way to confirm your

identity."

"You've confirmed it," Lando said. One of the more irritating Diamalan social

characteristics-annoying to him, anyway-was this tendency of theirs to trample

the ground flat around an issue before actually getting to it. "Is there some

service I can perform for you?"

Miatamia's ear flicked in the direction of the crowd. "My ship is in Docking Bay

66," he said. "There are . . . persons who disapprove of my government's stance

on the Bothan issue."

"Yes, I've heard," Lando said. So it was now the Bothan issue, not the Caamas

issue. Interesting. "Your government wants to forgive and forget, or some such

thing."

The Senator eyed him closely. "Would you then prefer to inflict mindless

vengeance against innocents?"

Lando spread his hands. "Hey, this is politics. I'm just a simple businessman

trying to turn a little profit."

Miatamia eyed him a moment longer. Then one of his ears twitched. "As that may

be," he said cryptically. "At any rate, the protesters have made their point. I

have therefore appealed to the spaceport authorities to remove them so that I

may return to my ship."

Lando nodded. After that lethal riot on Bothawui a week ago, he could understand

the Senator's reluctance to try to push his way through the crowd. "Let me

guess. They refused to lift a finger."

"There is no need to guess: I can positively state that that was their

response," Miatamia said. "We were departing from their offices when we noticed

you and made our tentative identification."

"I understand," Lando said. "What service may I perform for you?"

Miatamia's other ear twitched. "I wished to ask you to use your position and

influence with the New Republic to intercede on my behalf."

His influence with the New Republic. Right. "I wish I could help you," he said.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid my influence these days is limited to a select number

of friends and associates. None of whom is currently on Cilpar."

"I see." Miatamia was silent a moment "In that event, perhaps you would be

willing to speak to the crowd. As a hero of the Rebellion, you would have a

calming influence."

Lando snorted under his breath. "I very much doubt my past activities would get

me very far with them, Senator. There's a bad tendency these days for people to

forget what happened back then."

"Then you refuse to help me?"

"It's not a refusal," Lando said, trying hard to be patient. It was a language

thing, of course; for all their calmly logical veneer, Diamala had a tendency to

use words in nonstandard ways. One reason why a lot of people didn't like

dealing with them. "I'm simply pointing out that there's nothing I can do to

help you."

And then a sudden thought occurred to him. "At least, nothing I can do to get

you to your ship," he continued before Miatamia could respond. "If all you need

right now is to get to Coruscant or back home, that's another matter."

Both ears twitched this time. "Explain."

"My ship is docked in Bay 68," he said. "I would be honored to take you wherever

in the New Republic you wished to go."

"Others of the crew are still outside," the aide pointed out. "Trapped away from

the ship by the crowd. Do you offer them transport as well?"

"I was thinking mainly of you and Senator Miatamia," Lando said, looking at him.

"My ship has rather limited living space."

He shifted his eyes back to Miatamia. "But it seems to me that the crowd isn't

interested in your crew, just in the attention of the Senator. Once you're not

here to give them that attention, there won't be much point in them hanging

around."

"You speak reason," Miatamia said. "Now speak cost."

"No cost, Senator," Lando assured him, waving a hand in invitation back toward

his docking bay. "I would be honored to have such a distinguished personage

aboard my ship."

The other didn't move. "Speak of the cost, please. There is always a cost."

So much for finding a subtle way to bring up the topic aboard the Lady Luck,

"There is no cost," Lando repeated. "However, my underwater mining operation is

having problems with pirate attacks. I thought perhaps I might be able to make

an arrangement with the Diamalan military to provide extra security for my

shipments."

"The primary task of the Diamalan military is to protect Diamalan interests,"

Miatamia said. "However, there may be room for discussion."

"Thank you, Senator," Lando said. "Honest discussion is all I ask. Shall we go?"

The short trip across the street to the docking-bay door was just a shade worse

than Lando had expected it would be. The two Diamala refused to run or even to

hurry-a matter of dignity, apparently-and they were no more than halfway to the

door when the crowd waiting two bays down spotted them. Fortunately, having no

compunctions of his own against a little judicious haste, Lando had already

reached the other side and was keying the door open by the time the mob started

its belated surge toward them. The Diamala made it inside in plenty of time,

with only a few minor fruit juice stains from glancing impacts as souvenirs.

"They are barbarians," the aide said, his voice icy cold, as Lando sealed the

door behind them. "No being should have the right to attempt such dishonoring of

another."

"Peace," Miatamia said in the same tone as he flicked a few drops of juice from

his sleeve with his fingertips. "Few other beings have the wisdom or capacity

for proper expression that characterize the Diamala. Rather than considering

them as barbarians to be shunned, or even as wrongdoers to be punished, you must

see them as children who merely need instruction in civilized behavior."

He looked at Lando. "Do you not agree?"

"I think any such discussions should be postponed, Senator," Lando said, not

about to let himself get dragged into that kind of conversation. "At least until

we're safely off Cilpar."

"You speak wisdom," Miatamia said, his ears twitching again. "Please; lead the

way."

***

Tierce looked up from the display . . . and from his expression alone Disra knew

he'd hit solid ore. "You have a target?" he asked.

"I do indeed," Tierce said. "Senator Porolo Miatamia, Diamalan representative to

the New Republic." He swiveled the display around to face the other. "And you'll

never guess who he's hitched a ride with."

Disra scanned the report, feeling his own eyes widen a little. "They must be

joking. Lando Calrissian?"

"No joke," Tierce assured him. "And no error, either. The reporting agent

back-checked against the Mos Tommro Spaceport lift records. Calrissian, the

Senator, and the Senator's aide all took off together in Calrissian's yacht."

"Did they indeed," Disra murmured. No wonder Tierce was looking so

self-satisfied. The Diamala were even louder advocates of the forgive-and-forget

attitude than either the Mon Calamari or the Duros. An ideal choice for the

little drama Tierce had in mind.

And to have a close friend of Han Solo's along for the ride made it even more

perfect. What's their destination-oh, here it is. Coruscant."

"Yes." Tierce had called up a star chart and was laying rate-of-passage

tracklines across it. "Assuming Calrissian heads straight for Coruscant, we

should have no trouble intercepting them wherever we want along the way. The

only question is whether Flim and I can rendezvous with the Relentless before

they grab the yacht."

"It won't look good if they have to wait for you to show up," Disra warned.

"This is supposed to look like one of Thrawn's casual-omniscience tricks."

"Kindly do not lecture me on the subtleties of my own plans," Tierce said

coldly, manipulating the tracklines across the starfield. "It'll be a bit tight,

but I think we can manage it."

"Yes," Disra said as he looked over the numbers himself. "I'm still not wild

about this plan, Tierce. We have no idea how the New Republic will react"

"Of course we know," Tierce said patiently. "I've already explained all of that

to you."

"You've given me your guesses," Disra corrected. "But that's all they are.

Guesses."

"If you're not willing to take some risks, you shouldn't have started this

scheme in the first place," Tierce said, his voice chilling a few degrees. "It's

still not too late for you to back out if you've lost your nerve."

Disra glared at him. "It's not a question of my nerve, Major," he growled. "It's

a question of not taking unnecessary risks to achieve our objective."

Tierce met his gaze evenly. "This one is necessary, Your Excellency," he said.

"Trust me. Now, we'll need an Interdictor Cruiser, too," He lifted his eyebrows

slightly. "And we're on something of a tight schedule here."

With an effort, Disra swallowed back the rest of his argument Tierce hadn't

sprung this new scheme on him until after his return from Yaga Minor, and he

still wasn't sure how the Guardsman had talked him into it. But if they were

going to do it, they had blazing well better do it right. "Fine," he growled.

"Get out of my chair and I'll issue the orders."

CHAPTER

16

"Well, General," Admiral Pellaeon said, leaning back in his seat as he accepted

a small glass of Kareas brandy from the other, "How are things at Yaga Minor?"

"About the same as always, Admiral," High General Hestiv said, waving at the

distant planet centered in his office viewport as he poured a little of the

brandy into his own glass and sat down again behind his datacard-strewn desk.

"Very quiet."

"I understand there's been some recent unrest among segments of the Yagai

population," Pellaeon said.

"Completely negligible," Hestiv said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Actually,

since the overwhelming majority of the populace is completely loyal, they mostly

take care of the handful of dissenters themselves. The only time we normally

have to lift a finger is to protect the dissidents from overzealous loyalists."

"Allowing you to take the moral high ground."

"Exactly," Hestiv said. "It makes for a refreshing change from our usual image

among aliens."

"Yes," Pellaeon murmured, sipping his drink. "A pity the Emperor didn't work

harder at that kind of public relations himself twenty years ago."

"A pity someone who wasn't so insanely blind with power didn't overthrow him

while there was still time," Hestiv countered, an edge of bitterness in his

voice. "There must have been hundreds of competent administrators or Fleet

officers who could have kept the Empire alive."

Pellaeon felt a catch in his throat. "There was one, at least," he said quietly.

Hestiv's lip twitched. "Yes-Grand Admiral Thrawn. I've always regretted the fact

that I never had the chance to meet him."

For a moment the two men sat in silence. Then Hestiv cleared his throat. "But I

don't suppose it gains us anything to count the might-have-beens," he said.

"That was the past, this is the present; and I presume, Admiral, that you're

here to discuss the future."

Pellaeon took another sip of his drink. "Yes," he said, watching the other

closely. "To put it bluntly, the war against the New Republic is over, and we've

lost. In my professional military opinion, it's time to talk peace."

The muscles around Hestiv's eyes tightened. "You mean surrender."

"I'll be negotiating for terms," Pellaeon said. "If I do a proper job, I think

we should be able to keep most of what we have."

Hestiv snorted. "Such as it is."

"We still control over a thousand inhabited systems," Pellaeon reminded him

mildly. "Would you prefer we allow the New Republic to whittle that number down

further before we accept the inevitable?"

"The New Republic's in no shape to do much whittling at the moment," Hestiv

said. "It looks to me like they're poised to go for each other's throats, not

ours?'

"Certainly they have problems," Pellaeon said. "But if you're expecting them to

collapse into a full-fledged civil war over Caamas or anything else, I think

you're being unrealistic."

"Begging the Admiral's pardon, but I respectfully disagree," Hestiv said.

"Particularly if we engaged in a little judicious pushing of our own."

Pellaeon stifled a sigh. Yet another argument he'd heard over and over again on

this trip. "So you'd have us encourage them in their self-destruction," he said.

"Emptying your shipyards if necessary; draining all the manpower and resources

from your Ubiqtorate base. Leaving this system totally defenseless."

"If it's necessary to go that far, yes," Hestiv said. "This is a military base,

Admiral. That's how its resources are supposed to be used."

"Granted," Pellaeon said with a nod. "And what do you suppose will happen when

they find out we've been goading them?"

"There's no reason they need to find out," Hestiv argued. "We

don't have to use our Star Destroyers or TIE fighters or anything else obviously

Imperial."

"No." Pellaeon shook his head. "We can keep up such a charade for a while, maybe

even a long while. But in the end, they'll find out. And then they'll unite

again, at least long enough to destroy us."

Hestiv looked out the window at the blue-green sphere in the distance. "At least

that way we'd go down fighting," he said with obvious difficulty. "Your way . .

. there's no honor in surrender, Admiral."

"There's no honor in wasting lives for nothing, either," Pellaeon countered.

Hestiv smiled wryly. "I know. But at least if you're dead you don't have to live

with the shame of it."

"There are some in the Fleet who would call that a noble warrior attitude,"

Pellaeon said. "Personally, I'd call it stupid. II we're destroyed-if we all

die-the concepts and ideals of the New Order die with us. But if we surrender,

we can keep those ideals alive. Then, if and when the New Republic

self-destructs, we'll be positioned to rise again. Maybe then the galaxy will

finally be ready to accept us."

Hestiv grimaced. "Perhaps."

"There's no disgrace in backing out of a no-win situation General," Pellaeon

said quietly. "I saw Grand Admiral Thrawn do it more than once, forthrightly and

without embarrassment, rather than waste his men and ships. That's no more or

less what I'm proposing we do now."

Hestiv swirled his drink restlessly in his glass. "I presume you've already

consulted with the Moffs about this."

"I have," Pellaeon said. "In the end, they agreed."

"Reluctantly, I suppose."

"None of us is exactly enthusiastic about it," Pellaeon said. "We simply

recognize that it has to be done."

Hestiv took a deep breath, exhaled it. "I suppose you're right. I wish you

weren't." He lifted his glass, drained it in a single swallow. "Very well,

Admiral. You have my support, which I presume was the real reason you came to

Yaga Minor. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Pellaeon said, pulling out datacard and handing

it across the desk. "First of all, I'd like you to run this list of names

through the Ubiqtorate base's computer system."

"Certainly," Hestiv said, sliding the datacard into its slot and keying his

terminal. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Unaltered information," Pellaeon told him. "These are people I suspect of

having shady financial ties to Moff Disra, but we haven't been able to track the

connections."

"And Disra wouldn't let you look through the Bastion records?" Hestiv suggested

with a wry smile.

"I'm sure he would have," Pellaeon said. "I just don't happen to think I'd be

able to trust what those records said."

"Well, you can trust these," Hestiv assured him, keying his board. "No one gets

into my records without proper and double-confirmed authorization. That major

from the Obliterator -Tierce-certainly found that out when he tried to-"

"Major Tierce?" Pellaeon interrupted him. "Major Grodin Tierce?"

"Yes, that's the one," Hestiv said, frowning. "He was here on behalf of Captain

Trazzen, only we couldn't make contact with the Obliterator to confirm the

authorization so we wouldn't let him into the system. Why, is something wrong?"

"Yes," Pellaeon gritted. "Major Tierce isn't attached to the Obliterator. He's

Moff Disra's aide."

Hestiv's expression turned to stone. "Is he, now."

Pellaeon gestured toward the terminal. "Is there any way to tell which records

he might have tapped into?"

"I just told you he didn't get in."

"Oh, he got in, all right," Pellaeon said darkly. "Through a terminal no one was

watching, or perhaps he brought one of his own and tapped in at a junction

point. But he most certainly didn't leave without whatever it was he came here

to do."

Hestiv was keying his board. "You're right, of course. I'll order a check; and

while we're at it, let's have them run his ID again."

The examination took just under an hour; and in the end, they found what

Pellaeon had begun to suspect they would find.

Nothing.

"This doesn't make any sense," Hestiv growled, glaring at his display. We know

he was here, and presumably not just for his health. But there isn't a single

sign of access or tampering. So what in blazes did he do? "

"Did you check all the records?" Pellaeon asked, swiveling the display around

and running an eye down the listing.

"Of course we did," Hestiv said, his tone a little huffy. "Everything from the

basic maintenance files on up to-"

"No," Pellaeon said, staring at the display as a sudden chilling thought hit

him. "You didn't check everything. You couldn't have."

"Begging the Admiral's pardon-"

"Because there are records you don't have access to," Pellaeon cut him off,

scrolling down the listing. "Specifically, the Special Files section."

Hestiv's eyebrows lifted. "You can't be serious," he said. "Are you suggesting a

lowly major could access the Emperor's own sealed records?"

"I agree it sounds unbelievable," Pellaeon said. "But we're running out of

options."

"But a major?"

"He's an aide to a very slippery Moff," Pellaeon reminded him. "I wouldn't put

it past Disra to have found a way into the Special Files. In fact, considering

his ambition and lack of discernible ethics, I'd probably find it more

surprising if he hadn't."

"I still don't believe it," Hestiv said heavily. "But as you say, we're running

out of, options." He cocked an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you can get us into

those records to check this out?"

Pellaeon shook his head. "The codes and procedures were lost long before I rose

to the position where I would have been instructed in their use."

"Pity," Hestiv said. "If we can't get in, we aren't going to be able to figure

out what he was doing in there."

"That is the big question, isn't it?" Pellaeon agreed, rubbing his chin

thoughtfully. "He couldn't have been looking up something-the records at Bastion

are duplicates of the ones here. Which implies his purpose was to add, delete,

or alter."

Hestiv muttered something under his breath. "Which implies those names you're

investigating may have more of a history with the Empire than you thought."

"Perhaps," Pellaeon agreed soberly as another unpleasant thought struck him.

"But there's one other possibility. If I wanted details on the attack that

destroyed Caamas, where would I look?"

Hestiv shrugged slightly. "There should be copies of all the media and official

reports in the regular files, both current-time and follow-up."

"And if Palpatine was personally involved, as the rumors suggested?"

Hestiv exhaled noisily. "Anything like that would be in the Special Files

section, wouldn't it? You think that's what Tierce was really after?"

"Or he was after that plus Disra's ally list," Pellaeon said. "As long as he was

in the files anyway, why not do both?"

Why not, indeed?" Hestiv said, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the desktop.

"The question is, what would Disra want with the Caamas files?"

"Whatever it is, I doubt very much that it has anything other than Disra's

personal aggrandizement at the core," Pellaeon said sourly. "And for that reason

alone, I want to know what it is. I think, General, that the two of us ought to

begin a quiet search for someone who might be able to access those records for

us."

"I'll begin making inquiries immediately," Hestiv promised. Where can I contact

you if I'm successful?"

"I'll be out of contact for a while," Pellaeon said, standing up. "I'll

communicate with you when I get back. Thank you for your assistance."

"Anytime, Admiral," Hestiv said. "And best of luck with with everything."

And it was finally time, Pellaeon knew as he headed down the corridor from

Hestiv's office toward the docking bay where his shuttle was berthed. The Yaga

Minor shipyards were the last stop on his tour of the Empire's meager defensive

facilities, and he had gleaned as much support from the senior military as he

was going to get.

It was time now for the lonely journey to Pesitiin.

He grimaced. It had been three weeks now. Three weeks since Major Vermel would

have arrived at Morishim to try to contact General Bel Iblis. Three weeks since

he and his Corellian Corvette had vanished without a single trace. The

increasingly unavoidable conclusion was that he'd been intercepted somewhere

along the way, either by random pirates, overeager New Republic forces, or

dissident Imperials.

He'd been a good officer, even a friend, and Pellaeon would mourn his loss and

miss his service. But at the moment the critical question was whether he'd been

able to deliver his message before that interception occurred.

There was no way for Pellaeon to know. He would simply have to show up at

Pesitiin and see if Bel Ibis did likewise.

And if the other did not . . . well, he would deal with that when and if it

became necessary.

CHAPTER

17

Its official name was the Grand Rim Promenade; and even on a world that prided

itself on engineering achievements as much as Cejansij clearly did, it was a

remarkable achievement indeed. Thirty meters wide at its greatest expanse,

attached to the eastern wall of the Canyonade about two-thirds of the way from

floor to rim, it stretched the entire length-over ten kilometers-of the canyon.

Small trade and vending booths were set up all along the canyon wall, the

commercial areas interspersed with conversat ion circles or tiny contoured

meditation gardens or sculpture clusters. At other spots the wall had been left

completely open to allow unobstructed observation of interesting natural

vegetation clumps or the small waterfalls that dribbled softly down toward the

canyon floor below.

The far more interesting view, though, was on the other side of the Promenade.

Beyond the chest-high, elaborately tooled metal-mesh guardwall one could look

down into the Canyonade itself, to the city that had been created across the

floor and sides. At regular intervals the guardwall opened up into the skyarches

that curved gracefully across the canyon to the lesser and more utilitarian

walkways on the far side. The skyarches were arranged in diamond-patterned

groups of nine: three connecting with the Promenade, two each connecting with

the walkways above and below it, one each from the walkways above and below

those.

An impressive achievement, made all the more so by the fact that the entire

three-hundred-year-old structure was held solidly in place without any

repulsorlift support whatsoever. Walking along the Promenade, gazing across

through the gathering darkness at the scattering of lights across the canyon and

down below, Luke wondered if anyone in these modern days would have both the

skill and the self-confidence to undertake anything of this magnitude.

Rolling along at Luke's side, Artoo twittered uneasily. "Don't worry, Artoo, I'm

not going to get too close to the edge," Luke soothed the little droid, shifting

his shoulders beneath his hooded cloak. "Anyway, it's not dangerous-the brochure

said there are emergency tractor beams set up to catch anyone who falls."

Artoo warbled a not entirely convinced acknowledgment. Then, rotating his dome

for a surreptitious look behind them, he beeped a question. "Yes," Luke told him

soberly. "He's still following us."

Had been following them, in fact, since shortly after their arrival on the

Promenade: a large bulky alien, slipping in and out of the other pedestrians

with unlikely grace. Luke wasn't sure exactly when he and Artoo had been spotted

and identified; possibly during the turbolift ride down from the spaceport,

possibly not until they'd arrived on the Promenade itself.

For that matter, it was entirely possible they hadn't been identified at all.

Their tail could simply be a local thief hoping to relieve a helpless stranger

of his astromech droid.

If so, he was going to be in for a surprise.

Artoo twittered again. "Patience," Luke told him, looking around. They had come

to the end of one of the groups of wall-hugging businesses now and were starting

into a wide area that featured only a waterfall and two currently unoccupied

conversation areas. Quiet, peaceful, and as private as Luke had yet seen up

here. An ideal place for holding an impromptu conversation.

Or for springing an ambush.

"Let's pause here a moment," he said to Artoo, crossing over toward the outer

edge of the Promenade. They were roughly in the middle of the quiet area now,

with the waterfall rippling softly behind them. Picking a section of guardwall,

Luke stopped walking and leaned his elbows on the top rail, stretching out to

the Force as he did so. There was a subtle change in the emotions of their

pursuer now: a change that felt to Luke like the other had made a decision.

"He's coming," Luke muttered to Artoo. "I think he's alone, but there could

still be trouble. Keep back out of the way, all right?"

The droid acknowledged with a nervous twitter, rolling a meter back in response.

Resettling his elbows on the guardwall, Luke gazed out into the Canyonade, a

gentle shiver running up his back as he listened to the quiet footsteps

approaching from the side. As near as he could tell, this was the exact spot

where he'd seen himself in that vision

The footsteps stopped. "Pardon me," a gentle voice asked. "Are you the Jedi

Master Luke Skywalker?"

Luke turned, getting his first clear look at the being who'd been following

them. He was of an unfamiliar species: tall and broad, with dark shell plates

half-hidden beneath a fur-trimmed cloak. His head was large, with alert black

eyes and small spikes where the mouth would be on a human. "I'm Skywalker, yes,"

Luke confirmed. "And you?"

"I am Moshene Tre," the alien said. "Un'Yala of the Cas'ta tribe of the Rellarin

people of Rellnas Minor."

He reached a Wookiee-sized hand to the collar of his cloak and turned the edge

back. Fastened on the underside was a distinctive gold-filigree pin. "I am also

a New Republic Observer. I am honored to meet you, sir."

"And I you," Luke said, nodding in greeting as his last vestiges of tension

faded away. The Observers were an experimental, quasi-official part of the New

Republic, created in this latest round of governmental policy reorganization.

Moving freely about their assigned sectors, their job was to report directly to

the High Council and Senate whatever they saw or heard, with a particular eye

toward improper governmental activities that the local or sector authorities

might prefer to keep out of sight.

There had been some early fears that the Observers might evolve into the kind of

secret security forces that the Empire had used with such devastating effect

during its reign of terror. So far, though, that didn't seem to be happening.

The various governments that had undertaken to sponsor Observers had chosen

their candidates carefully, with an eye toward hiring only strongly ethical

beings and then strictly defining the limits of their mandate. The fact that the

Observers were assigned to sectors far away from their homes and any local or

species rivalries undoubtedly helped encourage their sponsors to pick candidates

who were as incorruptible and impartial as possible.

A similar system had been used in the Old Republic, Luke

knew, with the Jedi Knights acting in the Observers' role. Perhaps someday his

academy graduates would be numerous enough-and trusted enough-to once again take

on that duty. "What may I do to help you?" he asked.

"Please forgive my impertinence in walking within your shadow," Tre continued.

"But I felt a burden to speak with you, and needed to be certain of your

identity before I approached."

"I understand," Luke said. "No harm done. How may I help you?"

The Rellarin stepped up to the guardwall beside Luke and waved a massive hand

downward. "I wished you to see what is happening in the Canyonade tonight. To

see, and to understand."

