Specter of the Past pt2

Booster was already running along the command walkway toward the forward viewport, Corran right behind him. "One-one-seven by fifteen, Bodwae," he snapped. "What do you see?"

"Nothjing," a bewildered Laerdocian voice said from one of the crew pits. "These shas'mink sensors-"

"It's hard to see," Mara put in, her voice coming now from the Errant Venture's main bridge speaker system. "Small and dark-looks a little like a severely modified TIE fighter."

"Doesn't show up well on sensors, either," Faughn added.

"Stjill see nothjing," Bodwae insisted.

"Skip it," Booster said tartly. He and Corran were standing together now by the forward viewports, Booster's head turning slowly back and forth as he searched the sky. "Get the deflector shields up, and stand by turbolasers."

"Shjields shortjing out agajin," Bodwae said. "Turbolasers-"

"I'm getting a transmission now," Shish barked. "Strong signal. It's . . . well, stang it all, I don't know what it is."

"Mara?" Karrde asked.

"We're picking up the edge of it," Mara confirmed. "Pretty faint out here, though. So far the computer's not making anything of it."

"There it is," Corran snapped, jabbing out a finger. "Coming straight at us."

"Get that bridge deflector up!" Booster snapped. "Now!"

"Mara?" Karrde called.

"We're still out of firing range," she said tightly. "Better take cover."

Karrde glanced around, belatedly wondering where Mirax was. He spotted her at once, heading at a dead run back toward the relative safety of the aft bridge, her bewildered-looking son Valin clutched in her arms. For a moment he considered joining her, realized it was already too late, and turned back instead toward the forward viewports. He could see the unknown intruder now, burning space directly toward them. Like no ship he'd ever seen . . .

"Brjidge deflector not comjing up," Bodwae snarled. "Shjip gojing to hjit."

"Hit the ground!" Booster snapped, grabbing Corran's arm and dropping them both flat on the command walkway. Karrde took a long step toward the nearest crew pit, realized he wouldn't have time to jump down into it, and stopped. The intruder was still coming&mdash

And then, at the last second, it made a strange corkscrewing maneuver to one, side and shot around and above past the viewport.

It took Karrde a second to find his voice. "Mara?"

"You all right?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, we're fine," he assured her, breaking his paralysis and starting down the command walkway toward where Booster and Corran were still stretched out on the deck. "Where did it go?"

"Overshot the command superstructure, cut around behind the drive nozzles where we couldn't see it, then jumped to light-speed," she told him. "Same trick as the one Luke spooked."

Karrde frowned out the viewports. "This was the same type as that one?"

"It looked like it," Mara told him. "Torve's doing a scrub of the sensor data now."

Booster and Corran were back on their feet by the time Karrde reached them. "Did you see that?" Booster demanded, shaking his head as he brushed himself off. "Of all the stupid, cherfer-brained stunts-"

"Captain, this is Torve," the young man's voice cut him off. "It's confirmed: same type of ship as before."

"Where did you see this other ship?" Booster asked.

"In the asteroids near the Cavrilhu's Kauron base," Karrde told him. "Mara, what about that transmission?"

"We're running it now," she said. "It consists of what seems to be a short message, followed by a pause, followed by a repeat of the message. So far we're not coming up with a match to any known language, code, or encrypt."

"Probably something useless like that Qella ship Calrissian chased halfway across the galaxy," Booster said with a scornful sniff.

"That's what we thought at first," Mara said. "I don't think so anymore."

"Why?" Booster asked. "Just because it was transmitting something?"

"Because it was transmitting specifically toward this ship," Karrde said. "And the fact that it paused and then repeated itself implies it was expecting an answer."

Booster scratched his cheek. "Does kind of sound that way, doesn't it? Mara, you're running Imperial codes against it, too, aren't you?"

"First thing we tried," she told him. "Nothing came even close."

"Yet they came in for a close look at an Imperial Star Destroyer," Karrde mused. "And before that they were poking around a pirate base with suspected Imperial ties."

"Sounds like they're either already involved with the Empire or else want to be," Mara said.

"Or maybe it's something else entirely," Faughn put in, her voice suddenly tight. "I've just run a phoneme analysis on that transmission; and I think I've found the name Thrawn' in there."

Karrde frowned. "Let's hear it."

There was a brief pause; and then over the comlink came a sputter of alien language.

Squarely in the middle of the gibberish&mdash

"I heard it," Booster said. "It was kind of broken up, like he was stuttering or something."

"That's because you were getting his full name there," Mara said, her voice suddenly grim. "Mitth'raw'nuruodo. Thrawn was what he called his core name."

Out of the corner of his eye, Karrde saw something flash across Corran's expression. "So you were on a full-name basis with the guy?" Booster asked with forced casualness.

"Hardly," Mara said. "But I did know his full name. And there weren't a lot of people in the Empire who did."

Karrde chewed his lower lip. "You know anything about his history? His early history with the Empire, I mean?"

"Not really," she said. "Some Imperial commander ran into him on a deserted world just inside the Unknown Regions while chasing smugglers. He was impressed by his tactical ability, and brought him back to Coruscant. Rumor was his own people had exiled him there, incidentally."

"Why?" Booster asked.

"I don't know," Mara said. "But it could be that ship was someone who's finally figured out where he went and has come looking for him."

Booster snorted. "They're going to be real disappointed when they find out they're ten years too late."

"Maybe not," Corran muttered. "It could be it's not Thrawn they're looking for."

Karrde studied the other's face. There was something there, all right. "I take it that's not an idle guess," he said mildly. "Would you care to share it with the rest of us ?"

Corran's lip twitched. "I wasn't supposed to say anything about this to anyone but Booster," he said reluctantly. "But under the circumstances . . . That Devaronian you got the Caamas Document from, Karrde? He found some other datacards in the same batch. One of them was labeled The Hand of Thrawn.'"

Karrde nodded slowly. So that was the secret Leia had been holding out on him at Wayland. And the reason she'd been giving Mara such a strange look.

"The datacard was so badly scrambled that they couldn't get anything from it," Corran continued. "Councilor Organa Solo thought it might be Thrawn's version of an Emperor's Hand. General Bel Iblis wanted me to ask Booster if he'd run across the term before."

"Never," Booster said, shaking his head. "Karrde? Mara?"

"No," Karrde said.

"Me, neither," Mara said. "And personally, I find it hard to picture Thrawn having that kind of shadow agent. He wasn't into the same kind of political manipulation that the Emperor was. Besides, he had the Noghri if he needed something special done."

"Yet there was a datacard with that title in the Emperor's private files," Karrde pointed out. "It must mean something."

"How do you know it was from his private files?" Booster asked.

"Because if it was something Bel Iblis could have looked up in the Kamparas archives, he wouldn't have sent Corran to ask you about it," Karrde pointed out

"Point," Booster rumbled. "So you figure these ships are looking for either Thrawn or this Hand of Thrawn?"

"Or else the person in the ship is the Hand of Thrawn," Mara said. Whichever, it's starting to look more important than ever that we try to track these ships down."

"Agreed," Karrde said. "How do you suggest we start?"

"We've got the vector from their jump a few minutes ago," Mara said. "We' also got the vector from the Kauron ship. Faughn's plotting an intercept point."

"Got it," Faughn said. "It's an unexplored system in Gradilis sector, right on the boundary between Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. It's listed as the Nirauan system, so someone must have visited the place, but there's no other data."

"Sounds too easy," Booster rumbled. "They wouldn't really be stupid enough to jump directly to their base like that, would they? Especially not with us watching."

"Depends on how they make their jumps," Karrde pointed out. "They may not have the computing power aboard to handle complicated hyperspace' calculations. Or it could be that their return home is preprogrammed to make sure none of their ships go astray."

"They also may not realize we can still pull their vector for a few microseconds after they jump," Mara added. "Both times now they've made sure they were out of our line of sight before kicking in their hyperdrive. They might think that's all they need to do."

"At any rate, it's a place to start," Karrde said, an odd reluctance seeping into him.

A reluctance Mara evidently could hear in his voice. "Would we rather not go?" she asked. "We could just turn all this over to the New Republic and let them handle it."

"Corran?" Booster prompted.

The X-wing pilot was still staring out the viewport at the stars. "I can take it back to Bel Iblis, no problem," he said, sounding vaguely distracted. "But I doubt he'll be able to do anything about it, at least not now. This whole Caamas thing has everybody in a knot-tie twist."

Karrde nodded, his instinctive reluctance turning still darker. Booster was right: this was too easy. A trap, perhaps, or at the very least a wild tresher hunt and a waste of time.

But if it wasn't . . .

"No, you'd better check it out," he sighed. "Have Faughn transmit her schedule to Chin before you jump; we'll sort her assignments out among the other ships."

"Right," Mara said. "Anyplace in particular you want us to rendezvous when we get back?"

"Just get in touch with the network-they'll find me," Karrde told her. "And be careful."

"Don't worry," Mara assured him grimly. "If they're trying some game, they'll be sorry they tried it on us. See you later."

Karrde thumbed off the comlink. "Good luck," he said softly.

"Don't worry, they'll be fine," Booster said, plucking the comlink from Karrde's hand and replacing it in his own belt. "Mara and Faughn are both pretty sharp, and the Starry Ice is a good ship. Better than this one, anyway," he added, glowering as he brushed past Karrde and stomped back down the command walkway. "All right, Bodwae, what the blinking mradhe muck is going on with those shields?"

He squatted down to hear the Laerdocian's excuses; and as he did so, Karrde stepped over to Corran's side. "You were right here when that alien ship went past," he said quietly. "Did you happen to sense anything unusual about it?"

Corran threw him a sideways look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean whatever it is that Skywalker picks up when he gets near a group of clones," Karrde told him. "Whatever this disturbance is that it creates in the Force."

For a long moment the only sound on the bridge was the argument going on behind them, now become three-way as Shish joined in on Bodwae's side. "I don't know what Luke senses when there are clones nearby," Corran said at last, his voice barely audible. "All I felt here was the presence of something alien."

Karrde nodded. "I see."

Corran turned to face him. "My . . . talent . . . is not exactly public knowledge, Karrde," he said, his tone somewhere between challenge and threat.

"Yes, I know," Karrde replied evenly. "Wise of you to keep it that way."

"I think so," Corran countered. "Problem is, you're in the business of selling information."

"Ah, but I'm also in the business of survival," Karrde said. "And in this big, dangerous galaxy one occasionally needs a helping hand." He cocked an eyebrow. "I always think it's nice when there are cards in that hand which the opposition doesn't know about."

Corran's forehead furrowed slightly. "So that's how it works, huh? You keep quiet, and I owe you one?"

Karrde looked back along the command walkway. From around the corner of the aft bridge Mirax and Valin had reappeared, Mirax looking cautious, the boy tugging impatiently at his mother's hand with the obvious wish to run to Daddy. "Yes, you owe me one," he told Corran. "But be assured that when I collect, it'll be something safe. I owe Mirax that much." He considered. "Either that, or something vital that absolutely has to be done."

Corran snorted gently. "That covers a lot of ground."

Karrde shrugged. "As I said. It's a big, dangerous galaxy."

CHAPTER

12

The west wall of the Resinem Entertainment Complex was dirty and salt-encrusted, discolored with age and pitted by the debris from the explosion fifteen years earlier that had leveled the rival gambling hall down the street. From the far side of the fifty-meter depression that marked the explosion's center the Resinem's west wall was said to be rather attractive, the random bits of damage weaving themselves into intriguing visual patterns, particularly in the shifting glow of a Borcorash sunset.

But sunset was long past, and Shada wasn't on the far side of the pit, anyway. She was three-quarters of the way up the west wall, digging her climbing hooks carefully into the various cracks and cavities; and from this perspective, all she could tell was that the wall was dirty and not much fun. Join a smuggling group, she thought darkly for about the fifth time since beginning her climb. Visit a side of the galaxy the tourists never see.

It wasn't fun, but it was necessary. Very soon now Mazzic and Griv would be escorted onto the Resinem's ultra-private top floor for a meeting with a smooth-talking Kubaz who represented a shadowy Hutt crime cartel. Griv was carrying a small case full of ryll, the Kubaz would be carrying a similarly sized case full of Sormahil fire gems, and in theory the gathering would break up with a simple and mutually profitable exchange.

In theory.

Somewhere in the distance off to her right an airspeeder swung around in preparation for landing; and as its landing lights sent a brief splash of pale illumination across the wall in front of her, Shada felt a fresh surge of depression sweep through her. She hadn't been home to Emberlene for over twelve years now, not since Mazzic had hired her on as his bodyguard, but the grime and deterioration of this wall had brought all those memories back as if it had been yesterday. Memories of growing up amid the ruins of what had once been great cities. Memories of the death that had struck so often around hen death by disease, by malnutrition, by violence, by hopelessness. Memories of pervasive hunger, of eking out an existence by the vermin she was able to catch and kill, and on her share of the meager foodstuffs that came in from what was left of the countryside's arable land.

And on the outworld supplies that finally began coming in. Supplies not donated by caring offworlders or a generous Republic, but earned by the blood and sweat and lives of the Mistryl shadow guards.

They were the elite of what remained of Emberlene society, commissioned personally in their crusade by the Eleven Elders of the People; and from her earliest childhood Shada had wanted with all her heart to be one of them. The Mistryl roamed the starlanes, a sisterhood of exquisitely trained warrior women, hiring out their services and combat skills to the oppressed and powerless of the galaxy and receiving in exchange the money vital for keeping the remnants of their devastated world alive.

A world whose people no one had ever even noticed, let alone cared about. Unlike, say, Caamas.

With an effort, she choked down the ripple of resentment at all the attention Caamas had been getting the past couple of weeks. The destruction of Emberlene was too far in the past to get emotional about anymore, even for her. No one in the galaxy had cared back when it was attacked; they certainly couldn't be expected to care now. Yes, it was unfair, but no one had ever claimed the universe was fair.

From just above and to her left came a soft, questioning burp. Shada paused, looking up into the darkness, and spotted the reflection from a faint pair of close-set eyes looking down at her from deep shadow. "It's okay," she murmured toward the eyes, cautiously pulling herself up for a closer look. On this part of Borcorash it was probably a harmless blufferavian, but it never hurt to be careful.

The caution turned out to be unnecessary. It was indeed a blufferavian, resting on a nest built into a particularly deep niche in the wall. From beneath its wing she caught a glimpse of a couple of speckled eggs.

"Don't worry, I'm not hungry," she soothed the creature. Once upon a time, she remembered darkly, she'd been quite good at catching avians that size. They'd tasted much better than the city's scavenger insects .

Shaking away the thoughts, she shifted her weight to free up one hand and pulled a safety anchor off her climbing harness. Her Mistryl instructors would probably have criticized her use of a safety line, pointing out that it took time to fasten the anchors and that a true Mistryl would never slip in the first place. But her climb training was many years in her past, and all the speed in the galaxy would gain her nothing if she fell before reaching the rooftop.

