Specter of the Past pt1

Star Wars

The Hand of Thrawn Duology

Book 1

Specter of the Past

by Timothy Zahn

updated : 11.XI.2006

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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...

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."