Luke turned back to the guardwall and looked down. All he could see were the

normal street and vehicle lights of a modern city. "Where am I supposed to be

looking?" he asked.

"There," Tre said, pointing toward a large diamond-shaped area near the center

of the Canyonade directly across from where the two of them stood. Though

bordered by normal street illumination, the area itself was almost completely

dark, with only a handful of tiny lights showing near the center.

"It looks like a park," Luke hazarded, mentally calling up the map of the

Canyonade he'd looked at on the way into the spaceport. "Tranquillity Common,

perhaps?"

"That is correct," Tre said. "Do you see the lights in the center?"

"Yes," Luke said. "They're . . ."

He paused, frowning. In the past few seconds, as he and Tre had been speaking,

the number of lights had seemingly doubled. Still grouped closely together . . .

and then, even as he watched, a new. circle of lights was added to the group.

"They are lights of peace," Tre said. "Tonight, the peoples of Cejansij gather

together in support of justice."

"Yes," Luke said. He could see all too well where this one was going. "Justice."

"I perceive from your tone of voice that you do not yet understand," Tre said,

his own tone one of mild reproof. "The High Council and Senate dismiss all such

demonstrations as riots by the violent or ignorant, or else as plots by the

Empire. But such is not always the case."

"I don't think the Senate sees things quite that simplistically," Luke said.

Still, he had to admit that Tre had a point. "So what third category would the

demonstration down there fall into?"

"As I said: the support of justice," the Rellarin said. "The white lights you

see are in remembrance of the peoples of Caamas.' Soon now-yes; there. Do you

see?"

Luke nodded. Around the group of white lights, a thin circle of blue lights had

appeared. As he watched, more were added, creating an ever-growing ring of blue

around the white. "I see them."

"They signify remembrance for the victims of the Vrassh Slaughter," Tre told

him. "The land the perpetrators gained by that act has yielded great wealth to

them; yet neither the Pas'sic government nor the New Republic has insisted that

any of that wealth be given to the survivors' families, as both the custom and

ancient law of that world demand."

"One of my Jedi students was of the Vrassh," Luke said, his heart stirring at

the memory. "He had a great deal of anger to work through before his training

could properly begin."

"Their rage is understandable," Tre said. "Yet there is no such anger in those

gathered below." He gestured again toward the growing circle of lights. "Not in

the way humans define anger. They are quiet and peaceful, threatening no one.

But they will not forget those who were wronged, nor will they allow those in

power to forget."

"Yes," Luke murmured. "There are indeed some things that must never be

forgotten."

For a few minutes they stood in silence and watched. The circle of blue lights

continued to grow; and then, as the white center had given way to blue, the blue

gave way to yellow. The yellow was joined and encircled in turn by red, then by

pale green, then violet, and finally an outer ring of white. "They are all

gathered," Tre said when the series of concentric rings was complete. "Those are

the ones who have tonight donated their time in remembrance. Others will donate

their time other nights; and as all look down upon the lights they too will

remember. And all of Cejansij will strengthen in their resolve to petition the

seats of power until all such wrongs are righted."

Luke shook his head. "Except that none Of these wrongs can be righted, un'Yala

Tre," he said. "Not Caamas, not any of them."

"The Cejansiji understand that," the Rellarin said. "They know the dead cannot

be brought back to life, nor devastated worlds be made whole again. They merely

seek such justice as is within the power of mortal beings to grant"

"And what justice would they seek for Caamas?" Luke persisted. "The punishment

of the entire Bothan race for the crimes of a few?"

"Many would say that such would not be true justice," Tre agreed. "But others

would not share that opinion, and their voices too must be heard." He pointed to

the circles of lights. "But now see. They demonstrate that justice cannot be

limited to any one people or event. Justice must exist for all."

Luke frowned. The neat circles were breaking up, the different colors starting

to mix together at the edges. His first thought was that the demonstration had

ended and the participants were starting to leave. But the overall group of

lights didn't seem to be getting any larger. The colors continued to bleed

together, the rings giving way to a more homogeneous mix of color&mdash

And suddenly he understood. The participants were leaving their own circles of

remembrance and interweaving with the people in the other circles. It was a

quiet yet deeply moving demonstration of unity.

"Some of those now in the Common do indeed believe that the entire Bothan

species should be held accountable for the crime of Caamas," Tre said quietly.

"At least in regard to reparations to the surviving Caamasi. Other Cejansiji

reject that argument, yet agree that in suppressing knowledge of their part in

the crime the Bothan leadership has forfeited any right to claims of innocence.

There will also be visiting' offworlders in the Common, holding lights alongside

them, whose opinions will be equally varied."

"Sounds like it's about the same here as everywhere else in the galaxy," Luke

said.

"True," Tre said. "The point I wished to make, Master Skywalker, is that these

differences are not the result of enemy plots or even posturings among political

rivals. They are the genuine and honest differences of opinion among the many

beings who make up the New Republic. To dismiss any of them as unimportant or

unthinking is to insult the honor and integrity of those beings and their

cultures."

"I know," Luke said. "I'm sure the Senate does, too. The problem is how to

reconcile all those differences. Not just over Caamas, but also in a thousand

other matters."

"I do not know how you will succeed," Tre said. "I only know that it must be

done, and that it must be done quickly. Already I have heard the stirrings of

genuine anger at the Senate's inaction on this matter. There are other even more

disturbing stirrings: whispered suggestions that the New Republic no longer

cares what any world does against its neighbors or adversaries. Even now some

are preparing to settle old grievances, while others seek new alliances for

protection."

Luke sighed. "I've lost track of how many times the New Republic government has

been accused of being too heavy-handed in one crisis or another over the past

few years. Now they're trying to let the sectors and systems do more of their

own governing, so of course they're being accused of doing nothing."

"Does this surprise you?" Tre asked. "The one truism in all politics is that

loud voices will be raised against any decision that is made."

"Yes," Luke said, looking down at the flickering lights below.

"Many of those now demonstrating will be gathering later tonight at the

ThoughtsAreFreedom tapcafe," Tre said. "It is on the far side of the Common, at

the western corner of the diamond. If you choose to meet with them, they will be

pleased to speak their thoughts to you."

"I'm sure they will," Luke said, carefully hiding a grimace. "Thank you for

taking the time to show, me this."

"It is my sworn duty to provide information to the leaders of the New Republic,"

the Rellarin said gravely. "It is a swearing I take most seriously."

He placed his fingertips together and inclined his head. "I thank you in turn

for your time and attention, Master Skywalker, and I urge you to visit the

ThoughtsAreFreedom this night. You will gain much knowledge there." Inclining

his head again, be turned and headed back along the Promenade.

Behind Luke, Artoo whistled softly, and he turned to see the little droid

standing up on mechanical tiptoe as he gazed at the lights of the Canyonade

below. "It's impressive, all right," Luke agreed soberly. "That's what makes

this so hard to deal with. So much of it really is honest differences of

opinion."

Artoo warbled again, his dome swiveling pointedly in the direction of the

skyarch to their left the direction they would go to get across the Canyonade

and down to the tapcafe Tre had mentioned. "I suppose we ought to go take a

look," Luke said reluctantly. "Though I doubt we'll get any new information

there. It'll just be more opinions."

He pushed away from the guardwall and started walking toward the entrance to the

skyarch. "If you want real information you have to go to someone like Talon

Karrde," he continued as Artoo rolled alongside like a well-trained pet. "In

fact, I've been thinking that maybe we ought to try to get in touch with him."

Artoo made a rude-sounding noise. "I hope that's for the current attitude toward

him on Coruscant," Luke warned, "and not for Karrde himself. He's done a lot for

the New Republic."

The droid gave an ambiguous twitter, followed by a remarkably good impression of

a pile of coins clinking together. "Yes, I know he's been paid for his help,"

Luke acknowledged. "You might remember that money was the reason Han first got

involved with the Rebellion, too, and he's turned out pretty good."

They reached the entrance to the skyarch and stepped onto the umbrella-roofed,

guardwalled bridge. Like the Rim Promenade itself, the Canyonade's skyarches

were remarkable examples of engineering skill, curving gently and gracefully

across the half-kilometer gorge without the benefit of extra supports or

suspension cables. The right side of the walkway was finished in a simple

nonslip surface, clearly designed for casual strollers or those who wanted to

pause and linger over the view of the Canyonade be low. The left side, in

contrast, was equipped with a pair of slideways for the serious traveler who

merely wished to go from one side to the other.

It would have been a pleasant walk, Luke thought with a quiet pang of regret,

but he didn't seem to have the time lately for such simple pleasures. "The

important point is that Karrde has always come to us first with information that

we need," he added to Artoo, ushering the droid onto the slideway and stepping

on behind him. "Whether he admits it or not, he really is on our side."

Artoo swiveled his dome around to face Luke, made an I-suppose-so sort of grunt,

then rotated back to face forward again. The slideway was speeding up, Luke

noted with interest, accelerating steadily as they approached the center of the

arch. Presumably the entire strip wasn't speeding up, which would create quite a

challenge for anyone trying to get onto the strip behind him. Composed of some

kind of pseudofluid material, he guessed, using a variant of laminar flow to

create variable speeds along its l ength. One more engineering marvel to add to

the list.

They reached the top of the arch, and he was just thinking of asking Artoo to

analyze the slideway for him, when be felt a flicker in the Force. It wasn't

much; little more than a twinge in the near distance. But it was enough.

Somewhere very near at hand, someone was preparing for murder.

He stepped off the slideway, fighting for a moment with the abrupt change in

speed before be regained his balance. Artoo, suddenly missing him, squawked in

surprise-then squawked again as Luke stretched out with the Force and lifted him

bodily into the air. "Quiet," Luke admonished as he set the droid down on the

stationary section of the walkway. Looking around, he stretched out again with

the Force.

The murderous intent was still there, somewhere close by. But though there were

a handful of other pedestrians in sight, there was nothing he could see that

appeared to fit the sensation.

At least, not on this particular skyarch.

He turned around, peering upward beneath the edge of his skyarch's roof and

through the guardwall mesh of the skyarch running parallel one level above him.

And there they were, perhaps ten meters farther along from where he stood: two

cloaked and hooded figures standing with their backs pressed against the

guardwall, the smaller child-sized figure clinging to the taller one. Beyond

them, Luke could just make out the shadowy forms of three assailants moving

slowly and confidently in on them. In the hand of one of them, be caught the

glint of a blade.

There was no time to waste, and exactly one route that had any chance of getting

Luke to them in time. It would take a hefty jump, but nothing that a Jedi

drawing on the Force couldn't easily handle. The only imponderable was whether

the Canyonade's safety tractor beams would react fast enough to snatch him in

midair and whisk him helplessly away.

There was only one way to find out. "Wait here, Artoo," be murmured. Stretching

out to the Force, he hopped over the slideway to the top of his skyarch's

guardwall. For a pair of heartbeats he crouched there, steadying his balance as

he did one final visual measurement of the distance up and across to the other

sky-arch. Then, taking a deep breath, he again drew on the Force and leaped.

The emergency tractor beams were obviously not as hair-trigger as he'd feared,

and he reached the other side without so much as a nudge from them. Catching the

top of the other skyarch's guardwall, he swung his legs through the opening

between guardwall and roof to land in a slight crouch on the nonmoving section

of the walkway.

He took in the tableau laid out before him in a glance. The two prospective

victims, as he'd already seen, were standing ahead and to his right, their backs

pressed against the guardwall. The hood on the taller of them bad slipped back,

revealing the lined face and white hair of an old woman. The face of the child

clinging to her side-most likely a grandchild or even great-grandchild,

considering the woman's age-was still completely in shadow. But Luke didn't need

to see an expression, the way the child clutched the old woman's side was all

the evidence anyone needed to recognize the silent terror there.

A terror that was well founded; From the lower skyarch Luke had seen three

knife-wielding men closing in on them. Now, from his new vantage point, he could

see that those three were merely the inner circle of a much larger group. Nine

other men were standing a few paces farther back, forming a semicircle around

their intended prey. All nine of them had the hardened faces of men whose lives

had been shaped by violence and cruelty; all nine had blasters out and ready.

And at the moment, all nine of those faces-and five of those blasters-were

pointed at Luke.

"That's far enough," Luke called, straightening up from his landing crouch. "Put

down your weapons."

"I've got a better idea," one of the men snarled, his voice as nasty as his

appearance. "Why don't you turn around and walk away. While you still can."

"I don't think so," Luke said, trying to sound more confident than be felt. With

five-six; now-blasters trained on him, it was going to be a race to see whether

be could get his lightsaber out fast enough to deflect the shots that would be

coming his direction the instant he made a move toward the weapon.

But there was the slideway two steps to his left. One section in each direction;

both moving at reasonably high speed. "We're wasting time," one of the other men

spat "Burn him and let's-"

And in that instant, in the middle of the sentence, the child moved.

It was so quiet and so smooth that at first Luke didn't realize what was

happening. The child rotated out of his panicked death rip on the old woman

toward the nearest of the knife-wielding assailants, one arm swinging across the

man like a stylized slap cross his chest that fell short of its intended mark.

The arm movement seemed to deflect the child like a ricocheted stone toward the

second assailant; the slapping movement again, and he was now winging toward the

third man&mdash

And with a gurgling gasp, the first man collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Someone swore with startled viciousness, the blasters pointed at Luke wavering

as sudden confusion intruded on what had two seconds earlier been a solidly

secure situation. Heads turned back toward the child and his grandmother&mdash

And then the second man crumpled, and the third man started to do the same, his

knife now inexplicably in the child's hand. But only briefly; an instant later,

with an abbreviated flick of the wrist, the knife flashed across the short

distance to bury itself in the chest of one of the other assailants.

And as it did so, the hood fell back far enough to finally expose the child's

face.

It wasn't a child beneath that cloak. It was a Noghri.

That single glance was the last clear view any of them had of the he alien. For

some, it was the last clear view of anything they would ever have. Even as Luke

grabbed for his lightsaber the Noghri became a blur of motion: diving, rolling,

slashing with blades now in both hands, evading the frantic sputtering of

blaster shots with casual ease. A grenade clattered to the walkway at the old

woman's feet, vanished as Luke reached out through the Force to maneuver it

through the gap between guardwall and roof and, send it hurling straight up.

By the time it exploded harmlessly far above them, the battle was over.

"Master Skywalker," the Noghri said, nodding gravely from the center of the

carnage as be slid his two assassin's knives back to concealment. "I am honored

by your presence, and grateful for your assistance."

"Such as it was," Luke said, shaking his bead in astonishment. seen Noghri in

training and practice combat and had thought knew the limits of their fighting

skills. He hadn't even been close. "Somehow, I think you would have managed

quite well without me."

"Your pardon, but that is not true," the Noghri demurred, stepping over the

bodies and coming over to him. "Your distraction was most timely, allowing me

nearly four extra seconds I would otherwise not have bad."

"Not to mention the grenade," the old woman added. She had crouched down beside

one of the dead and was going through his pockets with practiced fingers. "If

not for your quick action, we would all have been killed. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Luke said, eyeing her with growing doubts she finished her

search and moved on to the next body. A Noghri warrior and a woman with the

expertise of a professional pickpocket were not exactly what he'd had in mind

when he'd come leaping to the rescue. "May I ask who you are?"

"Not who you're probably afraid I am," the woman said, pausing in her search to

flash him a smile. "It's really quite honest and mostly respectable. My name is

Moranda Savich; Plakhmirakh here is currently attached to me as my bodyguard. We

work for an acquaintance of yours: Talon Karrde."

"Really," Luke said. "Oddly enough, I was just thinking out trying to make

contact with Karrde."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Moranda said, straightening up. "He's

just arrived on Cejansij."

"You're joking," Luke said, frowning. "What's he doing here?"

"Who ever knows what Karrde's doing anywhere?" Moranda interred philosophically.

"Why don't you come along and ask him yourself?"

Luke looked down through the guardwall at the city lights below. Once again,

he'd managed to be in the right place at the right time. The Force was indeed

with him. "Thank you," he said to Moranda. "I believe I will."

***

"Chief?"

Karrde looked up from his desk to find Dankin's head poking around the open

office doorway. "Yes, what is it?"

"Savich and her Noghri guard are here," Dankin said. "She's got the data drop

you wanted."

"Good," Karrde said, frowning slightly. Back when the Wild Karrde's bridge crew

had been preparing to spring Booster Terrik's Errant Venture on the unsuspecting

H'sishi, Dankin had been wearing a half-concealed grin. He was wearing the same

grin now. "And?" Karrde prompted.

The grin came fully out of concealment "And they also brought you a surprise."

"Really," Karrde said, letting the temperature of his voice cool a couple of

degrees. "I hope you remember hew much I like surprises."

"You'll like this one, Chief," Dankin assured him, stepping aside and gesturing.

Plakhmirakh and Moranda Savich emerged around the doorway and stepped into the

office, the latter holding a data drop cylinder in her hand. And coming in

behind them&mdash

"Well, I'll be Kesseled," Karrde said, getting to his feet. "A pleasant surprise

indeed. Hello, Skywalker."

"Karrde." Skywalker nodded in greeting. "I'm surprised to find you here."

"The feeling is mutual," Karrde agreed. "Are you alone?"

"Artoo's with me," Skywalker said, nodding back over his shoulder. "He spotted a

GV9T repair droid working off your cargo bay and stopped for a chat."

"I hope he enjoys it," Karrde said, taking the cylinder from Moranda and

glancing at its markings. "That's the last GV9T I'm ever going to buy. Any

trouble, Moranda?"

"We were jumped on the way back," she told him. "Twelve men, very professional,

no indications as to who they were working for."

"Probably one of the Hutts," Karrde said, turning the cylinder over in his hand.

"They weren't exactly thrilled about losing this."

"Could be," Moranda said. Whoever they were, Plakhmirakh took care of them."

"With assistance from Master Skywalker," the Noghri added in his gravelly voice.

"He arrived at exactly the proper moment."

"Jedi Masters have that knack," Karrde said dryly, handing the cylinder back to

Moranda. "Good. Take it to Odonnl, then you can go and relax in the crew lounge

while he checks it out and issues your payment. Would you be interested in

taking on another assignment?"

"Only if it's more fun than courier work," Moranda said. "Apart from the attack,

it was all rather boring." She waved a hand each toward Luke and Plakhmirakh.

"And with these two around, even that part wasn't very exciting."

"I'll try to do better the next time," Karrde promised. "As a matter of fact, I

have one job in particular where your talents might prove useful. Check back

here after you've been paid and we'll talk, all right?"

"Fine," Moranda said, nodding. Plakhmirakh gave an abbreviated Noghri bow, and

together they left the office.

Karrde cocked an eyebrow at Skywalker. "Thank you for your help. I believe it's

now my turn to owe you one."

"Hardly," the other said. "Plakhmirakh vastly overrates my assistance back

there."

"Yes, they don't generally need much help, do they?" Karrde agreed. "I've been

very pleased with their service. Aside from running interference against Hutt

hirelings, what brings you to Cejansij?"

Skywalker shrugged. "The Force, actually," he said. "I was trying for a vision

of the future, and I saw myself here. So here I am."

"Ah," Karrde said. "Not a scheduling technique I'd be comfortable with,

personally."

"I'm not exactly used to it myself," Skywalker said. "On the other hand, I was

just thinking about trying to get in touch with you, and here you are, so it

seems to have worked. What are you doing here, anyway, if I may ask?"

"It's not a secret," Karrde assured him. "At least, not from you. I've been

looking into the possibility that outside agitators might be involved in some of

the protests that have been cropping up around the New Republic. Since Cejansij

has a long history of peaceful demonstrations, I thought it would be an obvious

target for subversion."

"Makes sense," Skywalker mused. "Though maybe it's too obvious."

"Depends on how subtle our unknown agitators decide to be," Karrde said. "I

thought it still worth checking out. You said you'd wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes," Skywalker said. "I've been wondering if you'd made any progress on our

clone hunt."

"None whatsoever," Karrde conceded. "None of my information sources have heard

even a whisper of clone activity. If they're out there, whoever's using them is

keeping it very quiet."

"Mm," Skywalker murmured. "How about the Cavrilhu Pirates?"

Karrde shook his head. "They seem to have gone to ground." He cocked an eyebrow.

"Not that I really blame them. Being chased out of your most secure base by a

Jedi Master must be a rather disconcerting experience."

"You were chased off Myrkr by Grand Admiral Thrawn, and you didn't panic,"

Skywalker reminded him.

Karrde forced a smile. The memories of that time still provoked unpleasant

twinges. "Perhaps I'm made of stronger stuff. Or perhaps I just don't panic

quite so noticeably."

On his desk, the intercom twittered, and he leaned over to touch the switch.

"Yes?"

It was Dankin, his expression suddenly and uncharacteristically grim. "Priority

message coming through from the Starry Ice," he said tartly. "Faughn says Mara's

been captured."

Karrde felt his stomach tighten as he dropped back into his desk chair. "Is

Faughn still on?"

"Mostly," Dankin said. "The signal's a little funny-too many relays in the

mix-but it's mostly clear. Comm 5."

Karrde keyed to the channel, dimly aware that Skywalker had circled the desk and

come up beside him. "This is Karrde. Faughn?"

"Yes, sir," Faughn's voice came, wavering slightly with the distortion of

multiple hyperspace relays. "We reached the Nirauan, system and observed an

unidentified spacecraft land on the second planet. Jade took our Defender and

went in. We got a pulse transmission from her recorder that indicated she was in

trouble. Captured, maybe worse."

Karrde could hear his heart thudding in his ears. "Dankin, do we have a copy of

the recording?"

"Right here," Dankin's voice said.

"Play it."

He listened as it played through: the flight and landing, Mara's discovery of

the cave and fortress, her startled exclamation and that final sickening thud.

"Get H'sishi started on a scrub right away," Karrde ordered. That thud had

sounded far too much like the sound of a body hitting the ground. . . . "I want

everything you can get off that recording."

"We're already on it."

"We did some scrubbing of our own on the way here," Faughn said. "There's

definitely breathing and a human-tempo heartbeat after she goes silent, so at

least at that point she was still alive. There are fifty or more flying

creatures in the cave-we can sort out at least that many sets of wings

flapping-though that may not have been who she was talking to. Oh, and from the

different speeds of the sound through air and bone, it looks like that thud was

something hitting the front or side of her head."

Karrde grimaced. "An attack."

"Or an accident," Faughn said. "We know she was moving just before it happened,

and that she was inside a cave. She could have run into a wall or something."

"We can try an echo analysis," Dankin suggested. "Try to figure out how close

she was to the wall when she was hit."

"Yes." Karrde looked up at Skywalker, standing in dark silence beside him,

troubled eyes seemingly focused on empty space. "You know anything about this?"

he asked the Jedi. "Either the planet or whoever she was talking to?"

Skywalker shook his head slowly, his eyes looking even more troubled. "No. But I

did see a vision of Mara, the same time I saw myself here. And where she was . .

. it might have been a cave."

"I hated to leave her there," Faughn said. "But I also didn't want to risk all

of us disappearing without letting someone know what had happened. Especially

given those ships and that fortress."

"No, you did the right thing," Karrde assured her. "The question now is how we

get her out." He looked up at Skywalker. "Or rather, who we send to do the job."

Skywalker must have heard the challenge in his voice. His eyes came back from

whatever they were staring at to look down at Karrde. "You're suggesting I go?"

"Someone there seems to know you," Karrde pointed out. "At least, Mara thought

so. You may be the only one he-or it, or they-will be willing to talk to,"

"I can't leave," Skywalker said, the words coming out almost mechanically, his

attention clearly elsewhere. "I have duties here."

"You have a duty to Mara, too," Karrde countered. "For that matter, you have a

duty to the rest of the New Republic. You saw one of those ships-you know we're

dealing with an unknown culture here. If that fortress she saw is made of the

same material as the one on Hijarna, they'll be able to sit in there and shrug

off any attack we could throw at them. And -"

"All right," Skywalker said. "I'll go."

Karrde blinked, taken slightly aback by the suddenness of the decision. He'd

expected to have to argue at least a few more minutes and probably throw in

something concrete before the other agreed.

But he also knew better than to question a decision he was already pushing for.