On the other band, if there was anything to Mazzic's suspicions about this meeting, getting up there too late would be just as futile as not getting there at all. About two meters of wall left, she estimated as she glanced upward, with maybe twice that number of minutes left before Mazzic and Griv arrived upstairs. Locking the slender, nearly invisible safety line into the anchor, not waiting until the faint hiss of the molecular welding between anchor and wall had faded away, she passed the blufferavian's nest and continued her climb.

She had made it to the top, and was just reaching a hand up toward the edge, when she heard a faint sound.

She froze, listening, but the sound wasn't repeated. Easing her hand down, she pulled another safety anchor from her harness and set it against the wall as far to her left as she could reach. Hoping the hissing sound was too quiet to be heard by whoever was up there, she locked her safety line into the anchor and also locked the feed at her harness. Now, if she was shot at when she poked her head up over the edge, dropping down would swing her around that point in a tight arc to pop up a meter and a half to the side. It wasn't much, but in a gunfight the ability to throw off an opponent's aim even that much could make all the difference. Easing her blaster from its holster, she flicked off the safety&mdash

"Hello, Shada," a soft voice said from directly above her.

She looked up. A cloaked figure was standing at the edge looking down at her. But even in the gloom Shada could see enough of the other's face .. . "Karoly?" she murmured.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Karoly D'ulin said. "Just put your blaster up here on the roof, would you? Then come on up."

Shada reached up and set the weapon beside Karoly's feet. Then, remembering to unlock the line feed from her harness, she pulled herself the rest of the way.

Straightening up, she took a quick look around. Here at the edge the roof was flat, but a few meters inward it rose at a sharp angle another meter or so before flattening out again. Beyond the rise Shada could see the top of the long skylight enclosure that crowned the upper room.

The room where Mazzic was about to get down to business.

"You're probably the last person I would have expected to see up here," she commented, looking back at Karoly.

"I imagine so," Karoly agreed. She'd picked up the blaster while Shada was finishing her climb, and now tucked it away somewhere inside her cloak. "You can take off those climbing hooks, too-we'll be going back down by one of the interior stairways. Just set them down on the roof, if you would."

"Of course," Shada said, unstrapping the hooks from her forearms and setting them down on the roof beside her. They weren't all that useful as weapons, but Karoly obviously wasn't interested in taking chances. Kneeling down, she undid the foot hooks as well, then straightened up again. "Happy?"

Karoly pursed her lips. "You act as if we're enemies, Shada. We're not."

"I'm glad to hear that," Shada said, studying the younger woman's face. It had indeed been a long time since they'd worked together-almost twenty years, in fact, since Tatooine and that near fiasco with the Imperials' Hammertong project. The memory Shada had brought away from that incident was one of Karoly as young and inexperienced and a bit prone to becoming flustered.

But the memory wasn't the woman who now stood before her. Sometime in those twenty years Karoly had developed grace and poise, and an air of considerable competence. "How did you know I'd be coming up this side?"

"We didn't," Karoly said, shrugging. "The rest of the approaches to the rooftop are also being watched. But I thought I spotted you slipping around the side of the building in that layered blue dress of yours, and I guessed you might try this way." She gestured to Shada's elaborately coiled and plaited hair, then at her tight-fitting combat jumpsuit and climbing harness. "I must say, the dress suited that hairstyle better than the fighting gear. What are those things holding it together?"

"They're lacquered zenji needles," Shada told her. "Mazzic likes me to look decorative."

"Useful camouflage for a bodyguard," Karoly said. "Speaking of camouflage, I'd guess one of the needles must be a disguised signaler or comlink. Just drop it on the roof, all right?"

Shada grimaced. "You don't miss a trick, do you?" she said, pulling the signaler out from its place behind her right ear and adding it to the pile of climbing hooks. "I'm so glad we're not enemies. Who is this we' you mentioned?"

"I have a client with me." Karoly nodded toward the higher section of roof. "He's over there."

Crouched beside the skylight with a sniper's blaster rifle? "Doing what?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Karoly said. "As of right now, you've been pulled off the job."

Shada frowned at her. "What are you talking about? I've been with Mazzic for over twelve years now. You can't end that kind of relationship with the snap of a finger."

"We can, and we are," Karoly said. "It's clear now that Mazzic's group isn't going to become the galaxy-spanning organization that the Mistryl hoped when they first planted you on him. And with Talon Karrde's Smugglers' Alliance all but defunct, the Eleven have decided you're just being wasted here. It's time for you to move on."

"Fine," Shada said, taking two steps back away from Karoly along the roof edge and craning her neck as if trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of Karoly's client. "I'll tell Mazzic tonight that I'm resigning as his bodyguard. We can leave in the morning."

Karoly shook her head. "I'm sorry. We leave now."

Shada looked back, leveling a hard stare at Karoly and surreptitiously gauging the distance between them. Three meters; just about right. "Why?" she demanded. "Because your new client wants to murder him?"

Even in the dim light she could see Karoly wince a little. But when the other woman spoke her voice was firm enough. "I suggest you try to remember who we are, Shada," she said. "We're Mistryl. We're given orders and we follow them."

"I'm also Mazzic's bodyguard," Shada said quietly. "And once upon a time the Mistryl were given honor and obeyed duty. Not just orders."

Karoly snorted under her breath. "Honor. You have been out of touch, haven't you?"

"Apparently so," Shada countered. "I've always tried to believe that being a Mistryl put me a few steps above the garbage heap of mercenaries and assassins-for-hire. Forgive my naïveté."

Karoly's face darkened. "We do what's necessary to keep our people alive," she bit out., "If some slimy Huts wants to back-blade some other slimy smuggler, that's none of our concern."

"Correction: it's none of your concern," Shada said. "It is mine. I have a job to do, Karoly; and you can get out of my way or you can get hurt." She reached up to her harness and locked her safety line&mdash

Karoly's hand seemed to twitch, and suddenly there was a small blaster in it. "Freeze it," she ordered. "Move your hands away from your body. Empty."

Shada held her arms loosely out from her sides, fingers spread to prove she wasn't holding or palming anything. "You'll have to kill me to stop me," she warned.

"I hope not. Now turn around."

This was it. Arms still held away from her body, Shada rotated ninety degrees to face the skylight&mdash

And taking a step backward, she dropped off the edge of the roof.

She'd half expected Karoly to get a quick blaster shot off before she disappeared over the edge. It didn't happen; Karoly either freezing with surprise or else too self-controlled to fire uselessly. But Shada didn't have time to speculate on which it was. The safety line snapped taut, and suddenly she was caroming off the wall as she swung down and to her right, pivoting about that last anchor she'd set near the rooftop. Another two seconds, she estimated, and she would pass the midpoint of her oscillat ion and swing up again to the rooftop where Karoly and her blaster waited.

She had just those two seconds to find a way to take down her onetime friend.

The startled blufferavian didn't even have time to squawk as Shada snatched it from its nest. She managed to grab one of the eggs with her other hand, and then she was swinging back up toward the roof.

And her two-second grace period was over. Even as she cocked the bird over her shoulder in throwing position Karoly appeared above her at the edge of the roof, hurrying toward the spot from which Shada had jumped, her eyes and blaster tracking down the side of the building. She caught sight of Shada-floundered off balance for a split second as she tried to halt her forward movement and shift her aim&mdash

And with a grunt of exertion, Shada hurled the blufferavian at her face.

There was no time for Karoly to think, no time for her even to pause and evaluate. There was a sudden confused flurry of wings in front of her as the blufferavian tried to recover its equilibrium; and in the absence of thought, powerfully ingrained Mistryl combat reflexes took over. She jerked back, the movement eroding her precarious balance even further, twisted the muzzle of her blaster toward the incoming missile, and fired.

The blaster bolt caught the blufferavian dead center, and suddenly the flapping wings became a turmoil of flame and sparks and acrid smoke. Karoly ducked away from the fireball, twisting her head to the side&mdash

Just in time to catch Shada's thrown blufferavian egg squarely across the bridge of her nose.

She gasped as the egg splattered into her eyes, throwing her free hand up to try to wipe away the semiliquid mass blinding her as Shada hit her safety-line feed release again and vaulted up onto the rooftop. Circling a couple of meters to her right to get out of the line of fire of the blaster still waving in her general direction, she angled in.

She reached Karoly just as the younger woman got her eyes cleared, kicking the blaster out of her hand as she tried to bring the weapon around toward her. The blaster hit the edge of the roof behind Karoly and bounced off into the darkness below. "Shassa," Karoly hissed the old curse, jumping to her right out of Shada's reach and producing a gleaming knife from somewhere. "Shada-"

"I'm obeying my duty," Shada said, sidestepping to her right away from the knife tip. "You've still got the option of getting out of my way."

Karoly hissed something else and lunged forward. Shada sidestepped again toward her right, feinted toward Karoly, took another quick step to the side and then changed direction back toward the skylight.

But Karoly had anticipated the move. Blinking more of the egg out of her eyes, she took a long step the same direction, her knife waving warningly. Shada countered by stepping perilously close to the roof edge and taking two quick strides along it in an attempt to get around onto Karoly's left side away from her knife hand. Karoly spun around in response, knife held ready. "Don't make me do this, Shada," she snarled.

Snarled. And yet, Shada thought she could hear a buried note of pleading there as well. "All right, Karoly," she said softly. "I won't." Snapping on her climbing harness's feed lock again, she leaped backward one last time along the edge of the roof&mdash

And the safety line that her carefully choreographed sparring maneuvers had threaded neatly around behind Karoly snapped up tautly to catch the younger woman across the tops of her low boots. Flailing her knife uselessly as her feet were yanked out from under her, she fell with a painful sounding thud flat onto her back.

Shada was on her in an instant, one foot coming down on Karoly's knife wrist as she slapped away the other hand and then jabbed stiffened fingertips into the soft spot beneath her rib cage. With an agonized grunt Karoly folded up around the impact and toppled over on her side. Shada jabbed again, this time behind Karoly's ear, and the younger woman relaxed and lay still.

Breathing hard, Shada reached over and snatched the knife from Karoly's limp hand, cutting her safety line before she wound up tangled in it herself. The fight hadn't taken long and had been reasonably quiet, but odds were that Karoly's client had heard the ruckus and would be coming to investigate. If she could arrange to meet him halfway&mdash

A movement at the corner of her eye was her only warning. But it was enough. Even as she threw herself to the side in a flat dive a blaster bolt sizzled through the air where she'd been standing. She rolled back to her knees, eyes sweeping the raised section of rooftop and locating her assailant: a prone figure in a black poncho and hood, the protruding snout of his blaster rifle tracking toward her. Snapping her hand up, Shada threw Karoly's knife toward him.

The sniper rolled instantly to the side, leaning his head into the relative protection of his arms and rifle, the weapon now spitting its deadly fire on repeater mode as it tracked toward her. But in this case the old bounty hunter's reflex had betrayed him. The knife spun precisely into its intended target not the dodging sniper himself, but the flicker of blaster fire from his weapon. It cut across right in front of the gun barrel, the bolts catching the blade and blasting it apart in a blue of molten shards and reflected light.

And for the next pair of heartbeats the sniper would be effectively blind.

Two heartbeats was all Shada needed. She came all the way up off the roof, leaping over the sputtering blaster fire now tracking blindly toward her, fingers darting into her plaited hair for one of the lacquered zenji needles. It came free in a cascade of loosened coils; and as her feet hit the roof again, she threw it.

And with a muffled clatter the blaster fell silent.

She was beside the sniper in an instant, twisting the weapon out of the dead man's hands and running across the roof. If the sniper was merely the backup and not the main attack, she might still have failed. Skidding to a halt beside the skylight, she crouched at its edge and peered down into the high-ceilinged room below.

She hadn't failed. Three meters below her was an ornate decorated table, with Mazzic and Griv on one side and the Kubaz and a rough-looking human on the other. The two sides had already exchanged cases and were in the process of checking their new prizes. The Kubaz shut his case after what seemed to be a cursory examination, standing stiffly behind the table with an obvious air of expectation about him. It took Mazzic another minute to be similarly satisfied with his side of the trade, then he too close d his case. He nodded pleasantly to the Kubaz and took a step back from the table, his mouth moving with what were probably his usual farewell remarks. The Kubaz remained where he was . and as Mazzic and Griv took another step back, his air of expectation gave way to one of puzzlement. His long snout twitched in indecision, clearly wanting to look up but just as clearly not wanting to telegraph the surprise ending he was still expecting.

Still, if a surprise was all he wanted, Shada could oblige him. Lining the blaster rifle up on the base of the alien's long snout, she tapped the barrel lightly against the skylight.'

All four of them looked up. The Kubaz's expression was impossible to read, but his companion's more than made up for it. His mouth fell open in stunned disbelief, his hand dropping to the blaster belted at his side. Shada shifted her aim to his forehead; slowly, he raised the hand-empty-to his chest. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mazzic throw her an abbreviated salute, and then he and Griv walked out of her field of view.

Shack kept her weapon trained on the Kubaz and his friend for a count of thirty. Then, throwing them the same salute Mazzic had just given her, she backed away from the skylight.

"It's over?" Karoly's voice asked from behind her.

Shada turned to look. The younger woman was standing beside the dead assassin at the edge of the upper roof, her expression impossible to read. "Yes," Shada told her. "Your client decided not to go back on the deal after all."

Karoly looked down at the body at her feet. "The Eleven aren't going to be happy about this."

"I'm used to people not being happy with me," Shada sighed, lowering the blaster rifle to the rooftop. "I'll get by."

"This is not a joking matter, Shada," Karoly growled. "You've been given a direct order. You stay with Mazzic now and they'll have a squad on you before the week's over."

"I'm not staying with Mazzic," Shada said. "As I told you, I'll resign as his bodyguard tonight."

"And you think that will fix this with the Eleven?" Karoly scoffed.

"I suppose that depends on whether any of them still remembers who we are," Shada said, a deep sense of sadness flowing into her. A sadness that felt as if it had been collecting around her heart for a long, long time. "The Mistryl that I joined twenty-two years ago was an honorable clan of warriors fighting to preserve what was left of our people. Honorable warriors don't knowingly deal in murder. I would hope at least some of the Eleven remember that."

"Maybe the Eleven have changed." Karoly looked away across the dark rooftops of the city. "Maybe the Mistryl have changed."

"Maybe they have," Shada said. "But I haven't." She studied her friend. "But then, neither have you."

Karoly looked back at her. "Really. I'd like to know what I said to give you that impression."

"It's not what you said," Shada told her. "It's what you did. After I kicked your blaster away, when you pulled that knife on me."