"Good," he said. "Tell me what you need in the way of equipment or supplies, and

we'll get it for you. You'll want a bigger ship, of course. Dankin, what do we

have available?"

"No time for that," Skywalker said before Dankin could answer. "My X-wing's over

in Docking Rectangle 16. If you can download a copy of the nay data to Artoo,

we'll get it refueled and be on our way."

"You can't carry a passenger in an X-wing," Faughn objected. "If she's hurt-"

"Then we take her ship and leave the X-wing behind," Skywalker cut her off.

"We're wasting time."

"You won't get very far in a Defender," Karrde reminded him, keying his board on

a hunch. Yes, the timing and distances would work. "Let me suggest a compromise:

you leave here in your X-wing and I'll have the Dawn Beat bring the Jade's Fire

to meet you off Duroon. Her droid won't be activated, but you and your R2 should

be able to fly it without any trouble."

Skywalker shook his head. "I don't want to try to sneak onto Nirauan with a ship

that big."

"Then leave the Fire hidden somewhere in the outer system and ride your

starfighter in," Faughn suggested. "The docking port should handle an X-wing

without any problems."

Skywalker hesitated a heartbeat, then nodded. "All right."

"Good," Karrde said. "Dankin, get onto spaceport control and have a fuel order

cut for his X-wing. Number one on the priority list, and you can bribe or

threaten whoever you have to to get it there. Then put together the most

comprehensive survival kit you can that will fit an X-wing's cargo hold. Two

cubic meters and 110 kilograms, as I recall."

"Got it," Dankin said. "What kind of backup are we going to send in behind him?"

"As much as we can throw together," Karrde told him, keying for a list of

available resources. His organization's fleet was impressively large; but

scattered around the entire New Republic the way it was, it would take precious

time to collect any kind of attack force together.

"I don't want any backup," Skywalker cut into his musings. "Bringing in the

Jade's Fire is risky enough; the more ships in the system, the better the

chances one of them will be spotted. It'll be better for me to try to slip in by

myself."

"But you can't get her out alone," Faughn said.

"I can," Skywalker said softly. "I have to."

"You can't," Faughn insisted. "Karrde? Tell him."

For a long moment Karrde studied the younger man, his mind flicking back to that

first meeting between the two of them aboard the Wild Karrde so long ago. Even

back then Skywalker had never been what he would have called brash; but looking

at him now Karrde was struck by the quiet maturity ten years had added to his

face. "It's his call, Faughn," he said. "If he says he can do it, then he can."

Skywalker nodded. "Thank you," he said.

"I think the thanks are all on the other side," Karrde pointed out, trying to

force a smile. "All right: fuel and supplies, and the Jade's Fire at Duroon.

What else do you need us to do?"

"Just what you're already doing," Skywalker said. "Keep looking into these

riots, and if you find anything get the information to Leia."

"Done," Karrde said. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Skywalker said, a shadow crossing his face. "Could you get word to Leia

on Coruscant and tell her where I've gone?"

"I'll go myself," Karrde promised, getting to his feet again. "We'll leave as

soon as you're gone."

"Thank you," Skywalker said. He turned and beaded for the office door&mdash

"You said you saw Mara in a vision," Karrde called after him. "What was she

doing?"

Skywalker paused in the doorway. "She was in a rocky place, floating in water,"

he said, not turning around. "And she looked dead."

Karrde nodded slowly. "I see."

He was still standing there, gazing at the open door, long after Skywalker bad

gone.

CHAPTER

18

Quite unfairly, the battle alarm sounded right in the middle of dessert.

For a split second Wedge considered shoveling the last three bites of his citros

snow cake into his mouth at once, decided running to the landing bays with a

full mouth lacked the proper dignity, and regretfully left the cake orphaned on

the mess-room table.

"Starfighter wings, check in," the Peregrine's fighter coordinator was calling

as Wedge slid on his flight helmet and dropped into the cockpit of his X-wing.

"Rogue Squadron, where are you?"

"Right here, Perris," Wedge said, glancing around to confirm that the rest of

the squadron were indeed present in the bay. "What's going on?"

"Don't know for sure," Perris growled. "All I know is that we just got a panic

call from the Sif'kric system. General Bel Iblis talked to them for maybe five

minutes, and suddenly we're getting ready to fly. Okay, you show green-launch

when ready."

"Copy. Okay, Rogues, let's go."

Twenty seconds later they were in space, driving forward along the Peregrine's

flank toward vanguard position. "I don't suppose this might be a drill," Rogue

Six suggested on their private frequency.

"Well, if it is, the general owes me another dessert," Rogue Twelve put in.

"Anyone been following local politics in this sector?"

"I have, a little," Rogue Nine said grimly. "My father-in-law's got some

interests here. Ten to one it's the Frezhlix; they've been feuding with the

Sif'kries ever since we chased the Empire out of the area."

"Maybe they've finally decided to finish it," Rogue Two suggested.

"With General Bel Iblis and a New Republic task force right next door?" Rogue

Six put in incredulously. What are they using for brains, groat cheese?"

"All ships, this is General Bel Iblis," the general's voice came on the command

frequency, cutting off the conversation. "We've just been informed that a strong

Frezhlix force is moving on the Sif'krie homeworld of Sif'kric. As that system

is only a few minutes away, we've been asked to go take a look."

Terrific, Wedge thought sourly as he glanced back over the New Republic task

force. One Katana-fleet Dreadnought, two Nebulon-B escort frigates, and three

starfighter squadrons; and they were supposed to take on a force big enough to

attack a whole planet?

Bel Iblis might have been reading his mind. "Obviously, we're not planning to go

head-to-head with them," be continued. "In fact, we're going to have to be very

careful we don't overstep our legal bounds here. That's all I can say until we

get there and assess the situation. Commander Perris?"

"All ships, check in," Perris ordered. "Prepare to jump to lightspeed on my

mark."

"What does he mean, legal bounds?" Rogue Six asked as the fleet began its

check-in.

"My guess is that whoever called Bel Iblis wasn't someone who could officially

ask for New Republic assistance," Wedge told him. "Some minor bureaucrat, maybe

just a rattled space-traffic controller. If we don't have an official request-"

"Rogue Squadron: go," Perris ordered.

"Copy," Wedge said. He pulled back on the hyperdrive lever, squinted as the

starlines flared, and they were off.

It was a twelve-minute flight to the Sif'kric system. Alone in the solitude of

hyperspace, he spent those minutes running a final check on the X-wing's systems

and armaments, and wondering how the legendary General Garm Bel Iblis was going

to pull this one off.

The timer clicked down toward zero. Settling himself, Wedge pushed the lever

back. The starlines flared again&mdash

He blinked. What in space-?

On the Rogues' private channel, somebody snorted. "You must be joking," Rogue

Two said. "That is an invasion fleet?"

Wedge looked at his tactical readout, shaking his head in silent agreement. Two

forty-year-old Kruk battle-wagons, five Lancer- class frigates probably half

that age, and maybe thirty modern Jompers customs pursuit ships.

"So much for the big bad threat," Rogue Eight commented contemptuously. "We

could probably chase them out of here all by ourselves."

"I don't know," Rogue Eleven said. "Someone seems plenty worried about them.

Take a look at the far planetary rim-must be twenty freighters scurrying for

cover."

"And another hundred who aren't going to make it," Rogue Seven pointed out.

"There to portside-the Frezhlix force has got them cut off."

"I get it," Rogue Nine said. "Those clever little scumrots. That must be the

annual pommwomm plant shipment."

"Frezhlix attack force, this is General Bel Iblis of the New Republic," Bel

Iblis's voice announced. "Please state your intentions."

"I am Plarx," a thickly accented voice shot back. "I speak for the Frezhlix. Our

intentions do not concern the New Republic. This is a private matter between

ourselves and the Sif'kries."

"I'm afraid I cannot accept that," Bel Iblis said. "Any aggression against a New

Republic member is our concern."

"This is not aggression, General Bel Iblis," the Frezh countered. "We are a

delegation come to discuss the Sif'krie vote on the Drashtine Initiative."

There was a pause, Bel Iblis no doubt having someone look up what exactly the

Drashtine Initiative was. "Corran, what are these pommwomm plants you

mentioned?" Wedge asked.

"They're a type of hot-world shrub that grows on the system's inner planet,"

Rogue Nine said. "You can get about eight different exotic medicines and twice

that number of food flavorings out of them. Problem is, they have to be

processed within thirty hours of picking or they're useless."

"So that's what the Frezhlix are doing," Rogue Seven growled. "They don't have

to invade anyone or set up a long-term blockade ring. All they have to do is

keep those freighters back for a few hours, and the Sif'kries are out a bunch of

money."

"Try about twenty percent of their annual gross product," Rogue Nine put in.

"We're talking serious economic warfare here. No wonder they sounded panicked

when they called."

The main channel crackled to life again. "Speaker Plan, this is General Bel

Iblis. I've reviewed the Drashtine Initiative, and I see no justification for

this kind of confrontation."

"Then you did not review it closely," the Frezh snarled. "The Sif'krie

government cast the deciding vote that prevented our sector's Senator from

adding his voice to the growing condemnation of the Bothan government and

people."

"The vote was legally taken-"

"The vote was wrong!" Plan snapped. "To allow the Bothans to escape proper

punishment will merely encourage further atrocities like Caamas in the future.

The Sif'krie government must be made aware of that and given the opportunity to

change its vote."

"A convenient enough excuse," Rogue Two muttered.

"He's got a point, though," Rogue Five said. "Heavily wrapped in local politics

and blackmail, but a point."

"I understand your feelings on this matter," Bel Iblis said. "But at the same

time we cannot stand by and allow you to interfere with interstellar commerce

this way."

"Untrue," the Frezh said. "I encourage you to review New Republic regulations on

such matters, General Eel Iblis."

There was another pause. "He's right," Rogue Twelve said grimly. "This is

intrasystem, not interstellar. We can't move in unless and until we get an

official invitation to do so."

"Which means it's all in the government's shockball court now," Rogue Five

muttered. What do you think, Corran? Can they move fast enough to save the

plants?"

"I don't know," Rogue Nine said. "But I'd be willing to lay odds the Frezhlix

picked a time to pull this stunt when some key Sif'krie official is off-planet

or otherwise out of touch."

There was a click on the private channel. "Rogue Squadron, this is Bel Iblis.

Commander Horn?"

"Yes, sir?" Rogue Nine said.

"I was given to understand that Booster Terrik has some interests in this

sector. Is that true?"

There was just the briefest of pauses. "Yes, General, he does."

"Would those interests occasionally include legitimate shipping? Say, when the

need and fees are high enough, such as during the annual pommwomm shipment?"

There was a longer pause this time. "I really don't know, sir," Rogue Nine said,

sounding puzzled.

"I think it reasonable that they would," Bel Iblis continued. "Given that

assumption, do you suppose one of those stalled freighters out there might

belong to him?"

And suddenly, Wedge understood. The legendary General Eel Iblis was going to

pull this one off, all right. Maybe. "Do we have IDs on the ships, General?" he

asked.

"I'm sending the data across now," Bel Iblis said. "Commander Horn, take a look,

please."

"Understood, sir," Rogue Nine said, his voice no longer puzzled. So he'd caught

on, too. "Yes. That freighter listed as the Sycophant Jolly&mdashover at the far

side of the pack? I believe that could actually be the Hoopster's Prank, one of

Booster's ships."

"I see," Bel Iblis said, his voice suddenly heavy with official weight. "I

recognize your familial relationship with Captain Terrik, Commander, and I

realize that this is going to be personally painful for you. But you're an

officer of the New Republic Fleet; and we cannot and will not bend the rules

against smuggling for anyone."

"We understand, sir," Wedge said, pitching his tone to the same seriousness

level. "Request permission to check out this suspect ship."

"Permission granted, Rogue Squadron," Bel. Iblis said. "Be careful not to

accidentally engage the Frezhlix forces."

"Understood, sir," Wedge said. "Rogue Squadron, form up around me."

Kicking power to the drive, he swung the X-wing away from the Peregrine. "Looks

like the most direct route to the Sycophant Jolly is right through the middle of

the Frezhlix blockade force," Rogue Eight commented.

"And we certainly don't want to give them time to dump any contraband while we

fly around," Rogue Nine agreed.

"I guess we'll have to go through the blockade, then," Rogue Two concluded.

"Just everyone be careful not to accidentally engage."

"Very careful," Wedge said. "Let's do it."

They were halfway to the Frezhlix forces before the alien commander suddenly

seemed to notice what was happening. "General Bel Iblis, what are your

starfighters doing?" he demanded. "You have no legal justification for an attack

on my ships."

"Your ships are not under attack, Speaker Plarx," Bel Iblis assured him. "We've

identified one of the freighters waiting beyond your delegation as a smuggler

flying under a false ID. By New Republic law, we have both the right and the

duty to board any such ship and impound its cargo."

It was forever afterward unclear to Wedge just what exactly the Frezhlix

commander thought was going to happen next. Whether he thought Bel Iblis was

planning to transfer the perishable cargo from all hundred-odd freighters to the

Peregrine, or just declare all the freighters suspect and insist they be

escorted down to the planet for a proper search. But whichever it was, he leaped

to the wrong conclusion-and the bait-with both hands. "No!" Plarx shouted. "They

are not to approach. Do you hear? They will not approach."

"You can't stop us," Wedge put in. "Move out of the way; we're coming through."

"No!" the Frezh shouted. There was a jabber of a hissing, guttural language, and

then the comm abruptly shut off. Wedge took a deep breath, preparing

himself&mdash

And suddenly the Frezhlix battle-wagons opened fire. "Evasive!" Wedge snapped,

twisting his X-wing hard to starboard as the laser blasts blazed past, one of

the shots nearly taking off his upper portside engines. There was another snarl

of hissing gutturals, and another salvo of laser fire shot by. "Rogues, reform,"

he called. "Return to fleet." Turning his nose farther around, ducking under one

final blast of enemy laser fire, he headed back toward the Peregrine.

But the Dreadnought was no longer there. It and the rest of the New Republic

fleet, reconfiguring into the general's favorite combat formation, were moving

decisively toward the Frezhlix blockade force.

Something that sounded like a wheezing squawk came over the comm. "New Republic

force!" the Frezhlix commander snarled. "What are you doing? You have no right

to move against me."

"On the contrary, Speaker Plarx," Bel Iblis said, his voice suddenly

blade-sharp. "I have every right. You have just opened fire on New Republic

spacecraft. Surrender immediately, or prepare to be destroyed."

"I protest!" Plan gasped. "Your ships provoked us into defending ourselves."

"Last chance, Speaker," Bel Iblis said. "Surrender or face the consequences."

There was a snarl of gutturals; and as the Rogues reached the Peregrine and

curved around again into their positions in the battle formation Wedge saw that

the Frezhlix ships had abandoned their blockade and were turning their guns to

face the oncoming New Republic force. Fleetingly, Wedge wondered if Bel Iblis

would be gracious enough to simply hold position in the standoff now that he'd

broken the blockade, or if he'd insist on making the Frezhlix pay for their

aggression.

Plarx took the decision on himself. In an awesome blaze of laser fire the two

Kruk

battle-wagons opened fire as the Jompers pursuit ships leaped forward to meet

the incoming X-wings. "New Republic forces," Bel Iblis said coldly. "Engage at

will."

***

"The Frezhlix government has delivered a sharp protest to me over your actions a

few hours ago," Admiral Ackbar's gruff voice came over the Peregrine's comm

speaker. "They claim you launched an unprovoked attack on a peaceful

delegation."

Standing a respectful distance from the general's chair, Wedge caught Corran

Horn's attention and rolled his eyes in a silent gesture of disgust. The other

grimaced in agreement. "On the contrary," Bel Iblis told Ackbar. "They were

engaged in a clear violation of free economic movement. Besides which, they

attacked first."

"That's not the way the Frezhlix tell it," Ackbar rumbled. "They say you clearly

overstepped New Republic authority."

"I'm sure they do," Bel Iblis said. "Do you wish me to stand for an inquiry?"

"Don't be absurd, General," Ackbar said; and for the first time since the

conversation had started the Mon Cal's voice seemed to Wedge to have relaxed a

little. "We need all the good commanders we can get. And I don't doubt the

Frezhlix deserved whatever you delivered to them. You said there was a smuggling

ship in among the other freighters?"

Bel Iblis glanced up at Corran, who nodded. "Yes, sir, without question," the

general confirmed. "One of Booster Terrik's. The Sif'krie authorities have

impounded the ship and are checking for contraband."

"I can imagine the conversation that will take place on the Errant Venture

sometime in the near future," Ackbar said, his voice going a little odd. Mon

Cals had a long hatred for smuggling and smugglers, and the admiral was

undoubtedly finding a certain poetic humor in what had happened. "Though the

justification of your position will be dulled if there was indeed no contraband

aboard."

"The regulations don't care whether the search comes up dry or not," Bel Iblis

reminded him. "Or are you suggesting that President Gavrisom might not choose to

see it that way?"

"The President is bound by certain diplomatic and political necessities," Ackbar

said. "However, I'm certain that he will read your report on this incident

before rendering any judgment. Still, I suggest you cut your patrol circuit

short and return to-"

Abruptly the signal squealed and vanished. "Comm station, what's going on?" Eel

Iblis demanded.

"The problem's not at our end, General," a new voice reported. "Looks like the

HoloNet carrier's been cut off."

Bel Iblis threw a look at Wedge and Corran. "Trouble on Coruscant?" he asked the

comm officer.

"I don't know, sir. I'm checking the other relays . . . no, sir, it's not

Coruscant. Looks like the relay at Mengjini has gone down."

"Sir, we're picking up a general alert on the secondary net," a new voice put

in. "The relay at Mengjini has allegedly come under attack from a small group

of, quote, dissident elements,' unquote."

"Acknowledged," Bel Iblis said. "Navigation, plot us a fast course for Mengjini.

Comm, relay the alert to all New Republic forces and bases in the area. Tell

them we're going in and request backup reinforcements."

He got acknowledgments and turned again to Wedge and Corran. "It looks as if

your reports will have to wait," he said. "Get back to your squadron, and get

ready to fly."

"Not good," Corran puffed as he and Wedge jogged down the Peregrine's ventral

corridor toward their docking bays. "When they start messing with long-range

communications, you know they're getting serious."

"We don't have any proof it's this Vengeance group," Wedge pointed out, dodging

around a Dresselian crouched over an open access panel.

"Maybe not," the other countered. "But I never mentioned Vengeance. You thought

of them on your own."

Wedge grimaced. "Yeah," he agreed. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Corran said. "And you're also thinking that between killing

riots, overt interplanetary attacks, and now long-range comm-kicking, this has

gone way beyond a few zealots protesting Bothan involvement in Caamas."

"Yeah," Wedge agreed soberly. "I can hardly wait to see what happens next."

CHAPTER

19

"Read and cry," Lando said, laying his sabacc cards down on the table.

"Twenty-three-a Pure Sabacc run."

"Interesting," Senator Miatamia murmured, his leathery Diamalan face unreadable

as he studied his own cards. "I presume the reference to crying is not a literal

part of the game as you play it. A Pure Sabacc run, you say?"

"Yes," Lando confirmed, an uncomfortable sensation tickling at the back of his

neck. The Senator had made this same dramatic pause on the sabacc pot hand in

exactly five out of the eight complete games they'd played since the Lady Luck's

hurried scramble off Cilpar. Five games that the Senator had also happened to

win.

"Unfortunate," Miatamia said, laying his cards almost daintily on the table. "I

have an Idiot's Array. I believe that wins?"

"Yes, it wins," Lando said, shaking his head in disgust. Make that six out of

nine. "I can't believe you haven't played this game professionally," he

grumbled, starting to gather up the cards.

The Diamal flicked his fingers in the air. "You don't truly believe the Diamala

have created our vast financial and business empire from mere common sense and

hard work, do you?"

Lando paused, half the cards still on the table, eyeing the Senator

suspiciously. Was he actually implying-?

No, of course not. Ridiculous. "That was a joke. Right?"

"Of course," Miatamia said, flicking his fingers again. "Common sense and hard

work are all any being or species require to succeed. Luck is merely an

illusion, trusted by the ignorant and chased by the foolish."

With an effort, Lando fought down a flicker of annoyance. His professional

gambling days were long in the distant past, but the Diamal's obvious contempt

still rankled a little. "So in other words, if you're smart enough, nothing ever

happens you can't anticipate?"

"Of course the unanticipated may happen," Miatamia said. "But those who are

prepared can always find their way through."

"All by themselves?" Lando persisted. "They never need any help?"

"They may," the Diamal said, unruffled. "But anticipating the need for

assistance is merely one more part of common sense."

"Ah," Lando said, nodding. "So, in other words, the fact that I recognize my

need for extra security for my ore shipments means that I have good common

sense."

"It may," Miatamia agreed. "It could also mean-"

And suddenly, with a loud crack of released energy coming from the direction of

the Lady Luck's hyperdrive, the mottled sky above them abruptly flowed into

starlines.

Lando was at the top of the circular staircase by the time the starlines

finished shrinking back into stars. "What is it?" Miatamia demanded from behind

him.

"Hyperdrive failure," Lando shouted over his shoulder as he all but threw

himself down the stairs. If one of the couplings had failed, he needed to get

the power rerouted before it started into surge instability and took out

everything else on the circuit. With visions of a major repair job out here in

the middle of nowhere looming before him-a repair job that would not exactly

endear him to his Diamalan guest-he sprinted across the dining area, past the

cabins, and skidded to a halt in front of the eng ineering control panel.

And frowned. There were none of the glowing red lights that would have indicated

major systems failures, or even the blinking red status lines pointing to minor

systems failure. In fact, according to the displays, the hyperspace drop-out was

simply the normal automatic response of close planetary approach. There was a

duly logged note that course comparison with the nay computer indicated that no

planets should be in range at the moment . . .

"Oh, no," Lando breathed, leaping up the short stairway and jabbing at the

bridge door release. The door slid open, and he stepped through.

And there it was, floating silently in the darkness directly in front of him:

the all-too-familiar shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer.

Biting back a curse, he dived for the helm, slapping the row of emergency

power-boost switches on his way. He dropped into the chair, threw full power to

the drive, and twisted the yacht's nose hard to starboard.

Or rather tried to twist it. Even with full emergency power, the Lady Luck

wasn't moving.

Or rather she wasn't moving where Lando wanted her to go.

"We are in a tractor beam," the Senator's cool voice said from behind him.

"I noticed," Lando said shortly, shifting into a sharp up-down wiggling motion.

If the tractor beam operator thought his target was trying to go vertical, be

might overcorrect and allow the yacht to slip the lock.

But no such luck. "Strap down," Lando ordered Miatamia, letting the tractor damp

out the yacht's residual wiggling and taking a quick look around. The Imperials

had to have an Interdictor Cruiser around here somewhere . . . yes, there it

was, off in the distance to portside, its nose pointed in the Lady Luck's

direction.

But not all that precisely pointed. In fact, the projected cone of

hyperdrive-dampening gravity waves was not even close to being centered on the

tug-and-back contest taking place out here. If Lando could break free of the

tractor beam, there was an even chance he could get to the edge of the cone and

escape before the Star Destroyer could reestablish the lock.

If. "Call your aide on the intercom and have him strap down," he told the

Senator. The Lady Luck had one last trick up her sleeve, a little something that

one of Luke's exploits a few years back had inspired Lando to install. Powering

up the backup proton torpedo launcher, he keyed for a Stage Three torpedo and

fired.

The torpedo flashed out from under the yacht's bow, accelerating suddenly as the

tractor beam yanked at it. There was a flicker from Lando's board as one of the

Star Destroyer's turbolaser batteries began to track it&mdash

And then, no more than twenty meters in front of the Lady Luck, the torpedo

exploded.

Not into a devastating blast, but into a brilliant cloud of trac-reflective

particles. Particles that should, in theory, confuse the lock, tie up the entire

tractor beam, and let him slip free.

And it was working. The yacht shuddered for a moment and then jerked hard as the

invisible grip was abruptly broken. "Hang on!" Lando shouted, turning the ship's

nose hard over. If Luke's experience with the covert-shroud gambit was anything

to go by, he would have bare seconds to get to the edge of the Interdictor

Cruiser's mass-shadow cone before the Imperials woke up and started shooting.