"Pulling a knife convinced you I was on your side?"

"Yes," Shada said. "You still have my blaster." Karoly put her hand to her side. "Yes, I suppose I do. I imagine you want it back."

Shada shrugged. "It might be harder to explain what happened here if you still have it when you get back to Emberlene."

"Point," Karoly conceded. She flicked her wrist, and the blaster sailed in a flat arc to drop neatly into Shada's waiting hand. "Speaking of Emberlene, I'd stay away from there if I were you. For that matter, I'd stay away from any other Mistryl, period. For the next ten years, if you can manage it."

"I won't need to hide that long," Shada said, sliding the blaster back into its holster. "Looks like the galaxy is coming to a boil again over this Caamas thing. The Eleven will soon have more important things than me to think about."

Karoly spat something. "Caamas. Caamas, and Alderaan, and even that mudwater Noghri planet Honoghr. It almost makes me laugh sometimes when I think about which worlds get cried over."

"Being bitter about it won't help," Shada said.

"So what will?" Karoly retorted. "At least being bitter proves you're not dead yet."

"Perhaps," Shada said. "If that's what you're willing to settle for."

"I suppose you've found something better?"

"I don't know," Shada said. "There has to be something, though." She pointed to a small rectangular shedlike structure on the far side of the skylight "That the exit over there?"

"One of them," Karoly said. "If you don't mind taking a chance on running into the Kubaz and his pals on the way down."

Shada smiled tightly. "They'll make room for me."

Almost unwillingly, Karoly smiled back. "I'm sure they will." The smile faded. "But understand this, Shada. Whatever I did here, I did it for-well, the reasons are complicated. But if the Eleven send me after you . . ."

"I understand," Shada nodded. "I'll try not to put you in this position again."

"Never mind me," Karoly said. "You just be careful of you." She cocked her head slightly. "You have any idea what you're going to do?"

Shada looked up at the stars. "As a matter of fact," she said quietly, "I do."

***

"Hold still, please, sir," the Emdee droid said in its deep voice, its mechanical fingers wielding the probe with microscopic precision as he lined it up. "I expect this to be the final pass."

"Good," Luke said, taking a deep breath and cultivating his patience. He'd been sitting here for nearly half an hour now, but it was almost over.

The droid eased the probe into Luke's right ear, with a sensation that oscillated between an itch and a tickle. Luke braced himself; and then, with a loud slurping sound it was over.

"Thank you, sir," the Emdee said, lowering the probe into the reclamation container beside him and discharging a final few drops of bacta into it. "I again apologize for the time and inconvenience this has caused you."

"That's all right," Luke assured him, sliding off the table and rubbing the last vestige of the itch/tickle away with a fingertip. "I know it's easy to say there'll never be another bacta shortage like the one during the war. It's not always so easy to believe it."

"I was with this facility during that time," the Emdee said gravely. "We could not afford to buy the black market bacta, even if it had been available to us. I saw many die who could have been saved."

Luke nodded. And as a result, for the past twelve years the medics in charge here had made it a rigid policy to conserve every single drop of bacta, even to the point of siphoning it out of patients' ears when necessary. "I can't say this last part was very pleasant," he said. "On the other hand, I'd hate to have arrived and found out you didn't have enough bacta to treat me."

"Perhaps it is simply the path of old habit," the droid said. "Still, I am told it is wise to remember the past."

"It is indeed," Luke agreed soberly, nodding to the bacta reclamation container. "And even wiser to learn from it."

Artoo was waiting in their assigned room, plugged into the desk and warbling softly to himself as he conversed with the medical facility's main computer. His dome swiveled as Luke came in, the warbling changing to an excited whistling. "Hi, Artoo," Luke said. "Keeping busy?"

The little droid made an affirmative-sounding twitter, which changed to something questioning. "Oh, I'm fine," Luke assured him, patting his side. "Some of the shrapnel was in pretty deep, but they got it all out. A little dip in a bacta tank, and I'm good as new. The medic said I shouldn't fly for another hour or so, but it'll probably take that long to get the ship rolled out and prepped anyway."

Artoo whistled again, rotating his dome around in a complete circle. "Yes, I see they did a good job with you, too," Luke agreed. "Did you ask them to take a look at the X-wing?"

Another affirmative twitter. "Good," Luke said. "Then I guess the only question left is where we should go next."

Artoo's dome swiveled back again to face him, a distinctly suspicious note to his next warble. "We're not out here on vacation, Artoo," Luke reminded him, pulling up a chair beside the droid where he could keep an eye on the desk's computer display for more complicated translations. "We're here to track down those clones and find out where they're coming from. We're not going to accomplish that by going home to Yavin or Coruscant."

He looked out the window at the hills rising steeply behind his room, their carpet of gold-colored grasses gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Yes, the mission statement itself was perfectly straightforward. Unfortunately, the necessary procedure for completing it was anything but. He'd tried the surreptitious approach to that Cavrilhu base; all he'd gotten for his trouble had been yet another swim in a bacta tank. And, of course, the chance to see Mara again.

He grimaced. Mara. He'd been expecting to run into her again ever since that pirate raid he and Han had thwarted off Iphigin-in fact, he wouldn't put it past Han to have had something to do with Mara showing up at the Kauron asteroid field that way. He'd expected to run into her, and had secretly dreaded the prospect.

And yet, looking back on it, the encounter hadn't been nearly as tense as he'd feared it would be. She'd been cooperative and polite, or at least as polite as Mara ever got. More significantly, the quiet but strong animosity he'd sensed radiating toward him at their last couple of brief encounters hadn't been present.

Or maybe it had been there and he just hadn't noticed. Maybe his deliberately diminished use of the Force these days had simply prevented him from sensing that deeply into her mind without a deliberate probe.

He scowled out at the hills. There was definitely some kind of cause and effect at work here-that much he was sure of. The question was, which was the cause and which the effect?

Artoo warbled questioningly. "I'm trying to figure it out," Luke told him, glancing at the translation. "Just relax, okay?"

The droid warbled again and fell into an expectant silence. Luke sighed and settled back into his seat, gazing out at the hills. Mara was a puzzle, but she was a puzzle that would have to wait. At the moment, his immediate future was focused on this cloning question.

His future...

He glanced back at Artoo, the memory of their time with Yoda drifting to mind. Luke's Jedi training, and that first time he'd gotten a glimpse into the future.

A glimpse that had nearly resulted in disaster. He'd rushed off madly to Cloud City to try to save Han and Leia, and had instead nearly gotten all of them killed.

But he'd learned so much about the Force since then. And he had been able to draw other visions of the future without doing anything rash. Lately his efforts in that direction had been strangely unrewarding; but as long as he was supposed to take it easy for an hour or so anyway, it wouldn't hurt to give it a try.

"Artoo, I'm going to meditate for a while," he told the droid, slipping out of the chair and settling himself cross-legged on the floor. "See if I can get some direction. Don't let anyone disturb me, all right?"

The droid buzzed an affirmative. Taking a deep breath, Luke closed his eyes and stretched out to the Force. His thoughts-his emotions-his entire being-slipped into the proper pattern.

And suddenly the whole universe exploded in front of him into a brilliant kaleidoscope of color and motion.

He gasped, the vast image wavering momentarily like desert heat-shimmer as he nearly lost control. It was like no vision he'd ever had before. Like nothing he'd ever seen before. A hundred different scenes, a thousand different possibilities-brilliant colors, sharp-edged sounds, joy and contentment and fear and death-all of it swirled together with the fury and randomness of a Tatooine sandstorm. Lines of possibility wove around each other or else crashed together, sometimes merging, sometimes bouncing apart again, always forever changed by the encounter. Familiar faces were there among unfamiliar ones, passing in front of him or else flickering behind other events unfolding at the edges of his sight. He caught a glimpse of Wedge and Rogue Squadron as they swept past in the fury of battle; saw his Jedi students inexplicably fanning out across the New Republic, leaving the Yavin academy all but deserted, saw himself standing on a balcony against the wall of a darkened canyon, gazing down at a sea of th ousands of tiny stars; saw Han and Leia facing a huge mob&mdash

Han? Leia? With an effort, he grabbed on to that last line, trying to stay with it long enough to see more. For a moment he succeeded, the image sharpening into focus: Leia standing in a wide hallway, her lightsaber blazing in her hands, as a mass of bodies pushed through a tall door; Han, standing on an outside balcony with drawn blaster, looking down' at the crowd. The crowd inside flowed mindlessly forward-a hidden rooftop sniper lined up his blaster rifle&mdash

And then they were gone, vanishing into the swirling mass of sights and sounds. For a moment Luke tried to join the flow himself, the taste of fear mixing with the other sensations of the vision as he tried to catch up and see what was going to happen to them. But they were gone, and with a sense that came from outside himself he knew that he'd seen all of that vision that he was going to. Easing out of the flow, he made his way back to the single fixed point in the storm, the solidness of his own being. He'd learned all he could here, and now it was time to leave. He began to draw back, the vast array of images beginning in turn to recede and darken.

And then, abruptly, one final vision appeared in front of him: Mara, surrounded by craggy rock and floating in water, her eyes closed, her arms and legs limp. As if in death.

Wait! he heard himself shout But it was too late. Mara's image faded with the rest of the vision&mdash

And with a sudden gasp of air he found himself back in his room, gazing out the window at the hills.

Hills that no longer glowed golden, but were instead outlined by the subtler gloss of starlight.

"Whoa," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He would have sworn that vision had only lasted a few minutes.

Beside him, Artoo twittered in obvious relief. "Yes, it took longer than I expected, too," Luke agreed. "Sorry."

The droid warbled questioningly. Getting to his feet, wincing at the sudden prickling sensation in muscles left too long in one position, Luke looked at the question scrolling across the computer display. "I don't know," he had to concede. "I saw a lot of things. But I didn't see anything that seemed to have anything to do with our search."

Which might mean, he realized suddenly, that hunting for clones was no longer what he was supposed to be doing.

But then what was he supposed to do? Go to wherever Han and Leia were and warn them? Go find Mara and warn her?

He took a deep breath, shifting tired muscles. Always in motion is the future, Yoda had told him after that first vision on Dagobah. At the time Luke had wondered about that remark, his vision of Han and Leia in Cloud City had seemed so simple and straightforward. But if Yoda had instead seen something more akin to this last vision, with all its tangles and complications, then it all made sense.

Or had he seen something like that? Could it be that what Luke had experienced here was something entirely different? A special event reserved for special occasions?

It was an intriguing possibility. But for the moment, it was an issue he could put aside. What mattered was that he'd received the guidance he'd sought, and needed to act on it.

All he had to do was figure out exactly what that guidance was.

Stepping over to the window, he looked up at the stars. You will know, Yoda had also told him, when you are calm, at peace. Taking a deep breath, Luke set about calming his mind.

Artoo's soft warbling was starting to take on a concerned tone by the time he turned back around. "All right," he told the droid. "I saw a world with a wide, deep canyon that had buildings built into the sides and a lot of lights at the bottom. Check the main computer and see where that might be."

Artoo warbled an acknowledgment and jacked into the computer outlet. Luke stepped to his side and watched as a planet name and description came up on the display. "No, it wasn't Belsavis," he said. "The surface wasn't covered with glaciers, and there were no domes. It was also a lot more pleasant." He frowned, pulling the image back from his memory. "There were bridges arching all the way across the canyon I saw. There were . . . I saw a group of nine of them, arranged in a diamond pattern: one starting on one level, two more side by side crossing from the next level down, three on the next, then two and then one."

Artoo whistled and searched some more. A half-dozen more systems scrolled across the display&mdash

"Wait a minute," Luke said. "Back up one-Cejansij system. See if there are any pictures in the datafile."

The display backed up, then altered to a succession of orbital, aerial, and ground pictures. Luke watched as they went past, and by the time the series came to an end, he knew it was the place. "That's it," he said. "The Canyonade on Cejansij. That's where we're going."

The droid twittered uncertainly, his question scrolling across the bottom of the display. "I don't know why," Luke told him. "I just know I need to go there."

There was another twitter, this one sounding slightly incredulous. "To be honest, I don't understand it myself," Luke conceded. "I saw a lot of things in that vision, things that are happening or maybe are about to happen. I saw my students leaving the academy-why, I don't know. I saw Leia and Han in some kind of trouble-"

The droid warbled anxiously, and another question appeared. "No, I don't know if Threepio was with them," Luke told him. "The point is that there are a lot of places out there we could go where I might be able to affect things. Too many places."

He pointed at the view of the vast canyon. "But the Canyonade is the only place where I actually saw myself. The one part of the vision where I felt peace."

He looked out at the stars again. "So that's where we'll go."

For a moment there was silence. Then Artoo warbled again. "Point taken," Luke agreed with a smile. "If we're going to go, let's stop dithering and go."

Besides which, he told himself as they headed for the docking bay, Leia's a Jedi in her own right. She can take care of herself. And Han's got a long history of beating the odds, too. And Rogue Squadron could manage without him, and wherever his Jedi students had been going they surely had a good reason for doing so. Whatever this trip to Cejansij was all about, all of them could do without him for a while.

Forty minutes later, once again in space, he pulled the hyperdrive lever and sent the X-wing jumping to lightspeed. Trying hard not to think about the vision he'd had of Mara.

CHAPTER

13

Ceok Orou'cya, First Secretary of the Combined Bothan Clans, was urbane, polite, and completely gracious. But beneath the polish, as near as Leia could tell, he also seemed genuinely surprised by her visit.

And beneath the surprise, she suspected, was a great deal of worry.

"You must understand my position here, Councilor Organa Solo," he said for the third time as he ushered Leia, Han, and Threepio past the outer reception station and into the sumptuous three-story lobby/atrium that filled the front third of the Combined Clans Center Building. "Your visit, unannounced this way, is highly irregular. Your request"-his fur twitched despite obvious efforts to control it-"is even more so."

"You have the letter from Gavrisom," Han put in gruffly. "You have the letter from Fey'lya. What more do you want?"

The secretary threw a sideways look at Han, and despite the seriousness of the situation Leia had to fight to keep from smiling. Han was at his absolutely most intimidating: standing stiff and tall, scowling unblinkingly, his hand resting on the blaster holstered at his side. The knuckles of his gunhand were slightly whitened with pressure as he gripped the weapon, a subtlety she'd suggested to him on the trip here from Coruscant and one that clearly wasn't lost on its intended audience.

He would have been even more intimidating with Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh standing there beside him. But Bothans didn't much like Noghri, and Leia had decided this situation was ticklish enough already without that extra strain. The two Noghri were lurking somewhere outside, a quick comlink call away if they were needed.

But she wasn't expecting them to be. Between the official weight she was bringing to bear and the threat of more physical consequences from Han, they had Orou'cya in a tight squeeze already. With luck, that should give them a good chance of getting to the financial records before anyone was able to hide or alter them.

"I personally need nothing more, Captain Solo," the secretary said. "The problem is that only one of the Combined Clan leaders may grant authorization to see the records you are requesting, and none are on this part of Bothawui at present."

Han took another step toward him. "You've got the letter from President Gavrisom-"

"Please." Leia held up a hand. "Secretary Orou'cya, I understand your situation. I believe that there may be another way out of the problem. Do I understand correctly that in his capacity as New Republic representative Councilor Fey'lya would also have access to the financial records we seek?"

The Bothan's eyes darted between the two of them, clearly suspecting a trap. "I believe he does," he answered cautiously. "I would have to check the regulations."

Leia looked at Han, lifted her eyebrows slightly. "Here," Han said, thrusting a datacard at the secretary. "I've marked the place."

Orou'cya started to take the card, hesitated, then dropped his hand back to his side. "I'll accept your word on that," he said. "But I don't see how that point is relevant Councilor Fey'lya isn't here, and a mere letter cannot extend such privileges to another person."

"True," Leia said with a nod. "However, such privileges do extend to Councilor Fey'lya's personal possessions, do they not?"

Orou'cya frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean possessions such as his personal computers," Leia said. "Or his droids."

The Bothan looked at Threepio, and this time the fur definitely flattened. "His-? But-"

Han nudged his shoulder with the datacard. "That part's marked, too."

"And here's the record of Fey'lya's ownership," Leia added, producing another datacard.

Mechanically, Orou'cya took the two datacards, his eyes on the golden droid standing silent and aloof with quiet hauteur.

At least, that's what Leia hoped he saw. In actual fact, Threepio was being aloof and silent for the simple reason that he was too embarrassed and chagrined for words. It was bad enough, he'd complained over and over on the trip here, that Luke had "given" him to Jabba the Hutt during their rescue of Han on Tatooine. But to be summarily sold to a Bothan diplomat without any notice whatsoever was an utter disgrace.

It didn't matter to him that the sale was only on datafile and not genuine. As far as he was concerned, the deceit involved only made it worse.

But Orou'cya didn't know that. "I see," the Bothan said, his voice rather flat, his eyes still on Threepio. "I . . ." He trailed off.

"Records room's on the third floor, right?" Han demanded into the silence.

"If you'd rather wait down here," Leia added, "I'm sure we can find what we're looking for by ourselves."

Orou'cya's fur seemed to wilt. "No, I must escort you," he murmured. "Follow me, please."

He led them across the atrium to a wide, free-span ceremonial stairway arching gracefully between the first and second floors, apparently the only route from the more or less public departments on the first floor to the private offices and meeting rooms above. At the top of the stairway was a wide overlook balcony, also clearly designed with ceremony in mind.

Ceremonial or not, though, the Bothans hadn't scrimped on security. A pair of armed guards stood at the bottom of the staircase, and Leia could see the camouflaged poles of a static barrier built into the banisters on either side a few steps up.

She also wondered how many of the privacy-glazed office windows peeking through the short trees and bushy borscii and kafvris vines from the top two floors had hidden guards watching the stairway and the atrium. Knowing the Bothans, probably at least one of them.

But no one, hidden guards or otherwise, interfered as Orou'cya led the party to the top of the staircase, then along a corridor to a more standard set of stairs leading to the third floor, and finally to a door marked simply ARCHIVES. There the secretary paused, but if he was having second thoughts, they weren't going to be given time to ripen. Brushing past him, Han opened the door and went in.

Five other Bothans were in the room, seated at various data retrieval stations. All of them were looking at the door as Leia stepped inside behind Han with expressions and postures that could have been either surprise or guilt. "That one will do," Leia said, pointing to an unoccupied retrieval station near the door. "Go ahead and get started, Threepio."

Silently, Threepio shuffled off toward the station. "Thank you, Secretary Orou'cya," Leia added to their escort. "We'll call you if we need any further assistance."

"I will be available for whatever you require," Orou'cya said. Turning, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Beside Leia, Han made a rude-sounding noise. "You'd think Fey'lya would have mentioned in his letter that we're on their side here," he muttered.

"I'm sure he did," Leia agreed. "But these are Bothans. They see hidden blades everywhere."

Han grimaced. "Especially coming from other Bothans."

"It's how their internal politics work," Leia reminded him, squeezing his arm. "Come on, let's get this over with."

***

The order had specified a large crowd, and Navett had assured Major Tierce that his team could deliver. But now, looking at the edges of the crowd that he could see from his rooftop vantage point-a crowd that had already overflowed all available standing space in the Merchant's Square-even he was impressed. This time Klif had definitely outdone himself.

"Navett?" Pensin's voice came from the tiny speaker in Navett's left ear. "Looks like they're ready to move."

"Right," Navett said, moving the attached microphone a little closer to his lips. It was a military-style comlink, scavenged from a stormtrooper helmet, and would probably be trouble if he was caught with it. But the hands-free design was more private and convenient than standard civilian cylinder types, with a better realtime encryption. Anyway, he wasn't planning to get caught. "You'd better get in position. What's the makeup like?"

"It's a real mix this time," Pensin said. "Got a bunch of spacers of all types from the port area, but there are a lot of shoppers and merchants, too. Everything from human to Ishori and Rodian. Got a bunch of Froffli, too-I can see those stupid hair spurs poking up above the rest of the crowd."

"Good." Aside from the general hotheadedness of the species itself, the Froffli government was one of the few that had already come out publicly for sanctions against the Bothans. A species grounded on vindictiveness; and the fact that the Bothans had spent the past fifteen years systematically grinding the Froffli light-machinery industry to dust certainly hadn't helped matters. "Make sure you're out of their way when they start their charge."

"Don't worry," Pensin said dryly. "Oops-okay, there they go. Next stop, the Combined Clans Building. You all set?"

"All set," Navett said, stroking the stock of the Nightstinger sniper's blaster rifle lying on the roof beside him. "Let's do it"

***

"Shh," Han said, frowning with concentration. "You hear that?"

Leia looked up from the retrieval station. "I didn't hear anything."

"It sounded like thunder," Han said, straining his ears. "Or a crowd or-there it is again."

"It's a crowd," Leia said, that Jedi look on her face. "And they're getting louder."

Han looked at the other Bothans in the room. None of them seemed to have noticed the noise. "Must be pretty good-sized if we can hear them all the stay in here."

The Jedi look was getting more intense. "I don't like this, Han," she said. "There's something not right here."

"Maybe it's one of those demonstrations that have been cropping up lately," Han said, moving toward the door. "Stay here-I'll go check it out"

The Bothans in the archive room might not have figured out what was happening, but the rest of the building was already on it. The corridor outside was alive with hurrying Bothans, some carrying boxes of datacards or other equipment, others just hurrying. Crossing past an overview that looked down on the atrium, he saw what seemed to be the entire first-floor staff hustling up the big ceremonial stairway, most of them carrying boxes and equipment, too.

A handful of Bothans were bucking the trend, heading down the stairs. All of that group were carrying blasters.

The atrium, Han decided, didn't look like a particularly good place to be at the moment. Fortunately, he wasn't going to have to go down there. Both the second and third floors had observation balconies facing the front of the building where he'd be able to assess the situation. Threading his way through the hurrying Bothans, he' headed that direction. A bit of trial and error to find which office the balcony was connected to, and he pushed open the sliding privacy-glass door and looked outside.

It was worse than he'd feared. The crowd was huge, filling the entire street as humans and aliens continued to stream toward the building. He stepped out onto the balcony for a better look, and as he did so, a figure near the front of the crowd shouted and waved wildly as he pointed up. Automatically, Han's hand dropped to his blaster&mdash

"Citizens of the New Republic," a deep Bothan voice called from somewhere nearby. "I respectfully appeal to you for calm." The crowd responded with even more noise, none of it sounding especially calm or respectful. Stepping to the edge of his balcony, Han craned his neck and looked down at the second-floor balcony beneath him. There he was: a distinguished-looking elderly male Bothan wearing the elaborate sign and signet of a clan leader. "No clan leaders on this part of Bothawui, huh?" Han muttered, straightening up again. He was no expert, but it sure didn't look like the sort of mob that a little Bothan sugar-talk would do much for.

Which suggested the smart thing would be for him to get back inside and back to Leia. Just in case. Giving the crowd one last look, he started to turn away.

***

The front of the crowd had reached the Combined Clans Building now, the people behind them pushing and jostling past and filling in around the sides. Resting the stock of his blaster rifle against his shoulder, Navett squinted experimentally through the macrobinocular sight running along the barrel. Almost time . . .

And then, just as he'd known they would, the Bothans sent a representative onto the lower balcony to talk to the mob. The figure lifted his hands for silence-without any noticeable effect, of course-and Navett was just beginning to line up his crosshairs when another figure appeared, this one on the upper balcony.

A human? Frowning, Navett shifted his aim upward and tightened his focus . .

And felt his eyes widen in disbelief. Han Solo-it was Han Solo. Hero of the Rebellion, New Republic shipping liaison, and general all-around troublemaker. And there he was, standing on a balcony right in front of him.

Navett had always considered himself to be leading a charmed life; but sometimes even he couldn't believe his own luck.

"Navett?" Pensin's voice came excitedly in his ear. "Up on the top balcony-"

"I see him," Navett said, striving to sound cool and professional. Han Solo himself. This was just too good to be true.

"So which one do we do?"

Navett smiled tightly. "Both, of course. You've got a spare, don't you?"

"Well, yes-"

"So we do both," Navett told him. "And we start with Solo. Give me a count."

"Right," Pensin said. "Five seconds, four, three-"

***

Han had been gone only a few seconds when the door suddenly bounced open again. "Councilor Organa Solo," Secretary Orou'cya said, breathing heavily. "We desperately need your assistance. There is a mob moving on this building."

"Yes, I know," Leia said. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Defend us, of course," the Bothan snapped, jabbing a hand at the lightsaber hanging unobtrusively beneath her loose overjacket. "Are you not a Jedi?"

Leia suppressed a sigh. There were still so many people out there who refused to see Jedi in any role except that of armed defender or combatant. "Perhaps I could try talking to them," she suggested gently.

"Askar Clan Leader Rayl'skar has already gone to do that," Orou'cya said, fur rippling' with nervous impatience. "Please-they may break in at any time."

"All right," Leia said, standing up. So much for there being no clan leaders on this pan of Bothawui; but this wasn't the time to bring that up. "Threepio, you'd better come, too."

"Me?" the droid gasped, cringing back as only Threepio could do. "But-Mistress Leia-"

"I might need you to translate," Leia cut him off. "Let's go." They had to buck the general flow of Bothans streaming upward as they descended the main stairway. "Mistress Leia-there seems to be some considerable concern among the residents here," Threepio called over the hurrying feet and the rumble of the crowd outside. "Might I suggest we reconsider our strategy?"

"There won't be any trouble," Leia assured him, grabbing hold of one of his arms to keep them from getting separated. "Most of the time the most these demonstrators have done is to throw spoiled fruit and stones. If I can persuade them that their concerns are being considered, maybe I can get them to disperse without even doing that much."

They reached the bottom of the stairway, easing through the three-deep cordon of Bothan guards blocking off the lower end, and hurried toward the front doors. "I merely thought we might wish to reevaluate," Threepio continued, his rapidity of speech increasing with his nervousness, which was increasing with roughly every other step. "There are two balconies we could speak from, after all, and even spoiled produce properly placed can be hazardous to the inner workings of a droid-"

"Quiet," Leia cu; him off, braking to a halt a few meters from the door. Suddenly something felt different out there; a hint of evil purpose flickering at the edges of the simmering anger and resentment of the crowd. She stretched out with the Force, trying to pin it down&mdash

And then, to her horror, an all-too-familiar sound split through the rumble like a crack of lightning through distant thunder.

The sound of a blaster shot.

***

There was no warning. None whatsoever. One minute Han was looking out over the crowd, wondering if he should call Leia and suggest she come out here and talk to them; and then the next minute there it was, making a sound like a boot in wet mud as it came out of nowhere to hit the wall by his left shoulder. He half turned to look at it, got just a glimpse of a mass of a soft-looking gray clay with a small tube connected to a multifaceted crystal embedded in the middle&mdash

And suddenly it seemed to explode in a brilliant flash of blaster fire.

He wrenched back, twisting his face away from the flash as a needle-jab of pain stabbed into his left shoulder. From somewhere below him came a scream of pain, and even as he dropped behind the minimal protection of the balcony's guardrail he heard the sound and caught the flicker of reflected light from a second shot. Yanking his blaster from its holster, blinking around the hazy purple blob floating in front of his eyes, he tried to see where the attack was coming from.

Wherever the gunman was, he didn't seem in a hurry to give away his position by shooting again. But his first two shots had already done enough damage. Below and ten meters ahead, the crowd had opened a circle around a Mishtak writhing in agony on the ground. A few meters behind him, in the middle of another circle, a Leresai lay still.

With the two shots the crowd had gone deathly quiet. A motion caught the corner of Han's eye: someone moving on a rooftop a block away. He half stood up, lifting his blaster&mdash

"There he is!" someone shouted.

Han looked down again. Someone in the crowd was pointing up; but he was pointing at Han. "Wait a minute-" Han began.

"There he is!" the man shouted again. "There's the murderer!"

And as if on signal the crowd suddenly came to life again. Roaring like a hundred berserk rancors, they surged forward beneath the balcony.

And with a slam that shook the whole building, they threw open the doors.

***

"Han!" Leia blurted as the second blaster shot rang out. If he'd been the target&mdash

No, she realized with a flood of relief. She could still feel his presence, alert and tense. But somebody out there had been hit, she could sense the waves of pain. Stretching out with the Force, she tried to locate it.

And then, suddenly, there was a horrendous roar from the crowd outside&mdash

And in front of her the doors slammed open and a solid wall of beings poured into the atrium.

"Oh, my!" Threepio gasped. "Mistress Leia-"

"Get behind me!" Leia snapped, taking a long step to the side and grabbing for her lightsaber as she threw a quick glance at the ceremonial stairway at the other end of the atrium. With some serious effort, she should be able to reach it ahead of the crowd. But Threepio didn't have that kind of speed. And if she abandoned him to the mob . . .

"Get behind me," she ordered the droid again, igniting the lightsaber. She had come here to talk, and she had better get started. The nearest of the crowd shied away as the lightsaber blade blazed into existence, many of them probably only noticing her for the first time. "Citizens of the New Republic," she shouted, holding the lightsaber high. "I'm New Republic Councilor and Jedi Knight Leia Organa Solo. I call on you to stop."

The people nearest Leia faltered in their charge, many of them coming to an almost reluctant halt. Or rather, trying to do so. The rest of the crowd behind them, unaware of Leia's presence, were still pushing forward. Jostling those in front or forcing their way around and past them, they continued to flow into the building.