But even as the Lady Luck started to turn, there was a burst of light from

behind the particle cloud between him and the Star Destroyer. He had just enough

time to see the glittering trac-reflective particles turn a dull, nonreflective

black&mdash

And with another jolt the yacht was once again trapped in the tractor beam.

"What now?" Miatamia asked.

"Only one thing we can do," Lando told him, his stomach tight as he shut down

the Lady Luck's sublight engines. We surrender."

***

Six stormtroopers led the way, clumping along in perfect unison in three ranks

of two each. Behind them, their softer footsteps not even trying to stay in

step, strode Miatamia and his aide. Lando walked behind the two Diamala,

obscurely glad to be in the less noticeable position in the back.

Not that that spot really gained him anything. There were six more stormtroopers

behind him bringing up the rear.

Apart from a brief "come with us" from the stormtrooper commander, there had

been no communication between captors and prisoners. But Lando had been aboard

more than one Star Destroyer in his time, and he didn't need either an

invitation or a map to know that they were being herded into senior-officer

country. Possibly to the Intelligence officer's nerve center, possibly even to

the captain's office complex itself.

He'd been unable to read the ship's ID before the Lady Luck had been drawn into

the gaping hangar bay, and had been hoping against hope that this was some

monstrous practical joke being played on him with one of the New Republic's

captured Star Destroyers. With each passing step, with each Imperial officer or

crewer who stepped respectfully aside to give the stormtroopers room, the hope

faded a little further.

It seemed to take forever, but finally they came to a halt at a door marked

simply SECONDARY COMMAND ROOM. "You are expected," the commander said from

behind Lando as the leading stormtroopers formed a guard semicircle around the

door. "Enter."

"Thank you," Miatamia said, his voice impossibly calm. The door slid open and,

without hesitation, the two Diamala strode inside. Reluctantly, Lando

followed&mdash

And nearly ran into Miatamia's back as both aliens suddenly jerked to a halt.

Lando caught his balance, peering between them to try to see what had startled

them so much.

The room was sparsely decorated, with little more than some tactical wall

monitors and a double ring of repeater displays encircling a command chair in

the middle of the room. Standing beside the chair was a hard-faced man wearing

major's insignia.

And rising calmly from the chair itself&mdash

Lando felt his heart seize up in his chest. No.

No, it couldn't be.

But it was.

"Good day, gentlemen," Grand Admiral Thrawn said, gesturing to them. "My

apologies as to the rather informal method by which you were brought here.

please, come inside."

The horrified moment seemed to stretch itself toward eternity as Lando gazed in

stunned horror at that face. It couldn't be. Grand Admiral Thrawn was dead. He

was dead. He had to be.

And yet here he was. Very much alive.

No one had yet moved. "Please, come inside," the Grand Admiral repeated, this

time with an edge of command in his voice.

Miatamia stirred and continued forward, his movement seemingly breaking his

aide's own paralysis. Numbly, Lando followed, sensing as he did so their

stormtrooper rearguard filing in behind them.

"That's far enough," the major said harshly as Miatamia came within three meters

of the outer display ring. "They've been disarmed?"

"None of them were carrying any weapons," the stormtrooper commander reported.

Three of them, Lando noted, had moved up to form a flanking column along their

right, a glance over his shoulder confirmed that the commander and the other two

had spread out along the wall behind them. A simple yet effective positioning

that provided close guard while at the same time keeping the stormtroopers out

of each other's crossfire.

"Yes, they are keeping a close eye on you, Captain Calrissian," Thrawn

confirmed. "After that unpleasantness at Bilbringi, I've agreed to extra

precautions. Not that I'm expecting trouble from any of you, of course."

"Of course," Lando said, turning back to look at him. It was a trick, of course.

It had to be. Thrawn was dead. The Imperial Command itself bad said so.

And yet . . .

"You look remarkably well, Admiral," Miatamia said. "I must confess to my

surprise at seeing you here."

Thrawn smiled faintly. "My reappearance has surprised many others, Senator

Miatamia. And will surprise a great many more in the days to come. However, I

didn't ask you aboard merely to toast my continued health. The actual reason-"

"How did you survive the Bilbringi shipyards?" Lando blurted. "The Imperial

reports said you were dead."

"You will not interrupt the Grand Admiral," the major snapped, taking a step

toward him.

"Peace, Major," Thrawn said quietly, halting the other's advance with an almost

languid gesture. "Under the circumstances, a certain degree of shock is entirely

forgivable."

"Yet you do not answer his question," Miatamia said.

It seemed to Lando that a faint flicker of distant pain touched the Grand

Admiral's face for a moment. "My survival was due to a unique combination of

several factors," he said. "You'll forgive me if I withhold the details."

"But your own Imperial reports?" Lando repeated.

"The Imperial reports said what 1 allowed them to say," Thrawn said, his eyes

starting to flash with annoyance. "It was necessary while I recovered that-"

He broke off. "Perhaps I've misjudged you, Captain," he said, his voice calm

again. "And you, Senator. I assumed that when you encountered a being returned

from the dead you'd be more interested in what he had to say than the details of

the journey. My mistake." His eyes flicked over Lando's shoulder. "Commander,

you may escort them back to their ship. Major, have Intelligence confirm the

current location of Ishori Senator Dx'ono."

"Our apologies, Grand Admiral," Miatamia said quickly as the stormtroopers

started forward. "As you said, we were momentarily shocked. But we listen now."

Thrawn lifted a hand, and the advancing stormtroopers stopped. "Very well," he

said. "My message is quite simple, Senator. You've recently become aware that a

group of Bothans were involved in the attempted genocide on Caamas. I've come to

offer my aid in bringing those guilty to justice."

Miatamia inclined his head to the side, as if listening to a faint and distant

sound. "Excuse me?"

"No, you heard correctly," Thrawn assured him, that faint smile once again

touching his lips. "I want to help."

Miatamia twisted his head around to throw a glance back at Lando, turned back

again. "How?"

"By identifying the guilty parties, of course," the Grand Admiral said. "If

President Gavrisom truly wishes this crisis resolved, he need only ask for my

assistance. A visit to Bothawui, a few minutes' conversation with each of the

Bothan clan leaders, and I'll know the truth."

Miatamia inclined his bead to the side again. "The Bothan leaders claim they do

not know which of their people were involved in the crime."

"Oh, come now, Senator," Thrawn said, his tone dark and cold. "Do you really

expect they would say anything else?"

Miatamia seemed to digest that. "And you believe you could learn the truth

merely by speaking with them?"

The glowing red eyes glittered. "Yes."

There was a brief silence. "Would it not be simpler for you to merely locate the

proper Imperial records and give them to us?"

"Of course it would," Thrawn said. "And such a search is already under way. But

the Imperial records library on Bastion is quite extensive, and the process

could take weeks or even months to complete." He cocked a blue-black eyebrow. "I

don't believe you have that much time to spare."

"You seem convinced that the New Republic is facing a serious crisis," Miatamia

said. "We have weathered other such crises in the past."

"Your confidence is admirable," Thrawn said, leaning back slightly in his seat.

"But I'd advise that you relay my offer to the Rebellion leadership before

rashly and unilaterally rejecting it."

"I never stated that I rejected your offer, Grand Admiral," Miatamia said.

Thrawn smiled. "No, of course you didn't," he said, his tone far more knowing

than Lando found comfortable. "I would like nothing more than to continue this

discussion, Senator-it's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of

debating a trained Diamalan mind. But I have other matters to attend to, and you

have a message to deliver. Commander, escort them back to their ship. Good-bye,

Senator, Captain."

"A question, Admiral, if I may," Lando said quickly as the stormtroopers came up

behind him. His mind was finally starting to unfreeze; and if this was a trick,

this might be the only chance they'd have to unmask it. "I saw you once, from a

distance, while you were in the company of the smuggler Talon Karrde. Can you

tell me where that was and why you were there?"

Thrawn's face hardened. "If this is a test, Captain, you've chosen your topic

unwisely. I've spent a great deal of time during my recovery considering the

proper payment to be exacted from Talon Karrde for his many betrayals. I do not

like to be reminded of him, except to consider how short his remaining life is

going to be. That message you may deliver."

"I see," Lando murmured, closing his mouth firmly. His reckless and odds-playing

youth was far behind him, and the expression on Thrawn's face was definitely the

kind that discouraged further questions.

Once again, though, Miatamia was not so easily put off. "Yet you do not answer

his question," he pointed out.

The glowing red eyes shifted to the Diamal, and for a single awful moment Lando

thought the Admiral was going to have the three of them gunned down right there

and then. But to his relief, Thrawn merely smiled. "The Diamalan mind," he said,

his voice utterly calm again. "My apologies, Senator."

He looked back at Lando. "You're referring to my meeting with Karrde at his base

on the planet Myrkr when I was searching for Luke Skywalker. You and someone

else-General Solo, I assume-watched our landing from within the forest."

Lando felt a cold chill run up his back. "You knew we were there?"

"I knew someone was there," Thrawn said. "As I'm sure you know, select

stormtroopers have extra sensor equipment built into their helmets. One of them

caught a reflective glint from the macrobinoculars you were using."

"Yet you did nothing?" Miatamia asked.

Thrawn shrugged slightly. "At the time I assumed it was merely some of Karrde's

people, set there to make sure my stormtroopers didn't become, shall we say,

overzealous. Given the density of foliage, even a heavy blaster would have been

harmless against us from that position, so I ordered that the observers be left

alone."

His mouth hardened, just a bit. "Subsequent events, of course, showed the

situation to have been otherwise. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Captain?"

Lando managed a nod. "Yes, Admiral. It does."

"Good," Thrawn said coolly. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen, and again my

apologies for the unscheduled stop. Commander, see them to their ship."

Thirty minutes later, seated at the Lady Luck's helm, Lando watched as the

Interdictor Cruiser and Star Destroyer made their synchronized jump to

lightspeed. "As you said, Senator," he murmured. "Sometimes the unanticipated

will happen. I'm glad that those who are prepared will always find their way

through."

Miatamia said nothing. Perhaps, for once, he had nothing to say.

Grimacing, Lando keyed the board and swung the Lady Luck's nose back on course

for Coruscant. President Gavrisom wasn't going to like this. Not one bit.

Neither would anyone else.

***

There hadn't been any communications planned for this point in the plan. And

yet, there was Major Tierce's quarter-sized holographic image, flickering

slightly above Moff Disra's private hologram pod. "The transmission's been

secured," Disra said, a cold blade-edge of dread grinding into his stomach as he

watched the encryption display. If something bad gone wrong . . . "What is it?"

"No problems, if that's what you're wondering," Tierce said. "The whole

operation went textdoc smooth."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Disra growled. "So why are you risking an open

communication this way?"

"I knew you'd be worried," Tierce said blandly. "I wanted to help set your mind

at ease."

Disra smiled sardonically, knowing the expression was probably wasted with a

holo this size. "Thank you so much, Major-I do so appreciate your concern. So

our puppet performed adequately?"

"I'd even go further and say he performed superbly," Tierce said. "He had them

in the palm of his hand from the moment they came in to the moment they left."

"No surprises, then?"

"Not really. Calrissian tried to trap him with a question about the time Thrawn

visited Talon Karrde on Myrkr. Fortunately for us, he'd actually read the

detailed report I'd written up on my time with Thrawn and knew the answer."

"Fortunately for him, you mean," Disra said, putting an edge of threat into his

voice. "How soon will you be back?"

"That's! the other reason I called," Tierce said. "Now that we're here, I think

we're going to stay in Rebellion-occupied space for a while."

Disra frowned, the cold blade-edge starting its grinding again. "What for?"

"I'd like to nose around a bit," the other said with a casual wave of his band.

"Send activation signals to some of the sleeper groups we haven't contacted

yet-there are still a few we weren't able to send transmissions to because of

distance or positioning. Mostly, I want to see what Coruscant's reaction will be

to! Thrawn's reappearance."

"Probably to send fifty Star Cruisers charging in at you," Disra snapped. "This

is crazy, Tierce. It's also not part of the plan."

"Military plans are always subject to change, Your Excellency," Tierce said

calmly.

"This is not what I had in mind for Flim," Disra snarled. "You know that."

"And you know that when I joined I said we could do better than what you had in

mind," Tierce countered.

Disra ground his teeth savagely. "You're going to ruin everything. And get

yourselves killed in the bargain."

"On the contrary," Tierce said, and even on the quarter-sized image Disra could

see his self-satisfied smile. "I'm going to start the Empire back on its road to

glory."

"Tierce-"

"I have to go, Your Excellency," Tierce said. "We shouldn't stay on transmission

too long, even with good encryption. Don't worry, I'm not planning to take the

Relentless to Coruscant or anything so foolish. I just want to spend a little

more time here. Call it a hunch."

"In my experience, relying on hunches is a fast trip to the short end of the

odds," Disra growled. But Tierce had him, and they both knew it. Short of

sending what was left of the Braxant Sector Fleet to chase him down, there was

precious little Disra could do at this point to countermand him. "How long are

you planning to stay?"

Tierce shrugged. "A couple of weeks, Maybe more. It depends."

"On what?"

"On whether I get the reaction I'm looking for. I'll be sure to let you know if

and when it happens."

"Good," Disra said sourly. "If and when the New Republic !fleet appears over

Bastion, I'll be sure to let you know."

Tierce smiled. "Thank you, Your Excellency. I knew you'd understand. Good-bye."

The image flickered and vanished. Disra leaned back in his chair, glaring at the

hologram pod. This was getting out of hand. It was getting way out of hand. He'd

let Tierce run off restrainer bolt long enough; it was time to reel the

Guardsman in a little.

And remind him who was master and who was servant.

At the moment, Disra wasn't exactly sure how to do that. But he would think of

something.

CHAPTER

20

The Diamalan Senator finished his report and sat down again on the witness bench

beside Lando . . . and for Leia, the Grand Convocation Chamber had suddenly

become very cold.

The impossible had happened. Grand Admiral Thrawn had returned.

"I do not see the problem," the Likashan Senator called out, her high-pitched

voice making the chamber's sound system squeal. We are many; the Empire are few.

Let us gather together and move against it. And this time, let us not stop until

we have utterly destroyed it."

"If you think that's even an option anymore, then you're a fool," the Sronk

Senator countered. "I saw full-left-handed what this Grand Admiral Thrawn did to

my world's defenses ten standardcycles ago, and with nothing more than seven

Katana-fleet Dreadnoughts as his weapons. He wouldn't have announced his return

if be weren't already prepared to receive the full slamming brunt of our closed

right hand."

"They have no more than a thousand worlds remaining," a Senator who Leia

couldn't identify put in scornfully. "With no more than a hundred Star

Destroyers and a few thousand lesser ships. Do you suggest that such a pitiful

force could withstand the full thunder of our trampling hooves?"

"You do not know this Thrawn-"

"Please," President Gavrisom cut in. "All of you. We of the Council certainly

understand your concerns and your fears. However, at this point I would urge you

to ponder this news without jumping to either hasty conclusions or premature

actions."

"A preemptive strike would not be a premature action," a huffy voice insisted.

"I agree with the Likashan Senator that we must move immediately against the

remnants of the Empire."

"Yes," the Likash squealed. "Grand Admiral Thrawn nearly defeated us once, we

cannot allow him the time he needs to attack us again."

"He's already had all the time he needs," the Sronk shot back. "Weren't you

listening to what I said? He wouldn't have revealed himself if he wasn't ready

for us."

"But the situation isn't the same as it was ten years ago," Leia reminded them,

striving to keep her own voice steady and to keep the growing sense of dread in

the chamber from feeding into her own fears. "Back then Thrawn still had nearly

a quarter of the old Empire to work with. As has already been pointed out, his

resources are almost nonexistent now."

"So let us take the rest away from him," a voice shouted. "Let us destroy him

now!"

"We cannot destroy him," Gavrisom said. "Even if we wanted to, which I'm not yet

convinced is the proper response to his offer."

"Why not?" the Likash demanded. "The New Republic has far more warships than the

Empire."

The Maerdocian Senator roared something in his own language. "Do you imply you

would seriously consider allowing him to interrogate New Republic officials?"

the translation whispered in Leia's ear. "That way lies madness."

"He doesn't want all of us," the Kian'thar Senator pointed out "He wants only

the Bothans."

There was another roar. "Do you genuinely believe it would end with the

Bothans?" the translation demanded. "If so, your path is toward madness."

Gavrisom tapped a key on his board, shutting down the chamber sound system. The

shouting died reluctantly away, and he turned the system back on. "Please," be

said mildly. "Let us keep our focus clear in this debate. Certainly we have no

intention of permitting an Imperial official to interrogate the leaders of any

New Republic member world. However, it is equally unreasonable at this point to

suggest a concerted attack against the Empire. While it is true that a state of

war technically exists between us, recent hostilities have been few and mostly

accidental. More to the point, even though our forces outnumber theirs, those

forces are at the moment widely dispersed across the galaxy."

He shook his mane in a gesture of mild reproof. "Attempting, as you are all

aware, to bring some measure of stability to the New Republic against the

stirrings of hundreds of threatening internal wars."

"How ver' conven'ent," the Garoosh Senator half-whistled sarcastically. "For the

Empire, a' least."

"They're probably the ones inciting all the wars," someone suggested with

obvious contempt. "That would be just like Thrawn's style. Panning the fires of

stupid hatred and primitive genocidal nonsense-"

"Do not call our long struggle stupid," the Forshul Senator rumbled. "And as for

genocide, I find it highly significant that our oppressors the Prosslee stand

ready to excuse the Bothans' own actions against the Caamasi. It is the duty of

all right-thinking beings to recognize such an attitude as a danger, not only to

my people but also to all of Yminis sector-"

Gavrisom touched the cutoff switch again, and the Forshul's voice dropped into a

distant and indistinct voice booming from her section of the chamber. "I thank

the Senator from Yminis sector for her comments," the President said. "I would

also remind her that this is not the time for such speeches."

"President Gavrisom, I would speak," a familiar voice simmering with familiar

anger rolled across the chamber, filling the space even with the sound system

turned off.

Leia looked that direction. Ghic Dx'ono, the Ishori Senator, was on his feet,

his whole body trembling with the physical rage that in his species always

accompanied deep thought. "You may speak," Gavrisom told him, turning the sound

system on again. "I would caution you that as this chamber does not wish to hear

a tirade against the Prosslee, we also do not wish to hear one against the

Diamala."

"I intend no tirade," Dx'ono barked. "I wish merely to remind the chamber that

we have only the Diamalan Senator's word that he did indeed face this Thrawn. I

would also remind the Senators that he ended his testimony moments ago with an

urging that we put the Bothan matter behind us-without punishing the guilty-in

order that we might face this supposed new threat."

"The reappearance of Grand Admiral Thrawn is hardly a supposed' threat, Senator

Dx'ono," Miatamia countered with typical Diamalan calm. "Merely because he was

stopped the last time before reaching any Ishori worlds does not guarantee your

safety should he be allowed the freedom to advance again."

"Do not accuse me of thinking only of my own worlds," Dx'ono shot back. "The

Ishori seek the safety of all peoples in the New Republic. But at the same time

we also demand justice for those peoples."

"The Diamala people support all forms of justice," Miatamia said. "We merely do

not consider blind revenge to be justice."

"Only a blind observer would consider our demands to be revenge," Dx'ono

snarled. "But that is not the issue here," he added quickly as the tip of

Gavrisom's wing moved toward the cutoff switch. "The issue is that you have made

a statement to this chamber which conveniently adds weight and thrust to your

political side, but which is unsupported by any independent sources."

"Do you not consider former General Lando Calrissian to be an independent

source?" Miatamia asked.

"By your own testimony be came to you asking for Diamalan military assistance,"

Dx'ono barked. "Given that, do you really expect us to consider his words

unbiased?"

"On behalf of Captain Calrissian, I resent the implications of that statement,

Senator," Leia said, finding herself on her feet. "He's been a stalwart friend

and ally, both of the New Republic and the Rebel Alliance before that. If Lando

says he saw Thrawn, then he did."

"Once he was a friend and ally," Dx'ono retorted. "Once he was also a smuggler

and gambler, experienced at cheating and lying to obtain what he wanted. Now he

is a businessman, running a suboceanic mining operation whose profits depend on

his obtaining Diamalan assistance. So tell us, Councilor Organa Solo: which of

his two backgrounds is he drawing on?"

Leia looked over at Lando, sitting grim-faced and silent behind Gavrisom. "I've

known Lando for sixteen years," she said quietly. "I will vouch personally for

his character."

"Fine," Dx'ono said with a snort. "You may vouch for him all you like,

Councilor. Suppose then, for sake of argument, that he saw a person on that Star

Destroyer. But was it Thrawn, or was it something else?"

Leia frowned, trying to read his thoughts across the chamber. But all she could

get was the outward anger, masking everything beneath it. "Are you suggesting

that the Empire faked the meeting?"

"It could well have been a fake," the Ishori said, glaring at Miatamia. "But I

do not necessarily put the blame on the Empire. We all know that there are

numerous Imperial Star Destroyers within New Republic territory-some even in

private hands, if rumors are to be believed. And as I have already pointed out,

the message that was supposedly delivered by this supposed Thrawn conveniently

supports the Diamalan stance on the Bothan issue. Coincidence? Or careful

manipulation?"

"The ability to manipulate his enemies was one of Thrawn's greatest talents,"

Fey'lya put in.

"A talent not unique to him," Dx'ono snapped. "The Bothans, for one example, are

also masters of the art. So are the Diamala."

"The man in the Grand Admiral's uniform knew about my visit to Myrkr ten years

ago," Lando said. "The only people who were there at that time were Thrawn and

his stormtrooper escort."

"Not true," Dx'ono shot back. "By your own statement, former General Solo was

also there."

Leia felt a sudden stirring of anger. "Are you suggesting-?"

"As was also," Dx'ono continued, cutting Leia off with a dark look, "the

smuggler Talon Karrde."

Leia threw a glance at Lando. "Karrde wouldn't be a part of anything like this,"

she insisted.

"Wouldn't he?" Dx'ono demanded. "Unlike Captain Calrissian, this Karrde has

never even claimed any loyalty to the New Republic. He's a smuggler and seller

of information, a man whose only concern and loyalty are to profit and gain."

The Ishori drew himself up a little taller, a finger stabbing out accusingly

toward Leia. "And a man, furthermore, whose chief links to Coruscant have been

to such people as Captain Calrissian and you yourself, Councilor Organa Solo. So

now tell us: where exactly do you stand on the Bothan issue?"

The question took Leia completely by surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked,

trying to stall for time.

"You know what I mean," Dx'ono snarled. "Tell us where you stand, Councilor

Organa Solo. Do you believe that full reparations and justice should be demanded

of the Bothans? Or do you, like the Diamalan Senator, prefer to allow their

horrific crime to go unpunished? Perhaps even enough to create a situation that

would force this chamber to that decision?"

"We know where she stands," another angry voice called out. "Did not her

bondedmate Han Solo fire on a peaceable protest at the Clans Building on

Bothawui?"

"That has not been proved, Senator Shibatthi," Gavrisom broke in sternly, coming

to Leia's rescue. "And your accusations are likewise uncalled for, Senator

Dx'ono. As I've already said, this is not the time nor the place for yet another

debate on the Caamas issue. Both of you be seated, please."

But the damage had already been done, Leia realized as she sat down again. In a

single masterful stroke, Dx'ono bad not only cast serious doubt on Miatamia's

story but also managed to undermine her own credibility as well. From now on,

any attempt she made to defend either Lando or the Diamalan Senator would merely

feed into the suspicions he had just planted.

Infighting, suspicions, divisiveness. Yes, it was indeed Thrawn's style.

"This seems a good time to move on to the Admiralty's report on the overall

military situation in the New Republic," Gavrisom continued. "Admiral Drayson?"

The admiral stepped to the podium beside Gavrisom; and as be did, a discreet

flicker of light caught Leia's eye. The small green comm indicator on her chair

arm was flashing.