But at least the momentum of the crowd bad been slowed, and Leia had the beginnings of an attentive audience. Now if she could project her voice to enough of them-and could find the right words to say with that voice . . .

She took a deep breath, running through her Jedi strength enhancement techniques, and opened her mouth&mdash

And at that moment there was a shout from the Bothan guards grouped at the foot of the stairway, and a half-dozen blaster bolts flashed into the crowd.

And the whole thing went straight to chaotic hell.

Leia had thought the crowd had been at the peak of its noise level. She'd been wrong. The screams from the injured were all but lost in a roar of fury and terror so loud it hurt her ears. The front rank of the crowd fell apart, many of the beings trying to hide behind the short trees and bushes or else scurrying madly for cover toward the offices lining the atrium's edges. Others simply froze where they were, unwilling to turn tail and run but equally unwilling to walk into massed blaster fire.

The Bothans fired again, sparking more screams; but this time the shots were answered. From a dozen places in the crowd blasters opened up, and six of the guards toppled to the floor.

"That's it!" a voice from the mob shouted over the roar. "Everyone-get them!"

"Wait!" Leia shouted. "Stop!"

But it was too late. The crowd, mindless with rage, was rolling forward now like a flash tide, blasters firing freely as the atrium suddenly became a war zone. Even those whose advance had been slowed by the sight of Leia's lightsaber were no longer listening, and in fact most had already deserted her or been dragged away by the mob. Twice she had to lift her lightsaber high over her head as the buffeting and shoving nearly sent someone into the blade. Dimly over the noise she heard Threepio wail something, but by the time she was able to turn around he had vanished. A Khil bounced toward her, whistling excitedly through his hullepi and waving a blaster toward the stairway, completely oblivious to the lightsaber blade he was drifting toward&mdash

And with a dark recognition of defeat, Leia shut down the weapon, using the Force to keep the Khil from slamming into her. There was nothing more she could do here. Those who were still firing were halfway across the crowd, impossible for her to reach, and none of the beings nearest her had done anything to deserve the death or dismemberment that was the only punishment her lightsaber could mete out. Too many minds here for her to quiet-too many flailing bodies for her to move aside with the Force-and a ll that was left was for her to try to keep from getting trampled.

And then, through all the chaos that surrounded her, she caught a faint hint of something different. Someone not far away; someone quietly terrified for her safety.

Han.

She strained to see, but without the blazing lightsaber blade to keep them at bay the crowd had closed in and was now pressing too close for her to be able to see anywhere but up. For a moment she searched the silent windows facing down into the atrium as she fought to keep her balance, but if Han was up there she couldn't spot him.

But there was something there, almost directly above her head now: a thick tendril of borscii vine jutting out from the atrium wall. Pushing through the crowd in that direction, using the Force to ease people aside when necessary, she maneuvered herself beneath it. Then, stretching out again to the Force, she bent her knees and jumped.

The tendril was no more than two meters above her, an easy jump for a Jedi. She made it with half a meter to spare, grabbing on to the tendril and using it to pull herself to the main body of the borscii vine where it clung its meandering way up the wall. From her new vantage point she was able to see Han now: crouched beside the railing on the ceremonial balcony, his blaster pointed down the stairway, his eyes searching anxiously through the mob for signs of his wife. Flanking him on either side, looking ready to dive off the balcony into the crowd if and when it became necessary, were Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh.

How and when the two Noghri had managed to sneak into the building Leia didn't know. But at the moment it didn't matter. The Bothan guards at the foot of the stairway were down, shot or trampled, and the entire weight of the mob seemed to be pressed against the static barrier a few steps up.

But it wouldn't hold them back for long. Even at this distance she see the faint sparking that meant the barrier was about to go down. And when it did, it would be a disaster for everyone. If Han and any hidden Bothan guards opened fire as the crowd stormed up the stairway, the result would be the slaughter of dozens or even hundreds of people.

But if they didn't open fire, there would be an equally callous slaughter of the Bothans who had escaped to the upper two floors. One way or another, a large number of people were about to die.

Unless...

One of the Noghri had spotted her now, pointing the others attention her direction. Han half rose from his crouch, his mouth working with shouted words she couldn't hear. I'm all right, she thought desperately toward him, risking her grip to try to wave him back. If he or the Noghri headed down into that chaos, they'd probably get torn apart.

But no-he understood. Sinking back into his crouch, he waved the Noghri back, his eyes locked on hers across the atrium. All right, that expression seemed to say, If you don't want us to come get you, what do you want?

Here, she thought toward him, risking her grip again and unhooking her lightsaber. For a moment she fought against the bushy tendrils trying to entangle it; then she got it free and held it up. Cocking her arm over her shoulder, she threw it across the atrium, catching it midway in a Force grip and guiding it the rest of the way to drop into Han's hand. For a few heartbeats he fingered the weapon, frowning across the distance at her. She gestured and sent her thoughts toward him . . .

And abruptly he got it. Nodding his understanding, he ignited the weapon and turned the blade to point down.

And began cutting the stairway free from the balcony.

The action hadn't gone unnoticed. Someone in the crowd roared, and a pair of blaster bolts lanced out, missing Han by bare centimeters as he ducked away. The Noghri at Han's side-the second Noghri, Leia noticed with mild surprise, had somehow pulled a vanishing act-fired back, and the other blaster went silent.

Something brushed the back of Leia's head. She twisted around, her mind flashing back to the deadly vine snakes of Wayland&mdash

But it wasn't a vine snake, or for that matter any other kind of creature, it was a length of synthrope, dangling from one of the windows directly above her.

With Barkhimkh's anxious face looking down at her from behind it.

Grabbing the rope, she started to climb. She was nearly to the window when, behind her, the stairway crashed to the floor.

***

"Admiral Pellaeon?"

With a jolt, Pellaeon snapped awake, the disturbing dream vanishing into the darkness of his quarters. "Yes?" he called.

"Major Tschel, sir," the bridge officer's voice came from the intercom. "There's a transmission coming in for you, marked with your personal encrypt."

"Understood," Pellaeon said, heaving himself wearily from his bed and padding over to the computer station. "Transfer it down here, Major," he ordered, dropping into the chair.

"Yes, sir."

The comm light went on, confirming the connection, and Pellaeon began keying in the proper decrypt code. Traveling around the Empire trying to beg, argue, or cajole acceptance of his peace initiative was tiring enough; but having to then endure these nightmares on top of it was only making the situation worse. Tonight's edition had featured Grand Admiral Thrawn, reproving him in a calm but bitter voice for allowing what he'd created to slip away . . .

The computer beeped acceptance of the decrypt, and a quarter-sized image appeared on the hologram pad. "Admiral Pellaeon, this is Commander Dreyf," the figure identified himself. "I have a preliminary report for you on my backtrack of Lord Graemon and his finances."

"Very good," Pellaeon said, suddenly fully awake. "Continue."

"To be blunt, sir, the man's a snake," Dreyf said, not even bothering to hide his contempt. "He looks to have a finger in every stewpot from Muunilinst to Coruscant and back again. We've already uncovered fifteen separate lines to New Republic financial and commodities interests, and we haven't even scratched the surface yet."

Pellaeon nodded grimly. Yes, that fit the expected pattern. For Moff Disra to operate this way they had to have equally shady counterparts to Graemon on the New Republic side of the political borders. "What about connections to known pirate gangs?"

"Nothing specific with Graemon yet," Dreyf said. "But we have a pretty solid connection between General Kyte and someone who is definitely linked to the Cavrilhu Pirates. Kyte sent a transmission to the contact right after your meeting with the Muunilinst defense hierarchy eleven days ago. We're following it up."

"I see." So Kyte was indeed a part of this. Despite all the indicators, Pellaeon had hoped he was wrong. To have Fleet officers involved in treasonous activity was doubly painful. "Have you been able to backtrack Graemon's contacts the other direction?"

"Not yet," Dreyf said. "He's not the top of the stack, though-that much I'm sure of."

"No, he's not," Pellaeon agreed. Still, whatever the connection was between him and Disra, it would be well hidden. Too well hidden, perhaps, for Dreyf and his limited resources to dig out. "Keep at it," he continued. "I want the facts, and I want the evidence."

"Yes, sir," Dreyf said. "If I may make a suggestion, Admiral, all these business connections to the New Republic ought to be enough to bring down Lord Graemon, if that's what you want."

"I have no particular interest in bringing any specific person down," Pellaeon said, not entirely truthfully. "Trade with the New Republic may be technically illegal, but you know as well as I do that we need the resources too badly for anyone to actually bother enforcing the laws."

Besides which, he added silently to himself, if and when his peace initiative succeeded all that official isolationism would have to be changed anyway. But of course Dreyf had no idea any of that was in the works. "What I want-and all that I want-is to find out who's been manipulating Imperial personnel and funds this way and have them stopped," he added aloud. "Clear?"

"Perfectly, Admiral," Dreyf said. "Don't worry, sir; no matter how deep they've buried themselves, we'll dig them out."

"I'm sure you will, Commander," Pellaeon assured him. "Was there anything else?"

"Actually, sir, yes," Dreyf said, consulting a datapad. "I just got word from one of my people on Bothawui who was tracking down one of Lord Graemon's connections there. He says there's been a bad riot over at the Combined Clans Building in Drev'starn, apparently over this Caamas Document thing."

Pellaeon frowned. "Any other details?"

"Only that there were definitely casualties," Dreyf said. "No idea of the number yet. Apparently it's just happened-the news hasn't even hit the various services yet. It'll probably take them a while to sort things out, but I thought you'd like to know."

"Yes, thank you," Pellaeon said. "Anything else?"

"No, sir, not right now."

"Very good," Pellaeon said, nodding. "Keep me informed, Commander. Out."

For a few minutes he remained seated at the computer station, gazing at the empty display as he turned that last bit of information over in his head. The New Republic is unstable; ultimately, it has no choice but to self-destruct. How many times, he wondered, had that thought been hurled at him in the three weeks since he'd begun this campaign to persuade the leaders of the Empire that it was time to concede defeat? A hundred times, it seemed, maybe more; and each time he'd stood against it, repeating his same list of arguments over and over again to the point where their precise and polished phrasing now came automatically to his mind and lips.

And yet . . .

He'd read the reports of the riots that had been springing up over this Caamas revelation and controversy; had skimmed the Intelligence summaries of the increasingly heated debates taking place in the New Republic Senate and various sector assemblies; had read the threat analyses of the growing belligerence between ancient rivals all across the galaxy.

Was he wrong and all the rest of them right? Was the New Republic on the verge of destroying itself?

And if it was, what in the Empire was he doing trying to make peace with them?

With a sigh, he levered himself out of his chair and crossed back to his bed. No, it didn't seem reasonable right now; but then, nothing ever seemed reasonable in the lonely stillness of the deep night. He'd had good and proper reasons to start on this path, he knew, and he could only assume that those reasons would still seem valid when he examined them again in the light of day. And if this controversy over the Caamas Document got in the way of the process&mdash

Pellaeon frowned in the darkness, the memory of a comment Thrawn had once made flickering to mind. Examine all obstacles carefully, the Grand Admiral had admonished him. With a little ingenuity, they can often be turned into levers.

If the Caamas Document was tearing the New Republic apart . . . what might they offer in exchange for the Empire's help in putting that controversy to rest?

Reaching across the bed, he snagged his datapad and keyed for his list of upcoming meetings. Returning to Bastion was out; aside from the disruption it would cause in his schedule, any attempt to pull a copy of the Caamas Document out of the Imperial Library there would undoubtedly be relayed directly to Disra, and he had no interest in giving the Moff any advance warning of his intentions.

But there was also a complete set of Imperial records at the Ubiqtorate base at Yaga Minor. And four meetings from now, that was where the Chimaera was going to be.

Keying off the datapad, Pellaeon set it back on the nightstand and lay down again. Yes, that was what he would do. Try to find a copy of the complete Caamas Document and offer it to the New Republic in exchange for political concessions.

Assuming, of course, that that meeting did indeed take place.

For a moment he considered checking with the bridge to see whether there were any messages waiting from Major Vermel. But the comm officers already had explicit instructions to alert him immediately if any such messages came through. Reminding them of those instructions twice a day would only make them wonder what was going on.

Besides, it had only been eleven days since Vermel's ship could have reached Morishim. With the political situation on Coruscant the way it was, General Bel Iblis might well have needed this much time simply to get the New Republic hierarchy to accept the idea of a meeting.

No, Vermel would call eventually. And in the meantime, Pellaeon had four more meetings with most likely hostile senior Fleet officers to get through before he could head to Yaga Minor.

The first of which would be in barely six hours. Rolling over, closing his eyes, he cleared his mind and tried to get back to sleep.

***

Han shook his head. "No," he said, wincing slightly as Leia carefully dabbed salve onto his left shoulder. "I did not fire. Not into the crowd; not anywhere."

"Those we spoke to claim you did," Orou'cya insisted. "They say a blaster shot came from your balcony."

"Did Clan Leader Rayl'skar also fire?" Sakhisakh demanded. "The survivors say that as well."

"They are mistaken about that," Orou'cya said, his huffy voice in odd contrast to the wariness with which he eyed the Noghri. "Clan Leader Rayl'skar had no blaster."

"Well, I didn't fire mine," Han insisted.

The Bothan's fur rippled. "If that is your word, I must accept it," he sighed. "It does not really matter."

Han grimaced. No, probably it didn't. With twenty-seven of the rioters dead and maybe forty more injured-and with the first floor of the Combined Clans Building a total loss-it hardly mattered anymore who had started it.

Except to the news reporters, of course. Most of whom were blaming him.

The door opened and a pair of Bothan guards stepped in, carrying a few bent pieces of gold metal. "Here is the rest, First Secretary," one of them said, offering their prizes to Orou'cya. "We have completed our search, and there is no more to be found."

Han scowled at the fragments. They'd been sweeping up pieces of Threepio for nearly an hour now, from nooks and crannies all over the first floor. It was like Cloud City all over again, only worse.

"He'll be all right," Leia murmured to him. "It didn't look like any of his major components had been seriously damaged while they were being kicked around. Most of it is cosmetic."

"We can repair him, if you'd like," Orou'cya offered.

"No, thanks," Han said, wishing Chewie were here instead of back on Coruscant minding the kids.

Or maybe not. The last time the Wookiee had had to put Threepio back together, the droid hadn't exactly bubbled over with gratitude. "We've got people on Coruscant who can do it."

"Of course." Orou'cya hesitated. "Speaking of Coruscant, Councilor Organa Solo, Clan Leader Rayl'skar has been in contact with the New Republic government. President Gavrisom would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

Han looked up at Leia. "You want me to need some extra looking after?" he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

Leia made a face, but shook her bead. "No, I'd better not put it off," she said, handing him a bandage. "The sooner we get our side of the story to him, the better. May I use your communications room, Secretary Orou'cya?"

"Of course, Councilor Organa Solo," the Bothan said gravely, gesturing to the door. "Follow me, please."

They went out, the other two Bothans following, Sakhisakh rather conspicuously inviting himself along. Scowling again, Han took advantage of his new solitude to relieve himself of a few choice words; and he'd just gotten the bandage in place on his shoulder when the door opened and Barkhimkh came in. "Leia's gone to the comm room," he told the Noghri.

"I know," Barkhimkh said, stepping over to him and holding out his hand. "But I wished you to see this first."

Frowning, Han picked up the charred and twisted device from the Noghri's hand. "What is it?"

"The remains of an Imperial delusion," Barkhimkh bit out, his voice harsh with contempt. "A redirection crystal and blast tube filled with Tibanna gas are mounted in a wad of adhesion material and placed near one who is to be accused of a murder. A sharpshooter then fires a shot into the crystal, which redirects the energy into the tube."

"Which then fires just like a regular blaster." Han nodded grimly. Suddenly this whole thing was coming clear. "A random shot into the crowd, and I get blamed for it."

"Yes," Barkhimkh said blackly. "Once again, you have been blamed for something that was not your fault."

"Yeah, but this time they've done a real good job of it," Han said. "Wait a second, though. How come no one saw the sharpshooter's blast?"

"He was most likely using a Xerrol Nightstinger sniper weapon," Barkhimkh said. "It fires an invisible bolt."

Han frowned. "You're kidding. I've never heard of a blaster that could do that,"

"The Empire did not advertise its existence," the Noghri said, "And aside from that sinle advantage it was a decidedly inferior weapon. The blaster gas required cost well over a thousand per canister, could only be used in specially designed blasters, and only permitted three to five shots per canister before replacement. Hardly a weapon for common usage."

"Yeah," Han said. "On the other hand, not exactly a weapon someone would just happen to be carrying around, either."

"True," Barkhimkh agreed. "Whatever it was that began this confrontation, there is no doubt it was Imperial agents who turned it into a riot."

"The problem being how to prove that," Han said, hefting what was left of the gadget in the palm of his hand. "I don't suppose this would be enough on its own."

The Noghri shook his head. "The device is a single-shot weapon, designed to disintegrate upon use. I know what it was solely from your description of what occurred."

And because Noghri assassination teams bad used the gadgets themselves on occasion? Probably, but there wasn't any point in bringing that up. Even now, ten years after learning the truth and switching sides, the Noghri were still touchy about their long service to the Empire. "Well, at least we know about it," he said, "Who's in charge of the Imperial Fleet right now, anyway? I've kind of lost track."

"The Supreme Commander is Admiral Pellaeon," Barkimkh said. "He commands the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera."

Han felt his lip twist, "One of Thrawn's people, right?"

"Pellaeon served directly under the Grand Admiral," the Noghri confirmed. "Many considered him Thrawn's primary protégé during those months."

"He sure seems to have picked up the tricks of the trade pretty well," Han growled. "We'll have to find a way to make him pay for that."

He handed the device back. "Here-try to keep what's left of it in one piece until we can get it back to the ship. And don't mention it to the Bothans, either."

"I obey, Han clan Solo," the Noghri said, bowing his head briefly as he slipped the device into a side pouch. "Will you be able to use this information?"

"Oh, we'll use it all right," Han assured him, brushing the soot from his hands. Nearly sixty humans and aliens dead or injured; the New Republic in general and he in particular being blamed for it; and Supreme Commander Pellaeon and Imperial agents at the bottom of it. "Trust me, we'll use it."

The dark Noghri eyes gazed at his face. "How?"

Han shook his head. "I have no idea."

CHAPTER

14

The starlines faded into stars, and they were there. Wherever in space "there" was.

"Reading three planets in the inner system," Faughn said, the last syllable half swallowed as she stifled a yawn. The normal crew rotation had put her off-duty when they were due to reach the Nirauan system, but she'd insisted on being awakened for the end of their trip.

Gazing out at the dim red star, Mara wondered whether it had been worth it.

"Second planet looks habitable," Torve reported. "It's got atmosphere-temperature seems okay-"

"We've got movement," Elkin snapped. "Bearing fifty-three by seventeen."

Mara threw a quick look at the instruments. As per her orders, the Starry Ice had come out of hyperspace in full sensor-stealth mode, and there was no indication of the kind of serious high-focus probe that should be necessary to penetrate that protection. Still, given they were dealing with alien technology, that might not mean anything. "Where's he headed?" she asked Elkin.

"Second planet for sure," Elkin said, keying his board. "Hang on-let's see if I can bracket his endpoint."

"Is it the same kind of ship that buzzed Terrik's Star Destroyer?" Faughn asked.

"The profile looks right," Torve said. "Can't tell for sure without doing a sensor focus."

"Endpoint coming up now," Elkin reported. "It's a spot in the northern hemisphere, lower latitudes."

"Anything around it?" Faughn asked.

"Nothing obvious," Tone said. "At least, nothing putting out a readable energy spectrum."

"This whole place makes me nervous," Elkin growled, drumming his fingertips restlessly on the edge of his control panel. "Why isn't there anything on either the planet or system in the datafiles? It's got a name&mdashsomeone must have been here once,"

"Oh, someone was here, all right," Faughn agreed. "But probably not for very long. For a while back in the Old Republic you could basically just come into an unknown system, do a quick life-forms scan, and file for development rights-the name it, claim it' law, they called it. You had systems all over the Outer Rim put on maps and asset lists without anyone having the slightest idea what was actually there."

"I remember reading about that," Mara said. "The Corporate Sector was especially bad about abusing the privilege, and we're not all that far from there."

"Right," Faughn said. "Still, all that having been said, I have to agree with Elkin's guts on this one. If this is somebody's military base, where are the defenses? Where's the base itself, for that matter?"

"No one said it was military," Mara reminded her. "They're using an alien technology-that's all we know." She looked out the viewport. "And it's all we're going to know as long as we stay out here."

"I don't know," Faughn said. "We've confirmed this is the system. Maybe we should head back and get some backup."

"Unfortunately, we don't know this is really the system," Mara pointed out. "It could be just this month's rendezvous point. If we leave now, they may all be gone by the time we get back."

"I suppose," Faughn said reluctantly. "Well . . . looks like that target zone is rotating away from us. We could give them a few hours to get around the horizon, then ease the ship in."

"That assumes they don't have a network of warning sensors scattered around the planet," Torve put in. "If they do, it won't matter whether the main base is line-of-sight to us or not."

Faughn shrugged. "It's a calculated risk."

"But not one the whole ship has to take," Mara said, mentally sifting through the possibilities. Along with its escape pods, the Starry Ice carried three shuttle-sized ships: two cargo-movers and a highly illegal New Republic Defender in-system starfighter Karrde had appropriated from somewhere. "What's the sensor stealthing like on that Defender?" she asked.

"Minimal," Faughn said. "On the other hand, it's got a pretty small sensor cross section to begin with, and of course no hyperdrive emissions at all. If their equipment isn't too good and you take it easy, you ought to have a fair chance of sneaking in."

"All right," Mara said, stretching out to the Force. There was no particular tingling from her danger sense. At least, not yet. "We'll go with your idea of letting the target zone rotate away from us for a few hours. Maybe upgrade the Defender's stealthing a little while we wait. After that . . . I go in and take a look."

***

From a distance the planet had looked dark and grim and desolate. Up close, Mara decided, it didn't look a whole lot better.

There was vegetation, certainly, everything from squat trees with wide, fan-shaped leaves to ground-hugging plants impossible to see clearly at the speed she was making. But the usual variety of color that was the norm on most of the worlds she'd visited seemed to have skipped Nirauan somehow. Everything here seemed to be done in shades of brown or gray, with only occasional splashes of dark red or deep violet to break up the monotony. Possibly it was a natural adaptation to the dim red light of the planet's sun; perhaps in the infrared part of the spectrum the plants were actually quite colorful. Somehow, she doubted it.

"Starting to get into some hills now," she said to the recorder fastened to one end of the Defender's control panel. "They look pretty craggy, actually-whatever dirt was on them seems to have eroded away." She glanced down at her displays. "Still no indication of sensor probes."

She looked back up from her board, frowning at the landscape ahead. Up there, between two of the craggier hills . . . ? "Looks like a sort of gully up ahead," she said. "No-make that a full-fledged ravine. In fact . . ."

She brushed the Defender's control stick gently, risking a little more altitude to get a better look. Her first impression had indeed been correct: the deep canyon ahead was pointing right toward the target zone.

And in fact, unless the terrain was somehow deceiving her, it looked like it would take her all the way in.

"I think I've found my route," she said, tapping a key to download the navigational information onto the recorder's data track. "Looks like a straight run right to their door."

Unless the unknown aliens had the ravine sensor-rigged, of course, in which case it would be a straight run into an ambush. She would just have to trust her danger sense to give her enough warning.

The ravine was indeed just as it had looked from a distance: fairly straight, its width varying from fifty to a hundred meters, its depth averaging around a hundred meters but dipping as deep as three hundred in places. Most similar ravines Mara had seen had been cut by rapid rivers, but the bottom of this one was dry. The walls were composed of craggy gray rock, with small bushes and tenacious vines clinging to the sides. "Still no sign of sensor activity," she told the recorder as she settled into the task of flying down the narrow passage. Standard military logic, she knew, would be for her opponents to launch their attack somewhere along these first few kilometers, while her maneuverability was limited but before she got unnecessarily close to their base. Stretching out to the Force, keeping a wary eye on the pale blue-green sky above her, she kept going.

But no attack came. The ravine widened, narrowed, then widened again, at one point changing from a canyon into the open side of a cliff where the left wall had crumbled down into a wide, forested valley beyond. The breath of open air was only a brief one; a moment later the wall rose again on her left and she was again flying through a ravine. As if inspired by its view of the forest, the vegetation was now becoming thicker and more varied, with the bushes and vines often completely covering the rocky walls.

And there was something else new, as well. "I'm seeing holes in the sides of the ravine now," she reported, trying to look into some of them as she passed. But she was going too fast to see more than that they were too deep for the sunlight to penetrate all the way to their backs. "Offhand, I'd say they don't look particularly natural," she continued. "It could be a colony of avians or vine-crawlers, or it could be part of a sensor array. Suggest the next person in bring a better sensor package to-wait a second."

She eased off on the throttle, frowning ahead. The ravine was widening again; and up there to her right&mdash

"I think I may have found the front door," she told the recorder tightly. "Looks like a cave entrance up ahead on the right, just this side of a slight right-handed angling. Good-sized opening-a little maneuvering and the ships we saw could make it inside." She pursed her lips. "And I've now got a decision to make: take the Defender, or head in on foot."

The Defender was slowing to a halt now, and she shifted to full repulsorlifts as she tried to think. The obvious decision, of course, would be to take the Defender in. But in this case, obvious didn't necessarily mean smart. So far there'd been no response from their quarry, which meant they either hadn't noticed her yet or else didn't consider her a threat.

And either way, a lone person on foot would probably get farther before sparking a reaction than a New Republic starfighter roaring in with laser cannons charged and ready. "I'm going in on foot," she told the recorder, easing the Defender down to the ground beside a clump of bushes and keying for a bioscan of the air outside. "There've been no hostile acts toward me yet, and it would be nice if I could keep it that way."

Reaching down to the small weapons locker beside her right knee, she opened the panel. "But just in case I can't, I'm taking my BlasTech, sleeve gun, and lightsaber," she added. "That should give me a head start on whatever happens."

She slid the BlasTech blaster into the holster on her hip and secured the smaller weapon in the forearm holster hidden beneath her left sleeve. She picked up the lightsaber . And paused, gazing at the weapon, feeling the cool metal against her skin. It had been Luke Skywalker's lightsaber once, made by his father and passed down to him on Tatooine by Obi-Wan Kenobi. Luke had given it in turn to her after the Empire's massive counteroffensive under Grand Admiral Thrawn had finally been stopped.

Then, she and Luke had been allies. Now . . .

With a grimace, she hooked the lightsaber onto her belt. Now, she wasn't sure what they were.

Or rather, she wasn't sure what he was.

The bioscan beeped: the air was breathable, with no toxins or dangerous microorganisms that should be able to get through her broad-scale immunization. "Looks okay out there," she said, dragging her thoughts away from Skywalker and back to the immediate business at hand. Shutting down the repulsorlifts, she shifted the Defender's systems to standby and double-checked that the recorder was set to pulse-transmit back to the Starry Ice. "I'll take my comlink, keyed to the recorder."

She clipped her comlink to a hands-free position on her collar, then popped the canopy. Nirauan's air rushed in, cool and crisp, with the subtle yet exotic odors of a new world. Unstrapping, she stood up, pulling the Defender's survival pack from its storage locker and hooking its straps over one shoulder as she climbed down the side to the ground. Settling the pack securely onto her shoulders, taking one last look around, she closed and locked the canopy and set off toward the cave.

The grasslike vegetation underfoot was short and broadbladed, with a tendency to cling to her boots, but otherwise it didn't impede her movements. She listened as she walked, but there was only the rustling of the vegetation and the quiet whisper of the breezes through the ravine. No animal or avian sounds at all.

But they were there, she knew, glancing up at the small holes that dotted the ravine's sides. The animals were there. In the holes, or nesting in the bushes, or lurking under the rock-climbing vines. She could feel their presence.

And at least some of them were watching her. . . "I could have been wrong about this," she said into the comlink, drawing her blaster. "That could just be a cave up there. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

Cautiously, she worked her way to the cave. Just as cautiously, she eased an eye around the edge.

It was a cave, all right. A dirty, musty, rough-walled cave, stretching back blackly into the distance, with a thick matting of dead leaves on the ground at the entrance, cobwebs of some sort wafting randomly in the breeze, and a lingering hint of dankness from distant standing water.

She lowered her blaster, feeling both anticlimactic and a little bit foolish. "I'm here," she said to her comlink. "And if this is a disguised landing bay, they've done a terrific job of it."

She stepped back from the cave's mouth, shading her eyes as she peered up the side of the cliff. Nothing but cliff that she could see. Just beyond the cave, as she'd already noted, the ravine veered slightly to the right. More from curiosity than any expectation of seeing anything interesting, she walked to the far side of the cave and looked around the bend.

And caught her breath. Straight ahead, perhaps ten kilometers farther along, the ravine came to an abrupt end at the base of a massive bluff. And sitting atop the bluff, black against the pale sky, was a building.

No, not just a building. A fortress.