"She frowned, throwing a surreptitious glance around the chamber. No one but her

family and closest aides were supposed to have this comm frequency, and they all

had strict instructions that it was to be used only in an emergency. But in that

case they were also supposed to key the indicator to a three-flash pattern, and

at the moment it was merely blinking steadily.

Stifling a flash of annoyance, she activated her chair's privacy field.

Drayson's voice dropped to a tenth of its normal volume as she swiveled the comm

display up from its storage position along the side of her armrest. If this was

Anakin asking if he could open a new package of cookies, she promised herself

darkly as she touched the switch, he was going to be grounded for a week. "Leia

Organa Solo."

But it wasn't Anakin. "Hello, Leia," Talon Karrde said, nodding politely. "I

hope I'm not calling at too inconvenient a moment."

Reflexively, Leia pulled the display as close to her as she could. Of all the

awkward times for him to call&mdash

"As a matter of fact, it is inconvenient," she told him shortly. "I'm in the

middle of a Senate meeting."

"Then I'll make it short," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was too

smart, and knew her too well, not to know there was more to it than just that.

"I have a personal message to deliver to you, one which I'd rather not put on

even an encrypted channel. Unfortunately, one of the line directors at Coruscant

Space Control feels that I shouldn't be permitted to land."

Leia frowned, Dx'ono's accusations echoing through her mind. But how could word

have gotten out so fast? "Do you have his name?"

"Just his bureaucratic operating number: KTR-44875," Karrde said. "He wouldn't

even give me that, incidentally; I had to pull it off his ID plate. He's an

Ishori, if that helps any."

Leia grimaced. That explained how the word had gotten out so fast. "It does,"

she told Karrde. "The Ishori Senator has just finished accusing you and Lando of

conspiring with the Diamala to get the Bothans off the hook on the Caamas

matter. He tried to rope me in on it, too, just for good measure."

"I see," Karrde said, pursing his lips. "And so of course here I am, calling on

you for help. My apologies for the bad timing."

"It's not your fault," Leia said, glaring over the top of the display at the

chamber and its hundreds of human and alien faces staring down in her direction.

She was not going to let them dictate who her friends and associates could be.

"You tell this Ishori line director that I'm giving you permission to land-I'll

transmit the order as soon as you're off the comm. You're in the Wild Karrde?"

"Yes," Karrde said. "But I could come down in a shuttle if you think that would

be more politic."

Leia snorted. "Ruffled feelings are the least of my worries at the moment. Do

you know where the West Championne landing field is? It's about two hundred

kilometers south of the Imperial Palace, near the Manarai Mountains."

"I have it on the map," Karrde confirmed, eyeing her closely. "Is this something

new, or has the Caamas debate simply taken a more vicious turn?"

"I don't know yet," Leia said. "It could be either, depending on who you listen

to. We have a place on the thirtieth floor of Orowood Tower, about twenty

kilometers east of the landing field. I'll call the Noghri caretakers and have

them let you in; we'll be out there as soon as I can get away tonight."

"Sounds cozy," he said, still gazing thoughtfully at her. "Not to mention

secluded."

"It is," Leia agreed, wincing slightly. It wasn't hard to guess his thoughts:

that despite her protestations to the contrary, she didn't want to risk being

seen with him anywhere near the Imperial Palace. "You'll understand why I want

to meet there when I tell you what's happened."

"Of course," be said equably. Would it be all right if I used the comm and data

retrieval equipment at your retreat until you arrive? Just to keep myself

amused, of course?"

Leia smiled. "And to see what you can dig out of the government archives?"

He shrugged. "I might learn something new. You never know."

"I'm sure it's harder for you to learn something you didn't already know than it

is for most of us," Leia said dryly. "All right, I'll clear it with the Noghri

when I call them."

"Thank you. I'll see you later. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

With a sigh, she keyed off the comm. Infighting, suspicions, divisiveness. Yes,

it was Thrawn's style, all right. She could only wonder what be had planned for

them next

Switching the comm back on again, she keyed for Coruscant Space Control.

***

All in all, Carib Devist thought as he gazed across the colorful fields of

tallgrain rippling across Dorchess Valley, it had been a good day.

It really had. The oppressive summer sun that blazed so steadily down onto

Pakrik Minor during the growing season had been hiding coyly behind clouds for

most of the day, giving relief from the usual heat. The clouds hadn't burned off

until late afternoon, just in time for the sun to disappear for an hour and a

half behind Pakrik Minor's far more densely populated sister world of Pakrik

Major. By the time it had reemerged the extra heat was actually almost welcome.

There were still some problems in the fields themselves, of course, but that was

all part of a farmer's life. Carib and his brothers had had to drive out yet

another colony of worms that had tried to make their home among the interlocked

tallgrain roots, and had had to deal with a spot of white-blight that could have

wiped out the entire crop within days if it hadn't been caught. But it had been

caught, and the worms had been rooted out, and none of the droids had broken

down or even gone cranky, and th e crops were actually ahead of growing schedule

for a change.

No, it had been a good day; and as Carib propped his feet up to point toward the

magnificent sunset and sipped at a well-earned glass of R'alla mineral water he

decided that it was indeed good to be alive.

A motion to his right caught his eye: his brother Sabmin coming toward the house

in that battered old landspeeder of his. Lacy had probably invited Sabmin and

his family over to dinner-she was always forgetting to tell him things like

that.

But no. Sabmin was alone in the vehicle . . . and as the land-speeder came

closer Carib could make out the expression on his brother's face .

He was waiting at the foot of the path by the time Sabmin brought the

landspeeder to a dusty halt. "What's wrong?" he asked without preamble.

"It's happened," Sabmin said, his voice a husky whisper. "I was up at the cave

and-well, it's happened."

Carib glanced back up the path at the house. Lacy was visible in the kitchen

window, carefully pulling the dinner roast out of the focus cooker. "Walk with

me," he said.

He led the way down the path toward the edge of the fields. "You confirmed the

message was legitimate?" be asked.

"First thing," Sabmin said soberly. "It carried all the proper Imperial codes."

Carib winced. It had been a long time since the word "Imperial" had been used in

this part of Pakrik Minor. "Then I guess it's time," he said, a strange

sensation in the pit of his stomach. After ten years of quiet waiting, they were

once again being called to service. "Have you said anything to the others yet?"

"No, I came straight here," Sabmin said. "But there's more."

He glanced around, as if afraid someone might be listening from among the neat

rows of tallgrain. "The activation order came in over the name of Grand Admiral

Thrawn."

Carib felt his jaw drop. "That's impossible," he hissed. "Thrawn is dead."

"That's what everyone said," Sabmin agreed soberly. "All I know is that his name

is on the order."

They had reached the first row of stalks now. "It could be a lie," Carib said,

turning sideways to ease between the rows, sniffing the familiar sour-musky

aroma rising around him as his tanned leatheris vest brushed across the leaves.

"Or else a trick."

"Hardly a trick they could keep up," Sabmin pointed out "Even using old

holo-recordings of him in transmissions wouldn't fool anyone for long."

"True," Carib said, stopping beside a nearly ripe stalk and touching a finger to

the tallgrain string peeking coyly from a gap in its sheath. Grand Admiral

Thrawn, who had turned around five years of steady decline and brought the

Empire to within sight of total victory. "You realize, of course, that this

could change everything."

"I don't see how," Sabmin said. "The fact still remains that we were planted

here for the express purpose of being ready to cause havoc if and when we were

called to do so." He stroked the tallgrain string. "Well, the planting took

root, the crop has ripened . . . and now they're calling for the harvest."

"Yes," Carib said, dropping his hand back to his side. A harvest of terror and

sudden death and destruction, almost certainly directed at the ripe fruit that

was Pakrik Major hanging overhead. Pakrik Major, and the annual sector-wide

conference that had just gotten under way in the capital. A long-delayed strike

against the traitors of the Rebellion, courtesy of the Empire. "But that's not

my point," he told Sabmin. "My point is that if Thrawn is really back in

command, then whatever we're ordered to do won't be simply a grand but

meaningless gesture of suicidal defiance. If Thrawn is back, then the Empire

might just win."

Sabmin whistled softly. "You're right," he murmured. "I hadn't even thought

about it that way."

"Well, you'd better start thinking about it that way," Carib warned. "And we'd

better make sure the others do, too. Any idea when the last maintenance check

was done on the TIEs?"

"Not more than a month ago," Sabmin said. "I think it was Dobrow who ran it. You

want to talk with him tonight?"

"I want to talk with everyone tonight," Carib said, sidling out of the tallgrain

rows and starting back up toward the house. "My place, in two hours."

"We can try," Sabmin said, falling into a probably unconscious military step

beside him. "Tabric and Hovarb may not be able to make it, though-three of their

gornts went into labor this afternoon."

"The gornts can have their litters by themselves," Carib said shortly. "This is

important."

Sabmin threw him a frown. "Oh, come on, Carib, aren't you overreacting just a

little? It's an activation order, not a full-blown attack plan."

"If Thrawn is in charge, there won't be a lot of time between the two," Carib

growled. "Whatever he's up to, he'll have his timetable shaved down to the half

second."

They walked the rest of the way to Sabmin's vehicle in silence. "All right, I'll

tell them," Sabmin said as he climbed in. "They'll be here."

Carib sighed. "Let's make it your place instead," he suggested. "It's only three

minutes by landspeeder from there to their barn. They can get back in plenty of

time if anything goes wrong with the labor."

Sabmin smiled tightly. "Thanks, Carib. We'll see you there."

CHAPTER

21

"There's Lando," Leia said, pointing out the canopy as Han set! their Incom T-81

down on the Orowood Tower's third-level air-speeder pad. "Over there, by the

entryway, behind that red cloud car."

"Yeah, I see him," Han grunted, shutting down the repulsorlifts. "I still think

this is a bad idea, Leia."

"I know you do," Leia said, taking a moment to look past the lighted landing

area at the darkened shrubbery perimeter beyond it. There was no one visible,

either to her eyes or her Jedi senses. "And I can't say I completely disagree

with you. But he insisted on coming."

"You'd just better hope Dx'ono didn't get wind of it and have someone follow him

here," Han growled, popping the canopy. "You get someone yelling secret meeting'

and we'll all have bad it."

"I know," Leia said, climbing out of the airspeeder and looking around. There

were some airspeeder running lights visible in the sky around them, and the

various roads crisscrossing the area around the Tower were carrying their usual

quota of landspeeders. None of the vehicles seemed to be particularly heading

their direction.

But there were the darkened windows of one of the Tower's five tapcafes gazing

down on them from the fourth floor, not to mention all the windows of the

apartments stretching up into the night sky. If one of those windows concealed

someone with a set of macrobinoculars . . .

Han clearly bad already bad the same thought. "We'd better get inside," he

muttered, taking her arm. "Come on, Threepio, move it."

"Yes, sir," the golden-skinned droid said hastily, levering himself awkwardly

out of the back of the airspeeder and shuffling quickly behind them. That was

the first time Threepio had said anything, Leia realized suddenly, since they'd

left the Imperial Palace. Had be picked up on Han's mood, and was trying to make

himself inconspicuous? Or had he been brooding on his own memories of Thrawn's

last bid for power?

Lando emerged from his half concealment as they approached. "Han, Leia," he

nodded to them. His usual smile of greeting, Leia noted, was conspicuously

absent. "Where's Karrde?"

"He's already here," Leia told him as Han keyed the entryway lock. "The Noghri

let him in."

"Good." Hunching his shoulders beneath his cloak, Lando threw one last look back

into the darkness as be followed Leia in.

Thirty-eight stories tall, the Orowood Tower had originally been planned to be

the nucleus of an elaborate and extensive colony of Alderaanians who bad been

off-planet when the first Death Star destroyed their world. But though the

architects had painstakingly crafted every facet of the Tower to fit the

Alderaanian style, Coruscant's crowds and near-total land development were

simply too alien to their life view for most of the refugees to feel comfortable

living there.

Though the rest of the project had been abandoned, there had been hopes that

enough Alderaanians would remain on Coruscant to keep the Tower itself occupied,

particularly given its spectacular view of the Manarai Mountains. But that final

dream bad been dealt its death blow by Grand Admiral Thrawn's short-lived but

terrifying siege of the planet. When the siege was finally lifted, virtually all

the Alderaanians left Coruscant, going to New Alderaan or scattering out among

the stars. As one of them had e xplained to Leia, they had been lucky enough to

escape the destruction of one world, and had no desire to settle on an even more

tempting target.

And so the grand experiment had settled into vague obscurity, joining the host

of other residential centers clustered beneath the mountains, most of which

provided secondary or vacation homes to rich industrialists and government

officials. Offworlders and aliens, most of whom bad never even heard of the

fabled oro woods of Alderaan, let alone ever walked among them.

Over the years, the ache of that irony had mostly faded from Leia's heart.

Mostly.

The turbolift operated with the typical quiet efficiency of Alderaanian

construction, depositing them into the lush garden scene that comprised the

thirtieth-floor bobby. No one was visible mong the fronds and rock-pile water

trickles; but then, no one was supposed to be. "Barkhimkh?" Leia called softly.

"I am here, Lady Vader," Barkhimkh's voice mewed from across the lobby. There

was a rustle from the frond, and the Noghri warrior stepped into view beside the

archway that opened into the corridor leading to their apartment. "All is

quiet."

"Thank you," Leia said.

"Make sure you keep it that way," Han added as they crossed the lobby.

Barkhimkh bowed his bead. "I obey, Han clan Solo."

Karrde was lounging in a Plash self-molding contour chair in the apartment's

conversation circle, a datapad in one band and a glass of amber liquid in the

other, as Han keyed the door open. "Ah-there you are," the smuggler said,

closing the datapad and levering himself out of the chair as they filed inside.

"I was just thinking of asking Sakhisakh to try contacting you."

"We got a later start than I'd expected," Leia explained. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Karrde assured them. "The children aren't with you?"

"They just left this morning with Chewie to go visit his family on Kashyyyk,"

Leia told him. "With all that's been happening lately, I thought it would be

better for them to be there."

"Between their Noghri guard and a planetful of Wookiees it's hard to imagine

anyplace safer," Karrde agreed. "Hello, Calrissian. Nice to see you again."

"Yes," Lando said. "Though you may not think so when we tell you why you're

here."

Karrde's expression didn't change, but Leia could feel a tightening of his

emotions. "Really," he said easily. "Let's dispense with the formalities, then.

Sit down and tell me all about it."

***

"I'm sorry," the screening system at the other end of the comm said in its

maddeningly pleasant mechanical voice. "Communication with the residence you

request is restricted. I cannot connect you without a proper authorization

code."

"Tell Councilor Organa Solo that it's an emergency," Shada said, putting the

most intimidating official tone into her voice that she could as she gazed out

the tapcafe window at the Solos' Incom T-81, sitting there on the Orowood

Tower's third-floor landing pad. "I'm calling under the authorization of Admiral

Drayson of New Republic Intelligence."

The screening system remained unfazed. "I'm sorry, but I cannot connect you

without a proper authorization code," it repeated.

Grimacing, Shada keyed the comm off. That had been the last verbal gambit in her

repertoire, and it bad done nothing but get her the same runaround. The same

thing every time she tried, and she was beginning to get very tired of it.

She'd tried the polite, official way first: calling Councilor Organa Solo's

office at the Imperial Palace and-when the screeners there wouldn't let her

through, either-trying to get into the massive governmental building itself. But

with no official status or business or connections to call on, she'd bit

meter-thick transparisteel walls at every turn. She'd tried calling the Solos'

main home outside the palace next, with the same results. And now she'd tried to

get through to them at their Manarai Mount ain retreat, again with no luck

And with each rebuff, her obviously idealized vision of the New Republic had

crumbled a little bit more. She'd hoped they would have more to offer her than

the life with the Mistryl that she'd just turned her back on. It was starting to

look more and more like she'd been mistaken.

But there was nothing to do now but continue what she'd started. If for no other

reason than that there was nowhere left for her to go.

So all right. She'd tried it the polite way and gotten nowhere. Now she would

try it the Mistryl way.

The Tower's second-floor shopping complex was quite extensive, and it took her

no more than five minutes to collect the three items she needed. One minute

after that, armed with a length of brocaded white ribbon, a cheap datapad, and a

bottle of equally cheap but awesomely strong dodbri whiskey, she was in the

-turbolift heading up.

it would be a short ride, she knew, but she already had the details mapped out

in her mind and set to work with no wasted motions. Popping the cap off the

whiskey, she splashed a little of the potent concoction onto the collar of her

slightly bedraggled ankle-length dress and then sipped a little into her mouth.

Wincing at the tingle, she swished it around while she poured the rest of the

bottle into the decorative flower boxes that ran around the upper part of the

car. She spat her mouthful back into the bottle, glad to be rid of it, then

turned her attention to the ribbon. The traditional Coruscant wedding hairbow

was tricky to tie, but she knew a variant that was quick and simple and looked

enough like the real thing to fool anyone but an experienced observer.

By the time the doors opened onto the Tower's rooftop observation deck, she was

ready for her performance. Bottle clutched in one hand, datapad in the other,

she stepped out of the car and H threw a casual and calculatedly unsteady look

around. No one was

visible among the deserted tables and chairs and decorative shrubbery. But then,

the group of personal guards that surrounded Councilor Organa Solo seldom were.

Getting a fresh grip on her bottle, she set off in a staggering walk for the

edge of the roof.

The guard she knew had to be there hadn't made his appearance by the time she

reached the chin-high latticework guardrail set into a solid knee-high base. "So

fine, Ravis," she muttered to herself in a slurred and despondent voice as she

dropped the bottle and datapad onto the roof beside the guardrail. "You don'

wanna, huh? Fine. I can get outta your life', if tha's what you wan'. I can get

all the way out-"

She broke off with a single underplayed sob. Digging her fingers into the holes

of the lattice, she pressed herself against the barrier and twisted her head

sideways to peer over and down at the ground below, her senses alert. There was

a single whisper of sound from behind her, and then nothing.

So they were going to need more from her before they made any move. Fine; she

could oblige them. Extracting her fingers from the guardrail, continuing to sob

softly under her breath, she retrieved the datapad and set it down on a nearby

chair, propping it

up to be clearly visible. With slightly fumbling fingers she pulled the wedding

bow out of her hair, kissed it theatrically, and placed it down in front of the

datapad. She took another moment to carefully arrange the two items together;

then, squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and stepped back to the

roof edge. Gripping the lattice again, she climbed up onto the base and swung

one leg over the top of the guardrail.

Or rather, tried to. Even as she swung the leg up she heard another whisper of

sound, and a band suddenly grabbed her waist sash, tugging her backward and

forcing her to bring her leg back down to maintain her balance. "Do not do

this," a gravelly catlike voice mewed softly from behind her.

"Le' me go," Shada moaned, letting go of the lattice with her left band and

slapping ineffectually at his arm. "Le' me go. He doesn' care bout me-he sai'

so. He doesn' wan' me anymore. Le' me go."

"This is not the way," the Noghri said, pulling her gently but firmly. "Come

inside and we will speak."

"Done wi' talking," Shada muttered, half turning to look down at him and making

sure he could smell the whiskey on her breath as she threw a quick glance over

the rooftop. No one else was visible. "Please-he' me go," she pleaded, grabbing

the lattice again with her left hand and pulling upward against his grip.

"Please."

"No," the Noghri repeated, pulling back with more strength than she would have

thought a creature that small could manage. Her fingers strained against the

pull&mdash

And without warning she let go, spinning halfway around as she fell straight at

him.

The Noghri was fast, all right By the time she'd rotated far enough around to

see him he'd already moved a step to the side to get out of her way. His free

arm came up, ready to catch her shoulders and break her fall&mdash

And as she fell into that wiry grip, her band jabbed hard into the side of his

throat. Without a sound, his legs buckled beneath him and they collapsed

together onto the rooftop.

For a few seconds she lay there, still sobbing drunkenly, her eyes darting

around the rooftop for signs of a backup. But the Noghri was apparently up here

alone.

Which wasn't to say he hadn't checked in before rushing off to save the

despondent drunk bent on self-destruction. If be had, she didn't have much time.

If he hadn't, she wouldn't have much more.

Stripping off the dress that had concealed her combat jumpsuit, keeping one eye

on the turbolift door, she set to work.

***

Karrde turned his glass around in his band, his eyes on the remains of his drink

as it swirled partway up the side in response to the movement. "You're sure

about all this," he said.

"I'm sure," Lando said positively. "I searched through what we've got of the old

Imperial archives and found every recording they had of Thrawn. There wasn't

much, but it definitely looked and sounded like the man I saw."

"Which doesn't mean it couldn't be a trick," Han put in, throwing a

surreptitious look at Leia. If Karrde's attitude was all an act-if he was

secretly behind this Thrawn sighting of Lando's-then she ought to have pulled

the proof of that from his mind by now.

But her face had the same grim expression that had been there when Lando first

started his story; and even as he watched, her eyes shifted to his and she shook

her head microscopically in response to his unspoken question.

Han had thought they were being subtle enough. Apparently not. "I take it I'm

under some suspicion here," Karrde continued, still studying his glass. "And not

just from the Ishori and their allies. Have I passed the test?"

Han looked at Leia again in time to see her lip twitch. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For whatever it's worth, I had no doubts myself."

"Thank you." Karrde smiled slightly at Han and Lando. "I won't embarrass either

of you by asking if you shared the Councilor's confidence."

"I don't like taking anything for granted," Han told him. "It's not like you've

ever sworn allegiance to the New Republic or anything."

Karrde inclined his head, "You're right, of course. My apologies."

He shifted his gaze to Lando. "All right, then. Let's begin with the assumption

we're all hoping is true: namely, that you were the victim of a clever trick.

First question: how was it done?"

"Shouldn't be all that hard," Han said. "Some facial surgery to make this guy

look like Thrawn, then just add in some skin, hair, and eye coloring."

"Facial surgery usually leaves distinctive marks," Lando pointed out. "I know

what to look for, and they weren't there. Besides, what about the voice?"

What about the voice?" Han asked. "Voices can be faked, too, you know. We did it

ourselves with Threepio once, remember?"

"If the voice was really that accurate, it could have been a human replica

droid," Karrde suggested. "Like the one Prince Xizor of Black Sun used to have."

Lando shook his head, "It wasn't just the voice, Karrde. Or the face, or

anything else you could look at. It was-I don't know. There was a presence

there, a hidden power and confidence I don't think any droid could fake. It was

him. It bad to be."

"Could it have been a clone, then?" Karrde persisted, "Thrawn could easily have

taken one or more of the cloning tanks out of Mount Tantiss before it was

destroyed."

"I've been wondering about that, too," Leia said. "It could also explain where

the clones Luke sensed at Iphigin come from."

"A clone of Thrawn would be dangerous enough," Lando agreed tightly. "But turn

it around a minute. Couldn't it just as easily have been a clone sitting on the

Chimaera's bridge at Bilbringi? What if Thrawn had anticipated everything that

was going to happen-everything-and made the necessary arrangements?"

Karrde swished his drink around a little more in his glass. "Then why did he sit

back and let the Empire collapse when his leadership could very likely have

saved it?" he asked. "No. If he really was alive, he must have been

incapacitated by his wound and gone off somewhere to heal."

"That's pretty much what he implied to Miatamia and me," Lando agreed. "He

implied he'd been off recovering."

"Unless that's just what he wanted you to think," Leia warned. "Maybe he was

simply off doing something else instead."

"Instead of protecting the Empire?" Han objected. "That doesn't make sense."

Abruptly Karrde set his glass down on the low table beside his chair. "All

right, then," he said. "Let's assume the worst case: that that really was Thrawn

you saw, and that he's back and out for blood. Why suddenly make an appearance

now? And why just to you and Senator Miatamia instead of all of Coruscant?"

"Probably to create exactly the situation we're now in," Leia said. "The tension

level in the Senate has jumped straight to the ceiling, with a tremendous amount

of animosity and suspicion being focused on the Diamala. And, by extension, to

everyone on that side of the Caamas issue."

"With a hint that Gavrisom might not want to resolve the crisis thrown in just

to stir things up a little more," Lando added. "I hear some of the Senators are

already complaining that he's been dragging his hooves on the whole question of

reparations for the Caamasi."