Mara took a deep breath. "I've found them," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady as she pulled a set of macrobinoculars from their pouch in the side of her survival pack. There was something about the sight of that structure that was sending an unpleasant tingle through her. "There's some kind of fortress sitting on a bluff at the far end of the ravine."

She activated the macrobinoculars and focused on the fortress. "Seems to be built of black stone," she reported, zooming in the view. "Reminds me of that old abandoned fortress on Hijarna we sometimes used as a rendezvous point. I can see-looks like two, maybe three towers from this angle, plus something that might have been one more broken off near the base. In fact . . .

She lowered her view down the bluff to where the ravine began, the tingling sensation growing even more unpleasant. "In fact, if you set up the angles right," she said slowly, "you could make a case that whatever the shot was that took out that tower was the same blast that gouged out this ravine."

And if so, that would have been one impressive blast. The Death Star could have done it, but not much else in either the Imperial or New Republic arsenals. "Regardless, I guess that's my next stop," she decided, sliding the macrobinoculars back into their pouch. Taking one last look at the fortress, she turned and headed back toward the Defender. She glanced inside the cave, crossed to the other side&mdash

And froze, pressing her shoulder against the cool rock beside the cave opening. Something had suddenly set off her danger sense . . . and as she waited, she heard it again.

The soft, distant whine of an air vehicle.

"I think I'm about to have some company," she muttered into her comlink, giving the sky a quick scan. Nothing was visible yet, but the sound was definitely coming closer. Carefully, still watching the sky, she took a few steps back into the shadows of the cave.

Abruptly her danger sense flared; but even as she spun around she knew it was too late; From deep in the cave to her right something dark shot past, flapping a puff of dank air into her face as it swooped past her head and darted back into the darkness. She dropped into a crouch, blaster tracking toward the flying shadow, but it was already out of sight. She fired once into the ceiling, the blast of light giving her a brief glimpse of rough walls and hanging spikes of rock. She spotted the flying shado w, shifted her aim warningly toward it&mdash

She had only a glimpse of the second shadow as it dropped from somewhere above her and deftly snatched the blaster from her hand. Stifling a curse, she yanked her lightsaber off her belt with her left hand, igniting it and in the same motion tossing it to her right hand.

And suddenly the whole cave seemed to come to a screeching halt.

It was, Mara realized, a bizarre characterization of what had just happened. But the impression nevertheless remained. Whatever the flapping creatures were, they were suddenly watching with new eyes.

And speaking with a new voice.

A new voice? Mara frowned, listening hard. No mistake: there were indeed new sounds murmuring through the cave.

Through the cave . . . or through her mind.

Backing into a slight depression in the wall, she stretched out as hard as she could with the Force. The almost-voices seemed to sharpen, but they remained right on the tantalizing edge of comprehension. "Terrific," she muttered to herself. An alien and possibly hostile aircraft on its way, and here she was, pinned down by equally alien creatures who were smart enough to grab her blaster away. Creatures she could almost, but not quite, communicate with. "Where are Skywalker and his bag of tricks when you need them?"

It was as if an emotional seismic shock had rippled through the cave. Suddenly the almost-voices were clamoring even louder at the edge of her mind. "Skywalker?" Mara demanded. "You know him?"

Again the almost-voices clamored, this time with a coloring of frustration in their tone. "Yeah, I'm frustrated, too," Mara snapped back. "Come on, speak up. Or whatever it is you're doing. What does Skywalker have to do with you ?"

If they gave an answer, she never heard it. From the mouth of the cave to her left came a whisper of movement. She spun around, swinging her lightsaber to defense position&mdash

And felt her mouth drop open in astonishment. Moving awkwardly into the mouth of the cave was a huge cloud of dark, vaguely mynock-like creatures, their wings flapping madly.

And in the center of that cloud, supported on the backs of those beneath it as it was hauled by the half-hidden claws of the ones above, was her ship.

"What in blazes?" she snapped, jumping forward. Too quickly. Her foot caught on a pile of dead leaves, throwing her off balance. She twisted around, trying to recover, and instead swerved the opposite direction. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a sharp-edged stone jutting out from the cave wall rushing at her&mdash

She woke gradually, painfully, with a matting of what felt like dried blood on the side of her head and eyes that didn't seem to want to open.

It was perhaps half a groggy minute more before she was conscious enough to realize that her eyes were in fact open. It was simply a matter of its being too dark to see anything.

"Uh-oh," she muttered, her voice echoing oddly. Had she been unconscious long enough for it to become night? Or had she been dragged or carried farther back into the cave?

The survival pack was still strapped to her back. Pulling the glow rod from its pocket, she flicked it on.

She had indeed been moved deeper into the cave. And, for good measure, it had also become night outside.

"Nice to know I can still call em," she muttered in disgust, glaring at her chrono. She'd been unconscious for nearly three hours, far longer than she would have expected. Either she'd hit the wall harder than she realized, or else her kidnappers had dropped her a few times on the way here.

Wherever "here" was.

For a moment she played the beam from the glow rod around the walls and high ceiling of the cavern around her, comparing it with her memory of the brief glimpse the illumination from her earlier blaster shot had given her. But nothing matched. That put her at least thirty meters inside, she estimated, probably more. Not an unreasonable hike, assuming she didn't get lost in a maze of side passages. And assuming her Defender was waiting somewhere along the way for her to find.

And assuming that if assumptions one and two worked out there would be some place for her to go.

She looked at her chrono again. Three hours. The recorder had been set up to dump a pulse-transmission back to the Starry Ice if she either shut off the comlink or else stopped talking for fifteen minutes. Which meant Faughn bad had the record of her trip for over two and a half hours now, including that last startled yelp before she'd knocked herself out The question was, what had she decided to do with it?

Unfortunately, there was only one likely answer. Faughn had no other fighters aboard; had no way to come to Mara's aid except to bring the Starry Ice itself in. She knew better than to risk her ship that way, particularly when she was the only one who had the information Mara had sent.

Which meant the Starry Ice was long gone. And with no hyperdrive on the Defender, that meant Mara was stuck here.

"I suppose I could walk to the fortress and see if they've got a room to rent," she muttered. But that really didn't sound like a smart idea; and even as she said it, she could hear a strong note of disapproval enter the almost-voices tickling at the edge of her mind. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," she growled. It was their fault she was marooned here, after all.

On the other hand, depending on who or what had been in the aircraft she'd heard, it was possible they'd also saved her life. Under the circumstances, she supposed, it was a fair trade-off.

And it wasn't like this was permanent exile, either. A few days-two weeks at the most-and Karrde would have a force here to get her out.

In the meantime, she bad survival to worry about. Balancing the glow rod on an outcropping where it could give her some working light, she unstrapped her pack and began setting up camp.

CHAPTER

15

Lando looked up from his datapad at the grizzled man sitting across the tapcafe table from him, face half hidden behind his mug. "You must be joking," he said, waving at the datapad. "Fifty thousand? A month?"

The other shrugged. "Take it or not, Calrissian-makes no difference to me. But if you want to hire the best, you gotta expect it to cost you."

"Oh, come on," Lando growled. "This is me you're talking to, Reggi. We both know the Soskin Guard is hardly the best."

"Maybe not," Reggi allowed, taking another swig from his mug. "But they're the best you're gonna have any shot at hiring."

"Look, I'm talking about running ore freighter security here," Lando said, fighting against the sinking feeling he'd had so many times in the past ten days. "Not invading Alion or boarding a Star Destroyer or something."

"Too bad," Reggi said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Those sound like more fun-the Soskins might give you a discount on one of them."

"My point is that we're not talking the kind of job that's worth fifty thousand," Lando pushed ahead doggedly. "We're talking one shipment of ore per month out of Varn, plus a few shiploads of casino customers coming in and out. That can't be worth more than, say, five thousand a month."

Reggi sighed. "Look, Calrissian-" He paused, glanced around the tapcafe. "Look over there," he continued, pointing across at a group of aliens bunched together around a table, their horny heads almost touching. "See those Clatear? They've got a six-hundred-year-old feud going with the Nhoras that five separate generations of Jedi tried to stop and couldn't Ever heard of it?"

Lando nodded. "Yes."

"Good," Reggi said. "Well, with this new bands-off policy that's come out of Coruscant, they figure no one outside their sector is going to care anymore what they do to each other. Ergo, it's time to start fighting again.

"Now, the Clatear, they've got a pretty good military-they were under Imperial guns a lot for a while-so they're in pretty good shape. The Nhoras were luckier-or maybe not, depending how you look at it. They got ignored by the Empire, so they've got nothing much to fight with."

Lando sighed. He could see where this was going. "So they're hiring mercenaries."

"You got it, old friend," Reggi said approvingly. "They've got the Dhashaan Shield in to guard their systems-even talked old Dharus himself out of retirement to handle logistics and strategy for them. And they're ladling out thirty thousand for them. That's per day."

He shook his bead in disbelief. "It's definitely a seller's market out there for anyone with soldiers and ships, Calrissian. Everyone's figuring on settling old grudges. And who out there't hasn't got a grudge or two against someone?"

"But the Nhoras are hiring for a full-scale war," Lando said, trying one last time. "All I want is someone to help keep pirates off my shipments."

Reggi shrugged. "Some of those pirate gangs are worse than taking on a whole system defense force. Course, that depends on the system."

Lando grimaced. "Reggi, look-"

"And if you're going to bring up Taanab again, don't," the other interrupted him. "You've been squeezing that bit of history for favors for, oh, must be fifteen years now. Not going to do you any good this time."

"It's always nice to see gratitude," Lando said frostily, getting to his feet. "See you around, Reggi. Have fun with whichever war you settle on."

The afternoon Cilparian sunlight seemed especially harsh after the cool dimness of the tapcafe. For a minute Lando stood beside the entrance, studying the business flags that flew all up and down Spacer's Street and wondering if it would be worth the effort to try checking out their current clientele.

No. Reggi was right: any mercenary group worth hiring these days was looking for bigger game than freighter escort duty. And a higher pay scale than Lando could afford.

After nearly two decades of agonizing struggle, the galaxy had finally found peace . . . and all they wanted to do with it was get back to the petty little wars the Emperor's New Order had so thoughtlessly interrupted.

With a tired shake of his head, he turned back toward the spaceport.

The noise of the crowd reached him long before he came into sight of them. It was a good-sized mob, as these things seemed to be going: probably three hundred humans and aliens, milling noisily around the entrance to Docking Bay 66. This group was better organized than most, though, with signs as well as the usual shouted demands for justice for Caamas.

The mood he was in, he would have welcomed the opportunity to shove his way through them, maybe get a chance to burn a little of the simmering resentment out of his system. But the universe wasn't going to cooperate even that far with him today: the Lady Luck was two bays down in 68. Muttering under his breath about people who had nothing better to do than protest something that had happened before most of them were even born, he stomped past the crowd and headed toward his bay. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he got off Cilpar, the better.

He was a good ten meters past the edge of the crowd when a stray fact managed to penetrate his blanket of grouchy self-pity. These protests invariably targeted Bothans: Bothan merchants or diplomats or businesses. But there were no Bothans at Mos Tommro Spaceport-they used a different facility entirely.

So what were the protesters doing here?

Keeping a wary eye on the crowd, he backed into an alley out of their sight and pulled out his comlink. He keyed it to run through the Lady Luck's comm system and punched for the spaceport control center. "This is Lando Calrissian in Bay 68," he identified himself to the bored voice that answered. "I'd like a listing of the ships in Bay 66."

"There will be no need for that," a calm voice said from the alley behind him.

Lando spun around, his hand twitching aside the edge of his cloak with practiced ease and landing on the butt of his holstered blaster. Standing a few meters away, decked out in full diplomatic regalia, were a pair of white-maned, leathery-faced Diamala. "Yes?" he asked cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I believe you can," the taller of the two aliens said. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Porolo Miatamia, Senator to the New Republic. May I confirm that my ears did not deceive me and that you are General Lando Calrissian?"

"Former general, yes," Lando nodded, releasing his grip on his blaster and shutting off his comlink. The crowd of protesters at Bay 66 was starting to make sense now. "May I confirm in turn that this is not a chance meeting?"

Miatamia smiled thinly, the only way Lando had ever seen a Diamal smile. "You are correct," the Senator assured him. "My aide spotted you five streets away as you were approaching." One fan-shaped ear dipped to point at the Diamal beside him. "We have paralleled you to this point, seeking a way to confirm your identity."

"You've confirmed it," Lando said. One of the more irritating Diamalan social characteristics-annoying to him, anyway-was this tendency of theirs to trample the ground flat around an issue before actually getting to it. "Is there some service I can perform for you?"

Miatamia's ear flicked in the direction of the crowd. "My ship is in Docking Bay 66," he said. "There are . . . persons who disapprove of my government's stance on the Bothan issue."

"Yes, I've heard," Lando said. So it was now the Bothan issue, not the Caamas issue. Interesting. "Your government wants to forgive and forget, or some such thing."

The Senator eyed him closely. "Would you then prefer to inflict mindless vengeance against innocents?"

Lando spread his hands. "Hey, this is politics. I'm just a simple businessman trying to turn a little profit."

Miatamia eyed him a moment longer. Then one of his ears twitched. "As that may be," he said cryptically. "At any rate, the protesters have made their point. I have therefore appealed to the spaceport authorities to remove them so that I may return to my ship."

Lando nodded. After that lethal riot on Bothawui a week ago, he could understand the Senator's reluctance to try to push his way through the crowd. "Let me guess. They refused to lift a finger."

"There is no need to guess: I can positively state that that was their response," Miatamia said. "We were departing from their offices when we noticed you and made our tentative identification."

"I understand," Lando said. "What service may I perform for you?"

Miatamia's other ear twitched. "I wished to ask you to use your position and influence with the New Republic to intercede on my behalf."

His influence with the New Republic. Right. "I wish I could help you," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid my influence these days is limited to a select number of friends and associates. None of whom is currently on Cilpar."

"I see." Miatamia was silent a moment "In that event, perhaps you would be willing to speak to the crowd. As a hero of the Rebellion, you would have a calming influence."

Lando snorted under his breath. "I very much doubt my past activities would get me very far with them, Senator. There's a bad tendency these days for people to forget what happened back then."

"Then you refuse to help me?"

"It's not a refusal," Lando said, trying hard to be patient. It was a language thing, of course; for all their calmly logical veneer, Diamala had a tendency to use words in nonstandard ways. One reason why a lot of people didn't like dealing with them. "I'm simply pointing out that there's nothing I can do to help you."

And then a sudden thought occurred to him. "At least, nothing I can do to get you to your ship," he continued before Miatamia could respond. "If all you need right now is to get to Coruscant or back home, that's another matter."

Both ears twitched this time. "Explain."

"My ship is docked in Bay 68," he said. "I would be honored to take you wherever in the New Republic you wished to go."