Han grimaced. The Bothans' financial crisis . . "He's doing the best he can," be

told Lando.

"Maybe," Lando said darkly. "But it strikes me that there are a lot of other

ways Thrawn could have stirred up the government if that was all he wanted."

"What else could be want?" Karrde asked. "He surely wouldn't be foolish enough

to take on the entire New Republic. Not with only eight sectors' worth of

resources at his disposal."

"Maybe he's found a new superweapon the Emperor bad stashed away somewhere,"

Lando suggested ominously. "Another Death Star-a completed one this time-or

maybe another Sun Crusher. Or something even more dangerous."

Karrde shook his bead. "Farfetched. If there was something like that out there,

we surely would have heard of it by now."

"There's another point that needs to be made here," Leia-said. "You talked about

him taking on the entire New Republic; but that's only if we could get the

entire New Republic together to fight him. With the Caamas issue dividing us so

strongly-and with the Empire so weak that most people don't even think of it as

a threat-that's not a given anymore."

"If it ever was," Han said sourly. "There was never more than a small fraction

of the galaxy actually fighting against the Empire."

"And never more than a small fraction of the Empire fighting against us," Lando

pointed out, his eyes on Karrde. "I don't think we realized back then just how

much of their energy was going to keeping all these little planetary vendettas

and rivalries from blowing up in their faces. Now we're in that same situation,

and in my opinion, we simply don't have the resources available to take on

whatever Thrawn has planned."

"That of course depends on what he has planned," Karrde said. He was eyeing

Lando closely, Han noticed suddenly. As closely as Lando was eyeing him. "So

what do you suggest as your next move?"

"Our next move," Lando said, leaning on the word, "is to get this blasted Caamas

issue out of the way so we can focus on Thrawn. And that means finding out

exactly who the guilty Bothans were."

"That could be a problem," Karrde said, his voice studiously calm. "As far as I

know, the Imperials have only two complete sets of records left-one at the

Ubiqtorate base at Yaga Minor, the other at the current Imperial capital on

Bastion."

"I don't suppose you'd happen to know where Bastion is," Leia said.

"I'm afraid not," Karrde said, glancing at her and then returning his attention

to Lando. "Bastion's proper name is one secret the Imperials have managed to

keep."

"I wasn't necessarily talking about the Imperials," Lando said. "I was thinking

someone else might have the records we're looking for."

Han blinked at Lando. Suddenly the other's insistence that he join them here

tonight for their talk with Karrde was taking on a whole new dimension. "You

mean that Karrde-?"

"I don't have the records, Calrissian," Karrde said. "If I did, I'd have offered

them to you long before now."

"I know that," Lando said, his voice heavy with significance. "I was referring

to a different source entirely."

"Who also probably doesn't have them," Karrde said coldly.

Lando's expression didn't change. "But who might."

For a pair of heartbeats the two men continued to gaze at each other. Han threw

a frown at Leia, saw his same puzzlement mirrored in her own face. "Is there

something here we need to know about?" he asked carefully.

"No," Lando said. "Or maybe I should say not yet."

"Leia, Calrissian and I need to have a short talk," Karrde said, getting

abruptly to his feet. "Is there a place where we can have some privacy?"

"You can use the boys' bedroom," Leia said, pointing down the hallway. "Last

door on the left."

"Thank you." Karrde gestured Lando to the hallway. "After you, Calrissian."

***

Shada had added an extra anchor to her safety line about two meters above her,

on the assumption that if and when the Noghri got reinforcements up to the

rooftop they might simply cut the line without bothering to haul her up first

for the formality of questioning. Now, dangling a hundred meters above the

ground, she eased her low-light eyepiece around the edge of the darkened window

beside her and peered inside.

It was a child's bedroom-a children's bedroom, she corrected herself, spotting

the second bed pushed against the far wall. Currently unoccupied; and since none

of the three Solo children had followed their parents out of the airspeeder, it

was reasonable to assume the room would stay that way.

Replacing the eyepiece into its jumpsuit pocket, she pulled out one of her three

Zana M6W-9 molecular stilettos and extended its invisibly slender blade. Like a

lightsaber, a molecular stiletto could cut through nearly anything. Unlike a

lightsaber, though, the Zana's blade was incredibly delicate. A quick thrust

against an assailant nearly always resulted in a broken blade-along with a dead

assailant, of course-and even the most painstakingly careful cutting job was as

likely as not to end up ruining t he tool.

Fortunately, the task facing her wasn't going to be large enough to push the

odds. With most buildings on Coruscant she would have had to cut away an entire

window to get inside, but the Orowood's designers had incorporated traditional

Alderaanian swing-out panels to allow for free air flow. All she had to do was

maneuver the stiletto blade between the panels and slice through the catch, and

she would be in.

After, of course, finding and disabling whatever alarms the Noghri had

installed.

That task turned out to be easier than she'd expected. The window carried only a

single alarm, ranged to watch for incoming airspeeders. Apparently, it hadn't

occurred to the Noghri that someone might be crazy enough to rappel down from

the rooftop the way she had. Though of course, to be fair, they had put a guard

up there.

Two minutes later she was inside the darkened room, pulling the window closed

behind her and listening bard. There were the usual soft mechanical noises of

any modern dwelling, along with the muffled sounds of conversation coming from

elsewhere in the apartment. The words were impossible to decipher through the

closed door, but she could hear at least four distinct voices.

She stood just inside the door, frowning with sudden indecision. She'd seen Solo

and Organa Solo and their droid arrive in their T-81, and had spotted Calrissian

waiting for them; but who was the fourth voice? Some random friend who'd

happened to drop in? Hardly. A business associate of Calrissian's? Maybe, except

that he'd been skulking alone in the shadows before the Solos arrived.

One thing was sure: given how furtive all three of them had been behaving

outside, this was clearly a meeting they'd taken great pains to keep secret. A

meeting she doubted any of them would appreciate being crashed by a total

stranger.

Abruptly she tensed. The conversation had paused, and in its place was a new

sound.

Footsteps. Heading her direction.

She was across the room in four quick strides, kneeling beside the bed by the

far wall. It was a spaceship-style bed, with storage compartments filling the

space beneath the mattress itself. But she hadn't planned on hiding under it

anyway. Getting a grip on the storage handles, she pulled.

There must have been a lot of junk in those drawers: even with Mistryl-honed

muscles behind the tug the bed moved barely twenty-five centimeters away from

the wall. But it would be enough; and at any rate, with the footsteps already

paused outside her door, it would have to do. Lunging up from her kneeling

position, she half dived, half rolled across the bed and slid silently down on

her side into the narrow gap.

She just made it. Even as her shoulder and hip settled against the cool floor

the bedroom door slid open and two sets of footsteps came inside. The glow panel

blazed on, and the door closed again.

"We had an agreement, Calrissian," an unidentified male voice said.

Unidentified, yet definitely familiar. Shada searched her memory&mdash

"Which I haven't broken," Calrissian said, his voice sounding a little

defensive.

"Really?" the other voice asked coldly. "You've as good as told them there's a

secret here. Do you think either of them needs more than that to gather their

little shovels together and start digging?"

-and then abruptly the memory clicked. It was the smuggler chief, Talon Karrde.

"Frankly, Karrde, I think they've both got more important things to worry about

right now," Calrissian said tartly. "And to be honest, I never understood why

you were so obsessed about secrecy on this thing in the first place. So Jorj

Car'das was once a competitor of yours-"

"Keep your voice down," Karrde growled. "I don't want the others hearing that

name. And Car'das wasn't a competitor. He was something else entirely."

"Fine," Calrissian said. "Whatever. The point is that we can't afford the luxury

of silly games anymore. Not with-"

"Silly games?" Karrde cut him off. "Calrissian, you have no idea what you're

talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Calrissian retorted. "I'm talking about

the genius who came this close to taking down the whole New Republic ten years

ago. Whatever Thrawn's got planned, he has to be counting on the Caamas issue to

keep us divided."

Shada felt her breath catch in her throat. Whatever Thrawn had planned? But

Thrawn was dead.

Wasn't he?

"Thank you for the historical review," Karrde said. "I was there, if you'll

remember. Let's not act like the whole New Republic's on the edge of desperation

and collapse, though, all right?"

"Are you sure we're not?" Calrissian countered. "After all this time, do you

really think Thrawn would have shown himself if he wasn't ready to pounce?"

"If he intends to pounce," Karrde argued. "There are many other things he could

be planning besides an overt attack."

"Oh, that's comforting," Calrissian growled. "And all the more reason to get the

Caamas issue resolved as quickly as possible. if there's even half a chance

Car'das can help, someone has to go see him."

"And you're suggesting I should be that someone?"

"You're the one who knew him," Calrissian pointed out.

"That may not be an asset," Karrde said. "In fact, it could be quite the

opposite."

There was the soft sound of a slightly exasperated sigh. "Look, Karrde, I don't

know what went on between you and Car'das. What I do know is that we're facing

Grand Admiral Thrawn here. And not just us-you're facing him, too. Don't forget

be specifically said he'd be coming after you."

"Scare words," Karrde murmured.

"I don't remember Thrawn ever relying on scare words the last time," Calrissian

said. "Everything he said was backed up with action. But since you've brought up

the subject of scare words, what are you so afraid of, anyway?"

There was the sound of footsteps moving toward the window. "You never met

Car'das, Lando," Karrde said quietly. "If you had, you'd understand. In his own

way he was more ruthless even than Jabba the Hutt."

"Yet you asked Mara and me to go hunt him down."

"I didn't ask you to do anything at all," Karrde said. "If you'll recall, I

tried to get you to sell me that beckon call outright."

"You also tried to tell me it was just some useless curiosity from pre-Clone

Wars days," Calrissian reminded him dryly. "You knew perfectly well I wouldn't

fall for a story like that. Anyway, that's beside the point. We tracked him

down, and made it back just fine."

"You only tracked him as far as a likely system," Karrde said. "You're asking me

to walk into whatever fortress he's set up there and go face-to-face with him."

"If Thrawn isn't stopped, he'll be the one who eventually comes knocking at

Car'das's retirement home," Calrissian said. "If Car'das has any brains, he'll

thank you for the warning."

"Car'das never thanked anyone for anything in his life," Karrde said bluntly.

"And he most certainly hasn't retired, either. He'll be scheming or plotting

something-that's the nature of the man. And he will not want to be found.

Particularly not by me."

Calrissian hissed between his teeth. "Fine," he bit out. "You want to go bury

yourself in a hole and wait for Thrawn to come dig you out, you go right ahead.

Give me a copy of Mara's route to the Exocron system and I'll go find him

myself."

"Don't be absurd," Karrde said. "You and the Lady Luck wouldn't last two days

alone in the Kathol Outback."

"Who says I'll be going alone?" Calrissian countered. "I thought I'd ask General

Bel Iblis and the Peregrine along."

"That would be the absolute worst thing you could do," Karrde said, an edge of

exasperation starting to color his tone. "You bring a capital warship into the

Exocron system and Car'das will either go completely underground or blow it out

of the sky. You don't know him the way I do."

"No," Calrissian agreed quietly. "I don't."

There was a long silence. A long, waiting silence. "You should never have given

up on your con man origins, Calrissian," Karrde said at last. "You're far too

good at it. All right. I'll go."

"Thanks," Calrissian said. "You won't regret this."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Karrde warned, his usual easy humor back

in his voice. "I suppose we should go break the news to the others."

The door whispered open and the glow panels shut off; and as the room went dark

again, Shada heaved herself up out of her hiding place. Rolling back across the

bed and onto her feet, she crossed the room and slipped out just before the door

closed again.

The two men, Calrissian in the lead, were heading down the hallway toward the

edge of what looked like an Alderaanian-style conversation circle, both of them

completely oblivious to her presence behind them. Moving up, she fell into

silent step behind Karrde.

***

"Okay, I give up," Han said, a puzzled look on his face. "What was that all

about?"

Leia shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, replaying the last exchange

between Lando and Karrde in her mind as she gazed at the hallway where the two

of them had disappeared toward the boys' bedroom. "Some kind of secret they

don't want us to know about."

"Yeah, I figured that much," Han said. "What I meant was what's the secret?"

Leia threw him one of her vast repertoire of patient looks, an inventory created

by a lifetime of diplomatic service and honed to a fine art by ten years of

dealing with three boisterous children. "You know I can't just go in and dig

things out of their minds," she reminded him. "It's not even ethical with

enemies, let alone friends."

"You Jedi are no fun sometimes," Han said. His tone was bantering, but she could

tell from his eyes and mood that he was still uneasy about the situation.

"We're not in the business to have fun," she pointed out.

"You couldn't just sort of, oh, stretch out and get a feel for what they're

talking about in there?"

Leia smiled wryly. "I wish you wouldn't do that," she admonished him.

He pulled out one of his own repertoire of innocent looks. "Do what?"

"Suggest that I do something unethical right when I'm trying to persuade myself

that it wouldn't hurt anyone," she told him. "That's very disconcerting."

"Specially coming from a guy who isn't supposed to have near as good a

conscience as you do?" he suggested blandly.

Leia rolled her eyes. "I swear, Han, I think you can read my mind better without

Jedi senses than I can read yours with them."

He waved a hand. "Professional secret. One of the things you learn as a

scoundrel."

"Of course," Leia said, looking in the direction of the hallway again. "I wonder

how unethical it would be to send Threepio in to take notes for them-"

"Lady Vader," a gravelly voice cut in.

Leia jumped; as usual, she hadn't beard or sensed the Noghri's approach. What is

it, Gharakh?"

"Perhaps trouble," Gharakh growled. "The sentry on the rooftop is not responding

to his comlink."

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia saw Han roll slightly in his chair to loosen

his blaster in its bolster. "You've sent a team to check on him?"

"They are on the way," the Noghri said. "But until we know otherwise, we must

assume an intruder is attempting to break in. Where are the others?"

"Down the ball," Leia said. Even as she pointed, she felt the subtle change in

air pressure as the distant bedroom door slid open. "That should be them now,"

she added as the sound of approaching footsteps confirmed it.

"I would ask that you stay in this room for the present," Gharakh said. As he

spoke, Lando appeared around the corner, followed by Karrde&mdash "If there is

an intruder, we will need to seek him out."

-followed by a tall, slender woman dressed in a dark gray combat jumpsuit.

"Don't bother," the woman said quietly. "I'm here."

CHAPTER

22

Their reactions, as reactions went, were quick and efficient. At the same time,

Shada had to admit, they were oddly comic to watch.

The shock of the unexpected voice behind him sent Calrissian jumping half a

meter into the air, his gunhand getting momentarily tangled in his cloak before

he could haul his blaster free. The Noghri's blaster, unsurprisingly, was

already out and trained on her, with Solo's not very far behind. Karrde didn't

jump nearly as far as Calrissian bad; but instead of going for a weapon himself,

he merely took a long step to the side to give Solo and the Noghri a clear field

of fire. A smart move, but no more th an Shada would have expected from someone

of his reputation.

Councilor Organa Solo, in contrast to the others, didn't move at all.

Shada didn't move, either, She stood where she was, hands hanging empty at her

sides, wondering distantly if the vaunted and probably overrated Noghri combat

reflexes would make it more or less likely the guard would overreact to her

unexpected appearance by gunning her down.

She almost hoped he would. In many ways, it would be the simplest way to end

things.

But the Noghri didn't fire. Neither did Solo nor Calrissian; and with a vague

sort of half regret Shada knew she wasn't going to get to go out the easy way.

It was Organa Solo who broke the brittle silence. "Who are you?" she asked, her

voice as serene as her face.

"My name is Shada D'ukal," Shada said. "I'm not here to hurt any of you."

Organa Solo nodded. "I know."

Solo threw her a quick sideways glance. "You do?"

"My danger sense would have reacted otherwise," Organa Solo told him. "Long

before she arrived in this room."

"What did you do to the guard on the roof?" the Noghri snarled.

"I taught him not to be carelessly compassionate," Shada said. "He's not hurt,

except possibly his pride."

There was a quiet mewing of alien language from a comlink attached to the

Noghri's collar. "Gharakh?" Organa Solo murmured.

"He is unhurt," the Noghri said. His blaster was still aimed at Shada, but his

eyes seemed fractionally less baleful. "They are freeing him from his

restraints."

There was a whisper of movement from the corridor behind Shada. She started to

turn her head&mdash

"Stand where you are," a Noghri voice ordered from behind her. "Lift your arms."

Shada did as instructed, holding her arms out to the sides as alien hands

flitted across her body, wondering where this other group had been hiding. To

have sneaked up behind her in what bad seemed to be a dead-end corridor&mdash

She smiled to herself. Of course: they'd come from the roof, following her route

down the safety line and in through the bedroom window.

And they'd done so with a speed and efficiency that rivaled the best the Mistryl

could have offered. Perhaps the Noghri weren't as overrated as she'd thought.

A minute later the probing hands were gone, taking her hip pack and climbing

harness with them. "Sit down," the Noghri standing next to Organa Solo ordered,

gesturing toward one of the chairs in the conversation circle. "Keep your hands

where they can be seen."

"Don't you trust your searchers?" Shada asked, sitting down in the indicated

chair. "Or your mistress, for that matter? Councilor Organa Solo already told

you I wasn't here to hurt anyone."

The Noghri's eyes seemed to blaze. "Why are you here?" Organa Solo asked calmly

before the alien could speak.

"I wanted to talk to you," Shada told her, settling her forearms along the

chair's armrests. "This was the only way I could do it."

She'd expected an outraged denial, or at the very least a snort of derision. But

the other woman merely lifted her eyebrows slightly.

Solo was less of a disappointment. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

His blaster, Shada noted, was in his lap, no longer pointed directly at her. But

he still had a grip on it.

"It means that unless you're someone with power or money, the corridors of the

high and mighty are closed to you," Shada told him, not particularly caring

whether she sounded bitter or not. "I've been trying to call for the past three

days, and no one would put me through. So much for the great and wonderful New

Republic, friend of all the common people."

"So what, you never heard of leaving a message?" Solo growled.

"A message that said what?" Shada countered. "That a nobody with no credentials

or status wanted to talk to a great and glorious High Councilor? It would have

been tossed out with the next clearing wipe."

"You're talking with me now," Organa Solo said mildly. "What is it you want to

say?"

Shada focused on her, the carefully rehearsed words seeming to stick in her

throat Words that would slice through her last ties to the Mistryl, and her

people, and her life. "I want to join you," she said, her voice sounding hollow

and distant in her ears. "I want to join the New Republic."

For a painfully long moment the only sound in the room was the thudding of her

own heart in her throat. It was, predictably, Solo who broke the silence. "You

what?" he asked.

"I want to join the New Republic," Shada repeated. The second time wasn't any

easier than the first. "I have a number of abilities you'll find useful: combat

and surveillance, escort and security-"

"Why are you asking us about this?" Solo interrupted, sounding bewildered. "The

New Republic has recruitment centers all over Coruscant."

"I don't think you fully appreciate the situation here, Solo," Karrde spoke up

before Shada could reply. "Shada hasn't just walked in off the street-or rather,

dangled in off the roof. She's chief bodyguard for our smuggler friend Mazzic."

A ripple of surprise ran across the others' faces. "Former bodyguard," Shada

corrected. "I resigned three weeks ago."

Karrde cocked an eyebrow. "Your idea?"

Shada felt her throat tighten. "Not entirely."

"I don't see what difference it makes where she came from," Solo persisted.

We're still none of us in the business of hiring."

"Han's right, Shada," Organa Solo said, her eyes studying Shada's face with an

uncomfortable intensity. Had those Jedi techniques pulled the secret Mistryl

connection from her mind? "There's really nothing we can do for you."

"I'm not asking for charity," Shada bit out. "Frankly, you need me more than I

need you. Especially with Thrawn on the loose again-"

"What do you know about Thrawn?" Solo asked sharply.

"I was in the back room just now," Shada said. She glanced over at Karrde,

caught the sudden tightening of his expression. "Calrissian implied be was

back."

She looked back at Organa Solo. "I also know about the Caamas Document," she

told the other woman. "And I know that the only way you're going to get out of

the mess you're in is to get hold of an intact copy of it."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Calrissian throw a significant look at

Karrde, a look the smuggler chief carefully ignored. "It would certainly help,"

Organa Solo acknowledged. "What does this have to do with you?"

"You're going to need help," Shada told her. "I can supply it."

"All by yourself?" Karrde murmured.

"Yes, all by myself," Shada bit out. "You've seen me in action. You know what I

can do."

She looked back at Solo. "So do your people, though you might not know it," she

said. "Nineteen years ago on Tatooine I helped get you the technical readout for

a prototype component of the second Death Star's superlaser."

Another ripple of surprise ran through the room. A ripple that, to Shada's own

mild surprise, didn't seem to touch Solo himself. "Really," he said. "Tell us

how."

"A friend and I stole the component from an Imperial research base," she said,

trying to read his face. Suddenly the one who'd been pushing her the most seemed

almost to be on her side. "It was code-named the Hammertong. We flew the ship it

was mounted aboard to Tatooine-"

"What kind of ship?" Solo interrupted.

"Loronar Strike Cruiser," Shada said. "Heavily modified-the interior had been

gutted so the thing would fit inside. We half buried the ship in a dune and went

to the Mos Eisley cantina to find a freighter pilot with a ship who could

transport a segment of it for us."

She gestured to Solo. "My partner and I saw you gun down Greedo in there," she

said. "We were going to try to hire you, but were picked up by the Imperials

before we could get over to you."

"Why?" Solo asked. "I mean, why did they grab you?"

"Karoly and I had disguised ourselves as Brea and Senni Tonnika. Our cam-we'd

beard we looked a lot like them," she corrected as smoothly as she could. Now

was not the time to mention the Mistryl camouflage prematch files. "We didn't

know some Moff had put a detain order on them. Anyway, a Rebel sympathizer

sprung us from our police cell and got us a freighter. We flew out a segment of

the superlaser component and gave him a droid with the technical readout loaded

in."

"What was this sympathizer's name?" Solo asked.

Shada had to search her memory. "Winward," she said. "Riij Winward."

Solo nodded slowly. "So that was you, huh?"

Organa Solo blinked at him. "You knew about this?"

"I read Winward's report," Solo told her. "It was in the briefing textdoc Madine

gave us before we headed out for Endor."

His wife shook her head. "I must have missed it."

"Well, there were a couple of small differences," Solo said dryly. "According to

Winward, they'd promised him his own segment of the superlaser in return for

springing them."

"There was a sandstorm coming," Shada protested. "There was no time to cut

another segment and get it loaded."

"And they didn't exactly give him the technical readout," Solo added. "He had to

sort of borrow their droid to get it."

Shada felt her face warm. "Yes, you're right," she admitted. "I'd forgotten

that"

"Charming," Calrissian murmured under his breath.

Shada threw him a glare. "For whatever it's worth, my partners thought we should

have killed him rather than let anyone know what we'd done," she bit out. "I

stopped them from doing that."

There was another silence. A hard, tense, discomfiting silence. Shada kept her

eyes on Organa Solo, trying to read her face. As the ranking political power of

the group, it would be up to her to make the final decision.

"I've got an idea," Calrissian spoke up. "She said Karrde knows what she can do.

So why don't we send her with him?"

Shada looked at Karrde, her impulsive refusal freezing in her throat. She'd just

wasted twelve years with one smuggling group, and she hadn't come to Coruscant

just to hook up with another one.

But there was something in Karrde's expression . . .

"And just where is it Karrde's going?" Solo asked, cocking his head toward the

smuggler chief.

"A special mission," Karrde said. His eyes were still on Shada, that expression

still on his face. "Something Calrissian asked me to do."

"Do we get a hint?" Organa Solo asked, a small smile playing around her lips.

Karrde didn't smile back. "It's possible there's a copy of the complete Caamas

Document out there that's not in Imperial hands," He told her, "I'm going to see

if I can get hold of it."

Solo and Organa Solo exchanged startled glances. "Why didn't you tell us this

before?" Organa Solo demanded, the patient amusement gone from her face.

"Because up till now none of this has been any of my business," Karrde said

coolly. "Political arguments have nothing to do with me, except insofar as

planetary snits and sulkings tend to benefit information dealers."

He booked at Calrissian. "But now a new factor has been stirred in to the mix.

One which I've been persuaded can no longer be ignored."

Organa Solo hunched her shoulders as if a sudden cold draft had blown across her

back. "Thrawn."

Karrde nodded soberly. "Thrawn." He looked at Shada. "And yes, I would be

greatly pleased to have Shada's assistance. If she's willing, of course."

Shada grimaced, the irony a bitter taste in her mouth. Nineteen years late,

she'd finally made the wrenching decision to shift her allegiance from her own

people to the New Republic . . . only to find that the New Republic didn't want

her. And the only one who did was as much an outcast from their great and

wonderful new society as she was. "Sure," she told Karrde. Why not?"

"Trust me, Shada, Karrde gets all his best people this way," Calrissian said

dryly. "When you get aboard the Wild Karrde, ask Mara Jade how she got hired."

Something flickered across Karrde's face. "Mara won't be with us," he said.

"That's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you tonight, Leia. Mara's come to

some kind of . . . accident."

Calrissian's sly smile vanished, and the others sat up straighter What kind of

accident?" Organa Solo asked.

"A confusing one," Karrde said with a grimace. "She and the Starry Ice tracked

one of the unidentified ships your brother saw in the Kauron system-"

"Wait a minute," Solo interrupted. "What's this about unidentified ships?"

"He and Mara saw it skulking around the Cavrilhu Pirates' base," Karrde said.

"Didn't he send you a report?"

"Yes, but only a very sketchy one," Organa Solo said. "He just said he hadn't

learned anything from the pirates and that he would give us all the details when

he got back to Coruscant. There was nothing about any unidentified ship."

"He must not have wanted to say anything on an open channel," Karrde said. "I've

got a copy of his and Mara's records of that sighting, plus the data we took

when another of the ships buzzed the Errant Venture. I'll get copies to you

before I leave."

"Forget the ships a minute," Calrissian put in impatiently. "What happened to

Mara?"

"The Starry Ice tracked it to a small world in Gradilis sector," Karrde said.

"Mara went in for a closer look and spotted a fortress, entered a cave for a

one-sided conversation with unknown beings, mentioned Skywalker's name in

response to something they said or did, and then abruptly went silent."

Calrissian's face bad gone rigid. "You mean she was-?"

"No, she wasn't killed," Karrde hastened to assure him. "At least not then-you

can hear her breathing on the recording that was pulse-transmitted back to the

Starry Ice."

"And these beings knew Luke?" Organa Solo asked, her forehead furrowed. With

thought or dread, Shada couldn't tell which.

"Knew him, or knew of him," Karrde told her. "There wasn't enough context for us

to tell which."

"We need to get hold of him right away," Solo said to his wife. "See if he can

tell us anything."

Karrde cleared his throat self-consciously. "Actually, I've already spoken to

him. He couldn't shed any light on it, either."

Organa Solo regarded him suspiciously. "And?" she prompted.

"That was the other thing I wanted to tell you," Karrde said, his urbane air

cracking just a bit. "He's gone off to find her."

Organa Solo's expression didn't change, but suddenly the temperature in that

part of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. "He's what?" she asked, her tone

ominous.

"She's in danger, Leia," Karrde said. "Luke was the only one who could get there

fast enough to make a difference. The only one who had a reasonable chance of

dealing with whatever the creatures were Mara ran into. And whoever or whatever

is up in that fortress. This doesn't just concern Mara; it concerns the entire

New Republic."

"And what, you think this Bothan mess doesn't?" Solo growled. He was on his feet

now, glaring across the conversation circle at Karrde. "We've got a hundred

little wars simmering out there, half of them using Caamas as an excuse to go in

and settle old grudges. We've already emptied the New Republic diplomatic corps

and Jedi academy trying to find enough mediators to go around, and we still

don't have enough. We need Luke here."

"I didn't force him to go after her," Karrde countered, not quite glaring back.

"He weighed all the factors and made his own decision."

"Except that he didn't know Thrawn was back," Solo countered. "Did he?"

"Let it go, Han," Organa Solo said quietly, reaching up to touch her husband's

arm. "What's done is done. Karrde's right: it was Luke's decision to make. He's

made it, and we'll just have to manage without him until he returns."

"If it helps, you can consider my service to be in exchange for his," Karrde

said, his mouth still tight. "I'm sorry to have brought such bad news. I really

thought you'd be more understanding."

Solo took a deep breath, exhaled it raggedly. "Yeah," he said. "Well. . . when

are you heading out?"

"Immediately," Karrde said, crossing to Shada and offering her a hand. "Assuming

my new assistant has no errands she has to attend to first."

"I'm ready whenever you are," Shada told him, ignoring the proffered hand and

getting to her feet without assistance. "Assuming Councilor Organa Solo's

bodyguards are finished sifting through my pack and climbing gear."

"They are waiting for you by the door," the Noghri beside Organa Solo said

gravely.

"Fine," Karrde said, nodding to Organa Solo as he moved toward the entrance.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Leia. I'll contact you if and when I find

anything."

"Two other things, Karrde, before you go," Organa Solo said. "Three actually.

First: will you need a translator droid for your trip?"

"That's a good point," Karrde conceded. "The organization has several, of

course, but none are aboard the Wild Karrde at the moment. It won't be too hard

to pick one up along the way, though."

"That'll take extra time," Organa Solo said. "If you'd prefer, we could lend you

Threepio."

Solo made a noise in the back of his throat. "Over his stripped gears, of

course."

"That's a very generous offer." Karrde cocked an eyebrow. "It wouldn't have

anything to do with the thought that you might be able to get an unbiased report

of the trip out of him when we get back, would it?"

"Of course not," Organa Solo said, arching her own eyebrows slightly. "I'm hurt

you'd even suggest such a thing."

"Forgive me," Karrde said. "In that case, I accept, with thanks."

"As Han suggests, we'll want a few minutes to talk with him first," Organa Solo

said. "We can bring him over to the spaceport when we pick up those spaceship

records from you. Second: I wasn't able to tell you this before, but under the

circumstances it's something you may need to know. One of the other datacards

that Devaronian found at Mount Tantiss was labeled The Hand of Thrawn.'"

Karrde nodded. "Yes, I'd heard."

Organa Solo's eyebrows lifted. "How did you-? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"My source and I thank you for your discretion," Karrde said. "There's something

else you need to know, though. Before Mara went chasing after that unknown ship,

we picked up a transmission from it, clearly directed at the Errant Venture. We

haven't yet been able to decipher the message, but it definitely contained

Thrawn's name. His full name, not just the core name Thrawn'."

Solo frowned. "I didn't even know he had more name."

"Most people don't," Karrde agreed. "But Mara did. So did whoever was aboard

that ship."

"What do you think it means?" Organa Solo asked.

"I don't know," Karrde said. "Maybe we'll have some answers when Skywalker and

Mara get back. At any rate, I'll add a copy of that recording in with the

others. You said there were three things?"

Organa Solo smiled. A smile that was shaded with tension, but a smile

nonetheless. "May the Force be with you," she said quietly.

Almost involuntarily, Shada thought, Karrde smiled back. "And with you," be

said. His eyes flicked to Solo and Calrissian. With all of you," be added.

"Good-bye."

***

"Nice speech you made back there," Shada commented as Karrde lifted the

airspeeder off the Orowood Tower's pad and turned its nose toward the West

Championne field where the Wild Karrde was waiting. "A little over-rehearsed,

maybe, but not bad for all that"

"You're too kind," Karrde said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She

was staring straight ahead at the nighttime Coruscant landscape, her face

faintly illuminated by the glow from the instrument board. With better light, he

decided, her expression would probably still have been impossible to read, "May

I ask which part of the discourse sounded like a speech to you?"

"That bit about why it had to be Skywalker who went charging off to rescue Mara

Jade," she said. "You weren't really expecting them to greet that news with

shouts of joy, were you?"

Karrde shrugged. "I didn't expect them to be quite so upset about it, either,"

he said. "Of course, to be fair, I didn't know about Thrawn until this evening."

Shada shook her bead. "It's hard to believe he survived."

"Agreed," Karrde said. "On the other hand, it's equally hard to believe the

Empire would pull a dangerous stunt like this purely as a bluff. Either Thrawn's

really back, or somebody somewhere has a Pure 23 hidden in his vest."

Shada seemed to ponder that. "Suppose this Thrawn is actually just a clone," she

said. "Would it be as skilled as the original?"

"I suppose it would depend on how much of his tactical ability was innate and

how much was learned." Karrde considered. "And whether or not they used a

flash-teaching imprint taken from Thrawn's own mind, and how good the pattern

was. I just don't know."

"Because if they have one clone of Thrawn, why not fifty?" Shada went on. "And

if they have fifty clones of Thrawn, why not a hundred clones of that crazy Dark

Jedi Joruus C'baoth, too?"

Karrde winced. That last possibility hadn't even occurred to him. "Why not,

indeed?"

Shada didn't pick up on his rhetorical question, and a dark silence descended on

the airspeeder. Karrde flew mechanically, not really seeing Coruscant's

magnificent horizon-to-horizon lights.

Or rather, seeing the total destruction of those lights superimposed on his

view. Thrawn had threatened such destruction the last time he attacked the

planet. This time, he might actually do it.

They were descending toward the reassuring bulk of the Wild Karrde when Shada

spoke again. "So who's this Jorj Car'das we're looking for?"

With an effort, Karrde shook off the vision of a circle of Star Destroyers

closing in on him. "He's someone who used to be in the same business I am," he

told her. "Probably still is, actually."

"But not a competitor?" she prompted.

"You were certainly paying attention in there," he complimented her.

"Incidentally, just out of curiosity, where in the bedroom were you hiding? I

didn't notice any place where anyone bigger than a Noghri could have been tucked

away."

"I was on the floor, between the back bed and the wall," she said. "A gap like

that always looks smaller than it really is. If Car'das wasn't a competitor,

what was he?"

Karrde threw her a smile. "Persistent, too. I like that in my people."

"Delighted to hear it," she said. "If he wasn't a competitor, what was be?"

Ahead, the Wild Karrde's hangar door was sliding open to receive them. "Ask me

on the way into the Exocron system," he told her. "Assuming we make it that

far."

Shada snorted under her breath. "So, what, you're asking me to risk my life on

nothing but your word?"

"You don't have to come," Karrde said mildly. "If you want to leave right now,

you're free to do so."

She looked away from him. "Thanks for the permission. I'll stay."

The airspeeder settled with a muffled dunk into its slot in the Wild Karrde's

hangar. "As you choose," Karrde said as be shut down the engines. "Out of

curiosity, why exactly did you leave Mazzic?"

She twisted her shoulders out of the restraints. "Ask me on the way out of the

Exocron system," she said sardonically. "Assuming we make it that far."

Without waiting for a response she popped her door and dropped feetfirst onto

the deck. "I'm sure some of us will," Karrde murmured, watching as she threaded

her way between the other vehicles toward the exit.

The only question was which ones.

CHAPTER

23

This time, the alarm didn't come in the middle of dessert. It came instead in

the middle of the night.

Wedge jerked awake, hand flailing for a cutoff switch that wasn't where it was

supposed to be. His knee twitched to the side, coming up short against something

solid; and as the brief stab of pain jolted him fully awake, he remembered where

he was. As per orders-and one of General Bel Iblis's hunches-he and the rest of

Rogue Squadron were sleeping in their X-wings.

From the sound of the alarm still blaring away, the general's hunch had

apparently paid off.

He slapped at the alarm switch, hitting it this time, and keyed the comm.

"Antilles," he snapped.

"Full scramble," Commander Perris's voice snapped back. "We've got a panic call

in from Bothawui."

"Terrific," Wedge muttered, hitting his engine prestart. Trust the Bothans to

ruin a good night's sleep. "Okay, Rogues, you all heard the man. Let's get em in

the air."

There was a chorus of acknowledgments, and the whine of engine prestarts began

to fill their corner of the Di'tai'ni Diplomatic Landing Circle. Someone wearing

a maintenance coverall-a Trintic, probably, though it was hard to tell in the

dim light-was lumbering across the field toward the X-wings, gesturing

frantically at this no doubt unauthorized noise. Wedge gestured him back and

keyed in his repulsorlifts. "What is it, another Clan Building riot?"

"Get a good grip on your helmet," Perris said grimly. "According to the Bothans,

a Leresen attack force is on the way."

Wedge blinked. "A Leresen attack force?"

"That's what they say," the fighter coordinator confirmed. "A full-class war

fleet, and don't ask me what their problem is."

"Pick one," Rogue Three grumbled. "There are so many reasons nowadays to hate

the Bothans."

"Let's not sink to the lowest divisory here," Wedge admonished. The X-wings were

all in the air now, forming up around Wedge as they pulled for space. "Perris,

where's the general?"

"He's on his way up," Perris said. "C'taunmar and her A-wings are flying escort

for his shuttle, just in case. We're going to be a few minutes behind you,

though, and he said for you to go on ahead."

"And do what?" Rogue Five asked. "Bluff the Leresai until you get there?"

"Sure," Perris said dryly. "Unless, of course, the dazzling Rogue Squadron

reputation routs them completely."

"Oh, yeah, right," Rogue Five came back, just as dryly. "Isn't it lucky for the

Bothans that we and our dazzling reputation just happen to be only two systems

away from them?"

Wedge frowned. It was lucky, now that he thought about it. Suspiciously lucky,

in fact. "Perris, can you pull the original order that brought us here?" he

asked.

"Already pulled," Penis said. "According to Coruscant, the Di'tai'ni government

specifically asked for General Bel Iblis to mediate this dispute with their

resident non-Tai'ni workers."

"Any idea whether the Di'tai'ni government owes favors or large amounts of money

to the Bothan government?" Rogue Nine asked.

"That's a good question," Perris said thoughtfully. "A very good question, in

fact."

"It's my old CorSec training," Rogue Nine said. "They taught us to always follow

the money."

"Well, at the moment the money's irrelevant," Wedge said. They had reached the

deeper darkness of space now, almost far enough out to make the jump to

lightspeed. "We've been called in to defend a New Republic member from

aggression, and that's what we're going to do."

"Good luck," Perris said. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

The panel beeped: the course was set. "Okay, Rogues," Wedge said. "Let's go."

The flight to Bothawui took a little longer than that panic-call run they'd

taken a week ago to bail out the Sif'kries and their pommwomm-plant shipment.

Somehow, though, it felt a lot shorter. Wedge found his mind bouncing back and

forth between questions of imminent Leresen aggression, possible Bothan

duplicity, general galactic tension, and what in blazes his squadron was doing

in the middle of all of it.

And all too soon, they were there.

"Form up," he ordered as the rest of the X-wings came out of hyperspace around

him. "Pick up your long-range scanners."

"I don't think," Rogue Two said tightly, "that that'll be necessary."

Wedge grimaced. "No," he agreed. "I guess not."

It was a Leresen attack force, all right. And for once it looked as if the

Bothans hadn't been exaggerating. Spread out across the sky directly ahead of

the incoming X-wings were six capital ships, all of alien design and manufacture

but each nearly the size of a New Republic Assault Frigate. Another twenty

smaller ships filled the gaps between them, with at least five squadrons of

starfighter-class ships forming a defense perimeter around the whole group.

"Our reputation had better be really dazzling today," Rogue Twelve muttered.

"Cut the chatter," Wedge told him, studying the group. They were well outside

Bothawui's planetary shield, beyond the range of any ground-based weapons the

defenders were likely to have. He couldn't remember whether or not the Bothans

had any orbital battle platforms circling their homeworld, but if they did none

of them were on this side of the planet at the moment.

Which pretty much left Rogue Squadron all by itself out here. Twelve X-wings and

a reputation.

He cleared his throat and keyed the comm for a broad-band common frequency.

"This is General Wedge Antilles and the New Republic unit Rogue Squadron calling

the Leresen task force," he announced. "You're encroaching without permission on

Bothan space. Please state your intentions."

"This matter is none of your concern, Rogue Squadron," a startlingly melodious

voice responded. "It is a private dispute between the Leresen and Bothan

governments."

Wedge glanced at his scanners. No sign yet of Bel Iblis and the Peregrine. "May

I ask the nature of this dispute?"

"Death and resolution," the melodious voice said. "The death of two Leresai at

the hands of the Bothans, and the Bothan refusal to resolve."

Wedge grimaced, keying to the Rogues' private frequency. Clearly, there was a

terminology problem here, some Leresen concept or phrase that wasn't translating

properly to Basic. But even so, there was something else he wasn't getting here.

"Any idea what he's talking about?" he asked.

"Hang on-I'm checking the records," Rogue Eleven said. "I've got a hunch . . .

yep, here it is. There were two Leresai killed in that riot at the Combined

Clans Building. Both shot, one of them before the mob broke into the building."

"Thanks," Wedge said, switching back. "Leresen commander, I understand your

anger over your loss. What is it you want the Bothans to do in restitution?"

"Leresen law is very precise," the alien said. "Claw for claw, horn for horn,

life for life. One guilty for himself, or ten innocent of his tribe."

A cold chill ran down Wedge's back. "What do you mean, ten innocent?" he asked

carefully.

"The Bothans have refused to turn over to us members of the clans who killed two

unarmed Leresai," the voice said evenly. "Two lives will thus be paid by

twenty."

So mathematically precise, Wedge thought. But how exactly they thought they were

going to pull off such a trick with all the Bothans huddling safe behind their

planetary shield . . .

"Uh-oh," Rogue Four said quietly. "Vector three-six by four-one."

Wedge looked. Just coming into view around the planetary horizon behind and

beneath them was a small space station.

"It's a low-orbit, zero-gee-crystal manufacturing plant," Rogue Four continued

grimly. "Mon-Cal design. If I recall correctly, the normal worker complement is

fifteen to twenty-two."

Wedge bit back a curse, keying for private frequency. "Intercept course," he

ordered. "I want us between the station and the Leresai."

He switched the comm back as be threw power to the drive. "I understand your

anger and frustration with the Bothan government," he told the alien commander.

"But you must understand that we can't simply stand by and permit you to kill

innocent people. General Garm Bel Iblis will be here soon; perhaps he can

mediate-"

"There can be no mediation," the Leresai said with a note of finality in his

voice. "The law is the law, and its demands must be fulfilled. Neither you nor

any others will stop us."

There was a click, and the conversation was over. "Maybe not," Wedge muttered

under his breath as he keyed back to the Rogues' frequency. "But we can sure

give it a good try. All right, Rogues, time to get serious. Lock S-foils into

attack position." He reached for the control&mdash

"No!" Rogue Nine snapped suddenly. "Don't lock S-foils."

Wedge paused his hand hovering over the switch. Why not?"

"I don't know," Rogue Nine said, his voice tight with strain. "There's something

wrong. I can't quite . . . but there's definitely something wrong."

"Rogue Leader?" Rogue Eight asked.

"Stand by," Wedge said, switching his comm to Rogue Nine's personal frequency.

"Corran? What's up?"

"Like I said, I don't know," Rogue Nine repeated. "All I know is that I sensed

danger when you ordered the S-foil lock. I'm running a diagnostic now, but so

far I haven't found anything."

"Is this one of your-?" Wedge hesitated, not wanting to ask about the other's

Jedi skills even on a secure channel.

"I think so, yes," Rogue Nine answered the question anyway.

Wedge glanced ever at the Leresen task force. They hadn't moved from their

position. Waiting patiently for their target to orbit over to them.

And clearly not expecting any trouble at all from Rogue Squadron . . .

He keyed back to the main Rogue frequency. "Everyone hold course," he ordered,

turning his X-wing toward Rogue Nine. "You especially, Rogue Nine. I'm coming in

close."

A minute later they were flying in tight parade-flight formation, the twin

lasers on Wedge's starboard wingtips nearly brushing the underside of Rogue'

Nine's fuselage. "All right," he said, easing in another couple of centimeters.

"You've got my starboard flank; I've got your portside. Give it a fast look and

see if you can spot anything that shouldn't be there. If you don't, we'll switch

sides."

"No need," Rogue Nine said, his voice taut. "There it is: a thin cylinder

running vertically between the S-foils, just forward of the laser power line."

"You've got one, too," Wedge growled. Now that he knew where to look, the add-on

was obvious. "Ten to one the whole squadron's been booby-trapped."

"All right, so we don't lock S-foils," Rogue Two said. "We can still fire, can't

we?"

"I don't think we should try it," Wedge warned, frowning hard at the

innocent-looking cylinder. "In fact-Corran, roll starboard a couple of degrees,

will you?"

Rogue Nine's fuselage rolled away slowly from him. "I was right," Wedge bit out,

thoroughly disgusted now. "The top of the cylinder's got two branches. One runs

into the wing's servo -line, the other looks like it feeds right into the laser

power line. My guess is that either locking or firing will knock out the lasers.

Or worse."

Rogue Twelve cursed feelingly. "Has to have been those two Leresai in the

Di'tai'ni maintenance crew who were always hanging around," he said. "So what do

we do, try to bluff them?"

Wedge looked out at the Leresen ships. They were on the move now, starting to

form up around the manufacturing station speeding helplessly toward them. "No

point," be said quietly. "They already know we're out of it."

And so they watched helplessly as the Leresai set about quickly, efficiently,

and systematically demolishing the station. Taking their toll of twenty innocent

lives in payment for the guilty.

By the time the rest of the Peregrine task force arrived, it was all over.

Or, perhaps more accurately, it had just begun.

***

"It's finally started," Leia announced bleakly as she locked the apartment door

behind her and sank down onto the couch next to Han. "The shooting has finally

started."

"Yeah, I heard," Han said grimly, radiating concern as be slipped his arm around

her. "What's the Senate doing about it?"

"Mostly trying to figure out what they can do," Leia told him.

"What's to figure?" Han asked. "The Leresai slaughtered twenty-one Bothans, not

to mention shredding a perfectly good space station. Can't Gavrisom just order

the Leresen government brought up on charges?"

"I wish it were that easy," Leia said. "Unfortunately, it's not. Three of the

High Councilors have already stated they'll vote against any such resolution, on

the grounds that we haven't made similar reparation demands on the Bothan

government over the destruction of Caamas."

"But they're not the same thing," Han insisted. "In fact, they're exactly

opposite. The Leresai killed innocent people; the Caamas thing is about not

punishing innocent people."

"We didn't demand that the Bothans punish the surviving guards who fired on the

rioters, either," Leia reminded him.

She sensed his flash of gruff embarrassment. "Yeah," be growled. "Because of

me."

Leia squeezed his knee reassuringly. "Not just because of you, dear," she said.

"The Council's position is that the guards' action qualified as self-defense.

Unfortunately, not everyone sees it that way."

Han sniffed. "Clan thinking."

"Yes, I know," Leia said. "It doesn't make sense to me, either, to hold a

relative or clansman responsible for someone else's actions. But the reality is

that family or clan accountability is a central tenet of a lot of cultures out

there."

"Maybe," Han conceded. "But you still have to slap down the Leresai. If you

don't, it'll just encourage everyone else who has a grudge against the Bothans."

"It already has," Leia said, a shiver running through her. "A dozen other

governments have filed notice with the Senate that they're going to be

presenting their own lists of demands against the Bothans."

"Or else?"

Leia shrugged. "That's the implied threat."

Han made a rude noise in the back of his throat "You know what high esteem I

hold the Bothans in, hon, but this is getting ridiculous. I suppose Fey'lya's

screaming to Gavrisom for protection?"

"He doesn't have to," Leia told him. "The Diamala and Mon Calamari have

announced they're sending ships to defend Bothawui against any further

aggression."

Han whistled under his breath. "You're kidding. What kind of ships?" &mdash

"Big ones," Leia said. "Star Cruisers from the Mon Cals, some Nebula and

Endurance-class warships from the Diamala. They say they're protecting the

rights of the innocent. Others are saying they're just the latest victims of

Bothan manipulation."

"That would be my vote," Han said. "Has Bel Iblis proved yet the Bothans were

behind that phony Di'tai'ni mediation request?"

"No actual proof, but he personally has no doubts the whole thing was a ruse to

keep him and the task force within easy striking distance of Bothawui," Leia

said, grimacing. "Between that and the Leresai sabotage of Rogue Squadron's

lasers-"

"What, they've admitted it?"

"Not only admitted it, they were proud of it," Leia said. "They consider it the

height of honor to keep outsiders from getting hurt in one of their quarrels."

Han snorted. "I'll bet Wedge was real pleased about that."

"He and Garm are about ready to spit blaster bolts," Leia said. "Garm told

Gavrisom flat-out that the New Republic is not going to play the lowest piece in

anyone else's political games."

"That sounds like a direct quote," Han said. "Here, turn around a little."

Pulling his arm from behind her neck, he started massaging her shoulders.

"It was," Leia said, feeling her taut muscles softening reluctantly under the

pressure of Han's fingertips. "That feels good."

"Good-it's supposed to," Han said with a touch of forced humor. "You know,

messing with someone like Bel Iblis wasn't a smart thing for the Bothans to do."

"I'm sure they know that," Leia agreed. "It shows how desperate they're

getting."

She sensed the sideways movement as Han shook his bead. "This is crazy, Leia.

Don't any of them even care that Thrawn's back?"

"Of course not," Leia said. "Half of them don't believe a word of it-they think

the Diamala cooked the whole thing up to scare everyone into letting the Bothans

off the hook, The other half concede it may be true, but don't see any way the

Empire could possibly be a threat to them anymore."

"Then they're all fools," Han growled. "Thrawn's got something up his sleeve.

I'll bet the Falcon he does."

"I agree," Leia said with a sigh. "On the other hand, at this point he almost

doesn't have to do anything at all. The New Republic's rapidly degenerating into

a hundred different armed camps, all polarized around the Caamas issue."

"Can't the Caamasi do anything to stop it?" Han asked. "They can't want this."

"Of course they don't," Leia said. "But you have to understand that Caamas has

become more an excuse than it is a genuine issue. Everyone says they have the

interests of Caamas and justice at heart, but a lot of them are just using that

as a battle cry while they settle old scores."

"Yeah," Han said sourly. "So what do we do?"

"Only one thing we can do," Leia said. "We have to take the excuse away from

them; and that means getting the names of the actual Bothans that were involved

and putting them on trial."

There was a subtle change in Han's emotions. "Yeah," he said. "Well . . .

Karrde's trying."

Leia frowned. "Did you speak to him today? I thought he'd already left

Coruscant."

"Far as I know he has," Han said. "No, I just put out the word with a few

smuggling people I know that I want to talk to Mazzic."

"What about?"

"I just wanted to find out whether this Shada D'ukal really worked for him," Han

told her. "And why exactly she left."

Leia smiled. "You wouldn't be worried about Karrde, would you?"

"No," Han protested. "Course not. He can take care of himself."

"It's all right, dear," she soothed him, patting his leg again. "I like him,

too."

"I don't exactly like him," Han said, still protesting. "I mean, he can be a

real pain in the neck sometimes."

"So could you, dear," Leia reminded him. "Still can, for that matter. You know,

I sometimes think Karrde is sort of what you would have been if you hadn't

joined the Rebellion."

"Maybe," Han said. "Except for the beard."

"Thank the Force for small favors," Leia said dryly. "Anyway, that's how I spent

my day. Aside from chatting with smugglers, how did you spend yours?"

"Thinking, mostly," he said. "I was thinking it was about time we got away for a

while."

"And a lovely thought that is," Leia murmured. "But Gavrisom would have a fit if

I tried to leave right now."

"That might make it worthwhile all by itself," Han said. "I don't think I've

ever seen Puffers throw a fit."

Leia smiled. "I appreciate the offer, Han, I really do. But you know we can't."

"You give up too easily," he reproved her casually. "I'll bet you I could

arrange something."

Leia pulled away from the massage, tuning to frown at him. There'd been another

change in his emotions just then . . . "And assuming I took that bet," she asked

suspiciously, "what else would you tell me you did today?"

He favored her with one of his innocent looks. "Me? Oh, nothing much. You taking

the bet or not?"

"Out with it, Han," she said, putting some intimidation into her frown. Where

did you book us a flight to?"

As always, the intimidation bounced off without noticeable effect. "Nowhere

important," he said, a smile now lurking beneath all the innocence. "I just

thought we could take a little jaunt out to Kanchen sector. Pakrik Major, to be

exact"

Leia searched her memory. She'd heard of Kanchen sector, and vaguely remembered

Pakrik Major being the sector capital. But that was about it. What's out there

that we're interested in?" she asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Han assured her. "Well, I mean except for an annual sector

conference that a New Republic official really ought to attend. You

know-diplomatic courtesy and all that."

She sighed. "And what crisis are they going through that they need me to

mediate?"

"That's the beauty of it," he said, grinning openly now. "There isn't one.

Everything out there's real peaceful. We'd sit through a few boring meetings,

then head off into the silence and relax."

"You assume there's silence somewhere nearby that we can get to."

"There is," Han said. "Pakrik Major's got a twin planet, Pakrik Minor, where

they've got nothing but farms, a few resorts, and lots of undeveloped

countryside."

This was sounding better and better. "Farms, you say?"

"Fruit and tallgrain, mostly," Han said with a nod. "And forests and mountains

and all the silence you want And no one here even has to know we're going."

Leia sighed. "Except Gavrisom," she said, feeling a twinge of regret. "And he'll

never approve."

Han's grin turned smug. "Sure he will. Fact is, I called him this afternoon and

set it all up. He loves the idea."

She blinked. "He loves the idea?"

"Well, maybe he doesn't love it, exactly," Han backpedaled. "But he's letting us

go, and that's what's important. Right?"

"Right," Leia said, eyeing him. "You going to drop the other glove, or not?"

Han shrugged. "He didn't exactly say it outright," he admitted reluctantly, "but

I got the feeling he wouldn't mind if the two of us sort of disappeared for a

while."

"Even with Thrawn on the loose?"

Han made a face. "Especially with Thrawn on the loose."

Leia sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. She should have guessed that

there would be something like that behind it. Between the Bothan shooting

controversy still clinging to Han and her own support of Lando's unsubstantiated

claim about seeing Thrawn, the two of them had become political embarrassments.

No wonder Gavrisom was jumping at the chance to get them out of the public eye

for a while. "I'm sorry, Han," she apologized. "I always ask that one question

too many, don't I?"

"It's okay, hon," he said, squeezing her tightly. "We don't have to let them

take the shine off this, you know. It was our idea to take a vacation, no matter

what they think it is."

Leia smiled tightly. "You can't throw me out; I quit,'" she quoted the old joke.

"Something like that," he said. "Anyway, I talked to Chewie, and there's no

problem with keeping the kids on Kashyyyk a little longer. It'll be some time

just for the two of us."

Leia smiled tightly into his neck. "You know, that's almost exactly what I told

myself when Gavrisom sent us to Bothawui," she said. "You saw how well that

turned out."

"Well, this time it's going to work," Han said positively. "No Bothans, no

riots, no one shooting at us. Guaranteed."

"I'll hold you to that," she warned, pulling out of the hug for a quick kiss.

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as you're packed," he said, squeezing her arm. "And hurry up&mdashI've

been packed for hours."

"Yes, sir," Leia said, mock-seriously, as she stood up and headed for their

bedroom. Some quiet, peaceful time away from trouble and controversy. Yes, it

was exactly what she needed.

The tallgrain farms of Pakrik Minor. She could hardly wait.

CHAPTER

24

The scouts had spent the past twenty-eight hours sweeping the system; and when

they returned they brought the report Admiral Pellaeon had been expecting.

Except for the Chimaera itself, the Pesitiin system was about as deserted as a

region of space could be.

"Offhand, sir, I'd say he turned down your offer," Captain Ardiff said, coming

up beside Pellaeon on the Star Destroyer's command walkway.

"Perhaps," Pellaeon said, gazing out the viewport at the stars. "It's also

possible that my suggested timetable was a little optimistic. General Bel Iblis

may be having difficulty convincing the New Republic hierarchy that it would be

to their benefit to talk to me."

"Or else he's having trouble putting together a big enough combat force to take

on an Imperial Star Destroyer," Ardiff said ominously. "It strikes me that this

could be a giant rachnid's web we're comfortably settling ourselves into the

middle of."

"Relax, Captain," Pellaeon soothed the younger man. For all his budding military

capability, Ardiff had a tendency to ramble over his own tongue when he was

feeling nervous. "Bel Iblis is a man of honor. He wouldn't betray my invitation

that way."

"I seem to recall that he was also once a man of ambition," Ardiff countered.

"And at the moment be looks to be getting lost among the swarm of other generals

and admirals infesting the New Republic military. It could easily occur to an

ambitious man that capturing you would dramatically increase his visibility."

Pellaeon smiled. "I'd like to believe that after all these years I could still

be such a valuable prize," he said. "But I hardly think that to be the case."

"You can be as modest as you want, Admiral," Ardiff said, gazing uneasily out at

the starlit sky. "But right now you're about the only thing that's holding the

Empire together."

Pellaeon gazed out at the stars. "Or the only chance we have of survival," he

added quietly.

"However you want to think about it, sir," Ardiff said, a note of asperity

creeping into his voice. "The point remains that Colonel Vermel went out to

deliver your message and never returned. Why?"

"I don't know," Pellaeon had to concede. "I take it you have a theory?"

"Yes, sir, the same theory I've had since before we left Yaga Minor," Ardiff

said. "I think Vermel learned something, either from Bel Iblis directly or else

he overheard something someone else said. That whatever he heard made it

necessary for Bet Iblis to lock him up where he couldn't communicate with you.

That at best we're wasting our time, and that at worst we're walking into a

trap."

"It's still a worthwhile gamble, Captain," Pellaeon said quietly. We'll give Bel

Iblis a few days to show up. After that-"

"Admiral Pellaeon?" the sensor officer called from the starboard drew pit.

"Incoming ships, sir. Looks like eight of them, coming in on vector one-six-four

by fifty-three."

Pellaeon felt his throat tighten. "Identification?" he asked, trying to keep his

voice calm.

"Four are Corellian gunships," another voice called. "The big one's a Kaloth

battlecruiser&mdashlooks like it's been heavily modified. Three are Telgorn

Pacifier-class assault boats. IDs . . . inconclusive."

"What do you mean, inconclusive?" Ardiff demanded.

"Their IDs don't match anything in the registry," the officer said. "I'm running

an overlay check to see if I can unravel them."

"Disguised ships," Ardiff said darkly.

"Smugglers use ID overlays, too," Pellaeon reminded him. "So do pirates and some

mercenary groups."

"I know that, sir," Ardiff said. "I also know that there's precious little in

this system any of those groups could possibly want."

"A point," Pellaeon admitted. "Communications officer, transmit our

identification and ask for theirs."

"Identification transmitted," the other said. "No response."

"Incoming ships have changed course," the sensor officer called. "Now on

intercept vector with the Chimaera."

Ardiff hissed tensely between his teeth. "Steady, Captain," Pellaeon advised

him. "Lieutenant, get me a full sensor scan of the incoming ships. Weapons

capabilities and hull markings in particular."

"Acknowledged, sir-"

"Admiral!" another voice cut him off. "Incoming ships have reconfigured into

attack formation."

"I think, Admiral," Ardiff said, his voice hard, "that we have Bel Iblis's

answer."

Pellaeon closed his left hand into a fist at his side. "Any hull markings,

Lieutenant?" he called.

"It's coming up now, sir . . . yes, sir, there are. The gunships are carrying

Corellian Defense Force insignia. The others . . . the same, sir."

"Thank you," Pellaeon murmured. He could feel Ardiff's eyes on him, and the heat

of the other's anger and bitter vindication. "Captain, you'd best prepare the

Chimaera for combat."

"Yes, sir." Ardiff half turned toward the portside crew pit. "All pilots to

their fighters," he ordered. "Ready to launch on my command. Deflector screens

powered up; all turbolasers energized and ready."

"And tractor beams," Pellaeon added quietly.

Ardiff threw him a puzzled glance. "Sir?"

"We may want to bring in one or more of the ships," Pellaeon explained. "Or some

of the battle debris."

Ardiff's lip twitched. "Yes, sir. All tractor beams, activate."

Pellaeon took a few steps closer to the forward viewport, moving away from the

heightened buzz of activity from the crew pits and aft bridge. Could that really

be Bel Iblis out there, blazing toward the Chimaera in full battle formation?

No. Ridiculous. He'd never met Bet Iblis in person, but everything he'd ever

read about the man indicated a strong sense of honor and dignity. A man like

that wouldn't pull what was essentially a cowardly sneak attack, not in response

to an honest request for parley. Even in Bel Iblis's losing battles against

Grand Admiral Thrawn he'd maintained that same dignity.

His battles against Thrawn . . .

Pellaeon smiled tightly. Yes, there it was. A way, perhaps, to find out whether

or not that was really Bel Iblis leading that motley attack force out there.

There was a movement of air at his side. "It's possible he's just being

cautious," Ardiff said, the words coming out with obvious reluctance. "The

shield overlap that comes from an attack formation like that makes it useful for

defense, as well. And he may simply not want to transmit his identity until he's

closer."

Pellaeon eyed the young captain with mild surprise. "You impress me, Captain,"

he said. "One of the most important attributes of a good commander is the

ability to think beyond his own expectations."

"I want to be fair, sir," Ardiff said stiffly. "But not at the risk of your

ship. Do you want me to launch TIEs or Preybirds?"

"Not yet," Pellaeon said, looking back out the viewport. The incoming ships were

visible now, tiny specks rapidly growing larger. "Whatever happens here, I want

it clear that we did nothing to provoke hostilities."

For a long minute they stood together in silence and waited. The incoming ships

grew steadily larger . . .

And suddenly they were speeding low across the Chimaera, raking the Star

Destroyer's upper surface with a blaze of turbolaser fire. They pulled up,

heading directly for the bridge-someone in one of the crew pits behind Pellaeon

yelped with surprise or fear&mdash

And then they were gone, branching to either side around the command

superstructure and pulling for the safety of distance.

Ardiff let out a hissing breath. "I think that proves their intentions,

Admiral," he said, his earlier nervousness vanished into an icy professionalism.

"Request permission to attack."

"Permission granted," Pellaeon said. "But with turbolasers only."

Ardiff gave him a sharp look. "No fighters?"

"Not yet," Pellaeon told him, searching the sky for the attackers. Probably

still making their way around after that mad plunge aft. "I have something else

planned for the Preybirds."

Ardiff threw a quick glance around them. "Admiral, I respectfully urge you to

reconsider," he said, his voice barely loud enough for Pellaeon to hear. "That

battlecruiser is packing some serious weaponry. It went by too fast this time to

do any major damage, but that kind of skittishness isn't likely to last. If we

don't use the fighters to keep them at arm's length we'll just be begging for

trouble."

"I understand your concerns, Captain," Pellaeon told him. The attackers had come

around into sight now, distant specks swinging around almost leisurely for their

second pass. "But I have my reasons. Order turbolaser batteries to stand ready."

He could see Ardiff's throat working, but the captain merely gave him a curt

nod. "Turbolaser crews: stand ready," he called harshly.

"Trust me, Captain," Pellaeon murmured, trying hard not to smile as his mind

suddenly flashed back ten years. Then, he'd been the earnest captain standing on

this same deck, trying in the most diplomatic way possible to make his superior

see sense in the middle of a tense combat situation. He'd had much more

experience than Ardiff, of course, but that had merely made his frustrations run

that much deeper as he stood by helplessly and watched as the Chimaera drove

hard into certain disaster.

And yet Thrawn had never reprimanded him for his impertinence or lack of

understanding. He had merely continued calmly with his plans, allowing the

results to speak for themselves.

Pellaeon could only hope that the results of this plan would be even half so

eloquent.

The attackers had completed their circling and turned toward the Chimaera. "Here

they come," the sensor officer called. "Looks like they're going to do a

crossways run this time."

"They're worried about running into the command superstructure," Pellaeon

commented. "That must mean one or more of their ships almost couldn't pull out

in time on that last run."

"Or else they're simply going for variety," Ardiff growled, frustration bubbling

beneath the words.

Again the memories flickered, and again Pellaeon carefully suppressed his smile.

Right now, in the heat of combat, a smile would definitely not be something

Ardiff would understand. "Stand by turbolasers," he said. "Fire at will."

The attackers swept toward them, weapons blazing. The Chimaera's turbolasers

answered, and for a few seconds the sky outside the bridge became a dazzling

display of green and red fire.

And then the attackers were gone, clawing again for distance, and the Star

Destroyer's awesome weaponry fell silent. "Damage?" Pellaeon called.

"Minor damage only," the report came from the starboard crew pit. "Three

turbolaser tracking systems in Quadrant One have been knocked out, and there are

some minimal hull breaches along the forward ridgeline. They've been seated

off."

"They're trying to knock out all the turbolasers in Quadrant One," Ardiff

muttered, "Once they do that, that battlecruiser can just sit off the bow and

blast away at the hull."

"That does seem to be their intention," Pellaeon agreed. "Damage to the enemy?"

"Unknown, but probably minimal," the sensor officer reported. "That overlapping

shield configuration of theirs is pretty strong-not easy to punch through."

"But it's primarily ray-shielding?" Pellaeon asked.

"Yes, sir, at least on the battlecruiser," the officer confirmed. "The gunships

also have some minimal particle shielding."

"We're not going to have much chance of hitting them with proton torpedoes, if

that's what you're thinking," Ardiff warned. "In close, their angular speed is

too high for the torpedoes to track; and at any real distance, they'll have all

the time they need to target and destroy them."

"I understand the tactics involved," Pellaeon said mildly. "Let's see if we can

rewrite the script a bit. Colonel Bas, order one Preybird squadron to launch on

my command. Their attack vector . . . "

He paused, following the attackers with his eyes. They had reached the farthest

point of their curve now, and were starting to swing back around for another

pass. "Attack vector two-three by seven," he decided. "They're to stay on that

vector in tight parade-flight formation until otherwise ordered."

He could feel Ardiff's eyes on him. "Parade-flight formation, sir?" the captain

echoed, clearly not believing his ears.

"The shield overlap will help protect them from enemy fire," Pellaeon explained.

"Not well enough," Ardiff countered. "Not against a Kaloth battlecruiser at

close-in range."

"With any luck, they won't need to get that close," Pellaeon said. Just as with

their last two runs, he saw, the attackers were coming straight in. Perfect

"Colonel: launch fighter squadron."

"Acknowledged," Colonel Bas said. "Fighters launched."

Pellaeon turned back to the viewport. A few seconds later the Preybirds appeared

around the edge of the hull, a clump of close-formation drive trails arrowing

straight out toward the incoming attackers. "Stand by Number Eight proton

torpedo cluster," he called. "All fifteen torpedoes to fire in three-by-five

sequence along vector two-three by seven."

The background hum in the bridge suddenly-seemed to falter. "Sir?" the

fire-control officer asked hesitantly. "That's the same vector-"

"As the Preybirds," Pellaeon finished for him. "Yes, I know, Lieutenant. You

have your orders."

"Yes, sir!"

"Fire torpedoes on my command only," Pellaeon continued, watching the Preybirds

streaking toward the incoming attackers. Almost there . . . "Colonel Bas, order

the Preybirds to perform a full-speed saggery-blossom maneuver on my command.

Lieutenant fire proton torpedoes."

"Torpedoes fired," the other confirmed; and from beneath the Chimaera's bow a

tight column of torpedo trails appeared, five groups of three torpedoes each,

driving hard directly toward the now-distant drive trails of the Preybirds.

Abruptly Ardiff gave a small snort of understanding. "Ah. Of course."

"Indeed," Pellaeon agreed, watching the departing torpedoes closely, painfully

aware of the sliced-second timing that was required. Almost there . . . "Colonel

Bas . . . now."

For a single agonizing heartbeat nothing happened. Then, with parade-flight

precision, the Preybirds broke out of their clustered formation. Turning sharply

out and away from their original vector, they formed a brief stylized saggery

flower shape as they curved back around toward the Chimaera. The enemy

turbolaser fire that had been pounding away at their overlapped shields split in

response, swinging outward to track each of the individual fighters&mdash

And with a flash of brilliant light the first three proton torpedoes roared

through the undefended center area, blazed their way directly between the two

gunships in the lead, and impacted squarely against the bow of the

battlecruiser.

Even from the Chimaera's distance the consternation among the attacking ships

was instantly apparent. Instantly apparent, and utterly useless. Even as the

bunched ships clawed desperately to get some distance between them, the second

torpedo group hit, blowing out an impressive cloud of shattered hullmetal and

transparisteel. The third group must have run into a piece of the debris from

that second blast; all three torpedoes blew prematurely, sending one of the

dodging gunships corkscrewing violently into the night with a ruptured hull.

By the time the last three torpedoes had spent their fury, the battle was over.

The battlecruiser had been reduced to rubble, and the other ships were running

for their lives.

"Brilliantly done, Admiral," Ardiff said, admiration and embarrassment mixing in

his voice. "I'm, ah, sorry if I sounded-"

"Understood, Captain," Pellaeon assured him. "Believe it or not, I've been in

your place myself."

"Thank you, sir." Ardiff gestured toward the glowing cloud of burning wreckage.

"Shall I send a team to retrieve some of the debris? It might be able to tell us

who that was."

"Go ahead and send a team," Pellaeon said. "But I can tell you right now that it

wasn't General Bel Iblis."

"Really," Ardiff said, his eyes on PeIlaeon as he gestured his order to the crew

pit. Not questioning, this time, but honestly curious. "How can you be that

sure?"

"First things first," Pellaeon said. "While the team is retrieving the debris, I

want you to run the record of the battle through the Predictor. It's still

online, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Ardiff said, smiling tightly with understanding. "That's why you let

them do that second run against us, isn't it? So that there would be enough data

for the Predictor to analyze."

"Exactly," Pellaeon said. "It didn't work very well at figuring out the tactics

of a given enemy; let's see if it can work in reverse to figure out the enemy

from the given tactics. If we're lucky, it may be able to give us at least a

hint of who out there might favor this particular combat style."

"And you're sure it wasn't Bel Iblis?"

Pellaeon looked out at the glowing cloud. "Have you ever heard of an A-wing

slash, Captain?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"It's a New Republic battle technique," Pellaeon said, turning back to face him.

"It requires highly precise timing, which is why it's hardly ever used. A group

of starfighters, X-wings usually, heads directly toward the defense line

guarding a capital ship. At the last second the X-wings disengage, veering

around and away."

"Rather like what our Preybirds just did."

"Exactly as our Preybirds just did," Pellaeon nodded. "The defenders' natural

reaction, of course, is to assume the attackers are attempting a flanking

maneuver and veer to follow and engage. But what they don't realize until it's

too late is that a group of A-wings has been flying directly behind the X-wings,

hidden by the X-wings themselves and their drive glow. By the time they spot

that second wave, they're too far out of line to block them, and the A-wings

have a clear run through to the now undefended ship."

"Clever enough," Ardiff said. "I can see why you wouldn't want to use it very

often, though it certainly worked well enough with proton torpedoes playing the

A-wings' role. What does this have to do with Bel Iblis?"

Pellaeon smiled tightly. "I was at the battle where he invented it."

Ardiff blinked in surprise; and then he too smiled. "In other words, it's not a

tactic he'd be fooled by?"

"Not a chance in the galaxy," Pellaeon agreed. "But with those Corellian

markings, I'd say someone worked very hard to make us think it was him."

Ardiff sobered. "Someone from the Empire?"

"Or someone from the New Republic," Pellaeon said. "We know there are factions

on our side who don't want peace. I imagine they have their counterparts on the

other."

"Probably," Ardiff said. "So what do we do now?"

"Whoever ordered that attack wanted us to think Bel Iblis was behind it,"

Pellaeon said. "The small size of the force, plus the quick and unashamed

disengagement, implies he didn't really care whether or not he actually

inflicted any damage. His purpose, therefore, must have been to drive us away

from here before Bel Iblis could arrive."

"And so we stay?"

"So we stay," Pellaeon agreed. "At least awhile."

"Yes, sir." Ardiff pursed his lips. "You realize, of course, that our unknown

opponent may not give up this easily. He may attack again."

Pellaeon turned again to look out at the fiery debris. "Let him try."

To Be Concluded