"Others of the crew are still outside," the aide pointed out. "Trapped away from the ship by the crowd. Do you offer them transport as well?"

"I was thinking mainly of you and Senator Miatamia," Lando said, looking at him. "My ship has rather limited living space."

He shifted his eyes back to Miatamia. "But it seems to me that the crowd isn't interested in your crew, just in the attention of the Senator. Once you're not here to give them that attention, there won't be much point in them hanging around."

"You speak reason," Miatamia said. "Now speak cost."

"No cost, Senator," Lando assured him, waving a hand in invitation back toward his docking bay. "I would be honored to have such a distinguished personage aboard my ship."

The other didn't move. "Speak of the cost, please. There is always a cost."

So much for finding a subtle way to bring up the topic aboard the Lady Luck, "There is no cost," Lando repeated. "However, my underwater mining operation is having problems with pirate attacks. I thought perhaps I might be able to make an arrangement with the Diamalan military to provide extra security for my shipments."

"The primary task of the Diamalan military is to protect Diamalan interests," Miatamia said. "However, there may be room for discussion."

"Thank you, Senator," Lando said. "Honest discussion is all I ask. Shall we go?"

The short trip across the street to the docking-bay door was just a shade worse than Lando had expected it would be. The two Diamala refused to run or even to hurry-a matter of dignity, apparently-and they were no more than halfway to the door when the crowd waiting two bays down spotted them. Fortunately, having no compunctions of his own against a little judicious haste, Lando had already reached the other side and was keying the door open by the time the mob started its belated surge toward them. The Diamala made it inside in plenty of time, with only a few minor fruit juice stains from glancing impacts as souvenirs.

"They are barbarians," the aide said, his voice icy cold, as Lando sealed the door behind them. "No being should have the right to attempt such dishonoring of another."

"Peace," Miatamia said in the same tone as he flicked a few drops of juice from his sleeve with his fingertips. "Few other beings have the wisdom or capacity for proper expression that characterize the Diamala. Rather than considering them as barbarians to be shunned, or even as wrongdoers to be punished, you must see them as children who merely need instruction in civilized behavior."

He looked at Lando. "Do you not agree?"

"I think any such discussions should be postponed, Senator," Lando said, not about to let himself get dragged into that kind of conversation. "At least until we're safely off Cilpar."

"You speak wisdom," Miatamia said, his ears twitching again. "Please; lead the way."

***

Tierce looked up from the display . . . and from his expression alone Disra knew he'd hit solid ore. "You have a target?" he asked.

"I do indeed," Tierce said. "Senator Porolo Miatamia, Diamalan representative to the New Republic." He swiveled the display around to face the other. "And you'll never guess who he's hitched a ride with."

Disra scanned the report, feeling his own eyes widen a little. "They must be joking. Lando Calrissian?"

"No joke," Tierce assured him. "And no error, either. The reporting agent back-checked against the Mos Tommro Spaceport lift records. Calrissian, the Senator, and the Senator's aide all took off together in Calrissian's yacht."

"Did they indeed," Disra murmured. No wonder Tierce was looking so self-satisfied. The Diamala were even louder advocates of the forgive-and-forget attitude than either the Mon Calamari or the Duros. An ideal choice for the little drama Tierce had in mind.

And to have a close friend of Han Solo's along for the ride made it even more perfect. What's their destination-oh, here it is. Coruscant."

"Yes." Tierce had called up a star chart and was laying rate-of-passage tracklines across it. "Assuming Calrissian heads straight for Coruscant, we should have no trouble intercepting them wherever we want along the way. The only question is whether Flim and I can rendezvous with the Relentless before they grab the yacht."

"It won't look good if they have to wait for you to show up," Disra warned. "This is supposed to look like one of Thrawn's casual-omniscience tricks."

"Kindly do not lecture me on the subtleties of my own plans," Tierce said coldly, manipulating the tracklines across the starfield. "It'll be a bit tight, but I think we can manage it."

"Yes," Disra said as he looked over the numbers himself. "I'm still not wild about this plan, Tierce. We have no idea how the New Republic will react"

"Of course we know," Tierce said patiently. "I've already explained all of that to you."

"You've given me your guesses," Disra corrected. "But that's all they are. Guesses."

"If you're not willing to take some risks, you shouldn't have started this scheme in the first place," Tierce said, his voice chilling a few degrees. "It's still not too late for you to back out if you've lost your nerve."

Disra glared at him. "It's not a question of my nerve, Major," he growled. "It's a question of not taking unnecessary risks to achieve our objective."

Tierce met his gaze evenly. "This one is necessary, Your Excellency," he said. "Trust me. Now, we'll need an Interdictor Cruiser, too," He lifted his eyebrows slightly. "And we're on something of a tight schedule here."

With an effort, Disra swallowed back the rest of his argument Tierce hadn't sprung this new scheme on him until after his return from Yaga Minor, and he still wasn't sure how the Guardsman had talked him into it. But if they were going to do it, they had blazing well better do it right. "Fine," he growled. "Get out of my chair and I'll issue the orders."

CHAPTER

16

"Well, General," Admiral Pellaeon said, leaning back in his seat as he accepted a small glass of Kareas brandy from the other, "How are things at Yaga Minor?"

"About the same as always, Admiral," High General Hestiv said, waving at the distant planet centered in his office viewport as he poured a little of the brandy into his own glass and sat down again behind his datacard-strewn desk. "Very quiet."

"I understand there's been some recent unrest among segments of the Yagai population," Pellaeon said.

"Completely negligible," Hestiv said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Actually, since the overwhelming majority of the populace is completely loyal, they mostly take care of the handful of dissenters themselves. The only time we normally have to lift a finger is to protect the dissidents from overzealous loyalists."

"Allowing you to take the moral high ground."

"Exactly," Hestiv said. "It makes for a refreshing change from our usual image among aliens."

"Yes," Pellaeon murmured, sipping his drink. "A pity the Emperor didn't work harder at that kind of public relations himself twenty years ago."

"A pity someone who wasn't so insanely blind with power didn't overthrow him while there was still time," Hestiv countered, an edge of bitterness in his voice. "There must have been hundreds of competent administrators or Fleet officers who could have kept the Empire alive."

Pellaeon felt a catch in his throat. "There was one, at least," he said quietly.

Hestiv's lip twitched. "Yes-Grand Admiral Thrawn. I've always regretted the fact that I never had the chance to meet him."

For a moment the two men sat in silence. Then Hestiv cleared his throat. "But I don't suppose it gains us anything to count the might-have-beens," he said. "That was the past, this is the present; and I presume, Admiral, that you're here to discuss the future."

Pellaeon took another sip of his drink. "Yes," he said, watching the other closely. "To put it bluntly, the war against the New Republic is over, and we've lost. In my professional military opinion, it's time to talk peace."

The muscles around Hestiv's eyes tightened. "You mean surrender."

"I'll be negotiating for terms," Pellaeon said. "If I do a proper job, I think we should be able to keep most of what we have."

Hestiv snorted. "Such as it is."

"We still control over a thousand inhabited systems," Pellaeon reminded him mildly. "Would you prefer we allow the New Republic to whittle that number down further before we accept the inevitable?"

"The New Republic's in no shape to do much whittling at the moment," Hestiv said. "It looks to me like they're poised to go for each other's throats, not ours?'

"Certainly they have problems," Pellaeon said. "But if you're expecting them to collapse into a full-fledged civil war over Caamas or anything else, I think you're being unrealistic."

"Begging the Admiral's pardon, but I respectfully disagree," Hestiv said. "Particularly if we engaged in a little judicious pushing of our own."

Pellaeon stifled a sigh. Yet another argument he'd heard over and over again on this trip. "So you'd have us encourage them in their self-destruction," he said. "Emptying your shipyards if necessary; draining all the manpower and resources from your Ubiqtorate base. Leaving this system totally defenseless."

"If it's necessary to go that far, yes," Hestiv said. "This is a military base, Admiral. That's how its resources are supposed to be used."

"Granted," Pellaeon said with a nod. "And what do you suppose will happen when they find out we've been goading them?"

"There's no reason they need to find out," Hestiv argued. "We don't have to use our Star Destroyers or TIE fighters or anything else obviously Imperial."

"No." Pellaeon shook his head. "We can keep up such a charade for a while, maybe even a long while. But in the end, they'll find out. And then they'll unite again, at least long enough to destroy us."

Hestiv looked out the window at the blue-green sphere in the distance. "At least that way we'd go down fighting," he said with obvious difficulty. "Your way . .

. there's no honor in surrender, Admiral."

"There's no honor in wasting lives for nothing, either," Pellaeon countered.

Hestiv smiled wryly. "I know. But at least if you're dead you don't have to live with the shame of it."

"There are some in the Fleet who would call that a noble warrior attitude," Pellaeon said. "Personally, I'd call it stupid. II we're destroyed-if we all die-the concepts and ideals of the New Order die with us. But if we surrender, we can keep those ideals alive. Then, if and when the New Republic self-destructs, we'll be positioned to rise again. Maybe then the galaxy will finally be ready to accept us."

Hestiv grimaced. "Perhaps."

"There's no disgrace in backing out of a no-win situation General," Pellaeon said quietly. "I saw Grand Admiral Thrawn do it more than once, forthrightly and without embarrassment, rather than waste his men and ships. That's no more or less what I'm proposing we do now."

Hestiv swirled his drink restlessly in his glass. "I presume you've already consulted with the Moffs about this."

"I have," Pellaeon said. "In the end, they agreed."

"Reluctantly, I suppose."

"None of us is exactly enthusiastic about it," Pellaeon said. "We simply recognize that it has to be done."

Hestiv took a deep breath, exhaled it. "I suppose you're right. I wish you weren't." He lifted his glass, drained it in a single swallow. "Very well, Admiral. You have my support, which I presume was the real reason you came to Yaga Minor. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Pellaeon said, pulling out datacard and handing it across the desk. "First of all, I'd like you to run this list of names through the Ubiqtorate base's computer system."

"Certainly," Hestiv said, sliding the datacard into its slot and keying his terminal. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Unaltered information," Pellaeon told him. "These are people I suspect of having shady financial ties to Moff Disra, but we haven't been able to track the connections."

"And Disra wouldn't let you look through the Bastion records?" Hestiv suggested with a wry smile.

"I'm sure he would have," Pellaeon said. "I just don't happen to think I'd be able to trust what those records said."

"Well, you can trust these," Hestiv assured him, keying his board. "No one gets into my records without proper and double-confirmed authorization. That major from the Obliterator -Tierce-certainly found that out when he tried to-"

"Major Tierce?" Pellaeon interrupted him. "Major Grodin Tierce?"

"Yes, that's the one," Hestiv said, frowning. "He was here on behalf of Captain Trazzen, only we couldn't make contact with the Obliterator to confirm the authorization so we wouldn't let him into the system. Why, is something wrong?"

"Yes," Pellaeon gritted. "Major Tierce isn't attached to the Obliterator. He's Moff Disra's aide."

Hestiv's expression turned to stone. "Is he, now."

Pellaeon gestured toward the terminal. "Is there any way to tell which records he might have tapped into?"

"I just told you he didn't get in."

"Oh, he got in, all right," Pellaeon said darkly. "Through a terminal no one was watching, or perhaps he brought one of his own and tapped in at a junction point. But he most certainly didn't leave without whatever it was he came here to do."

Hestiv was keying his board. "You're right, of course. I'll order a check; and while we're at it, let's have them run his ID again."

The examination took just under an hour; and in the end, they found what Pellaeon had begun to suspect they would find.

Nothing.

"This doesn't make any sense," Hestiv growled, glaring at his display. We know he was here, and presumably not just for his health. But there isn't a single sign of access or tampering. So what in blazes did he do? "

"Did you check all the records?" Pellaeon asked, swiveling the display around and running an eye down the listing.

"Of course we did," Hestiv said, his tone a little huffy. "Everything from the basic maintenance files on up to-"

"No," Pellaeon said, staring at the display as a sudden chilling thought hit him. "You didn't check everything. You couldn't have."

"Begging the Admiral's pardon-"

"Because there are records you don't have access to," Pellaeon cut him off, scrolling down the listing. "Specifically, the Special Files section."

Hestiv's eyebrows lifted. "You can't be serious," he said. "Are you suggesting a lowly major could access the Emperor's own sealed records?"

"I agree it sounds unbelievable," Pellaeon said. "But we're running out of options."

"But a major?"

"He's an aide to a very slippery Moff," Pellaeon reminded him. "I wouldn't put it past Disra to have found a way into the Special Files. In fact, considering his ambition and lack of discernible ethics, I'd probably find it more surprising if he hadn't."

"I still don't believe it," Hestiv said heavily. "But as you say, we're running out of, options." He cocked an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you can get us into those records to check this out?"

Pellaeon shook his head. "The codes and procedures were lost long before I rose to the position where I would have been instructed in their use."

"Pity," Hestiv said. "If we can't get in, we aren't going to be able to figure out what he was doing in there."

"That is the big question, isn't it?" Pellaeon agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "He couldn't have been looking up something-the records at Bastion are duplicates of the ones here. Which implies his purpose was to add, delete, or alter."

Hestiv muttered something under his breath. "Which implies those names you're investigating may have more of a history with the Empire than you thought."

"Perhaps," Pellaeon agreed soberly as another unpleasant thought struck him. "But there's one other possibility. If I wanted details on the attack that destroyed Caamas, where would I look?"

Hestiv shrugged slightly. "There should be copies of all the media and official reports in the regular files, both current-time and follow-up."

"And if Palpatine was personally involved, as the rumors suggested?"

Hestiv exhaled noisily. "Anything like that would be in the Special Files section, wouldn't it? You think that's what Tierce was really after?"

"Or he was after that plus Disra's ally list," Pellaeon said. "As long as he was in the files anyway, why not do both?"

Why not, indeed?" Hestiv said, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the desktop. "The question is, what would Disra want with the Caamas files?"

"Whatever it is, I doubt very much that it has anything other than Disra's personal aggrandizement at the core," Pellaeon said sourly. "And for that reason alone, I want to know what it is. I think, General, that the two of us ought to begin a quiet search for someone who might be able to access those records for us."

"I'll begin making inquiries immediately," Hestiv promised. Where can I contact you if I'm successful?"

"I'll be out of contact for a while," Pellaeon said, standing up. "I'll communicate with you when I get back. Thank you for your assistance."

"Anytime, Admiral," Hestiv said. "And best of luck with with everything."

And it was finally time, Pellaeon knew as he headed down the corridor from Hestiv's office toward the docking bay where his shuttle was berthed. The Yaga Minor shipyards were the last stop on his tour of the Empire's meager defensive facilities, and he had gleaned as much support from the senior military as he was going to get.

It was time now for the lonely journey to Pesitiin.

He grimaced. It had been three weeks now. Three weeks since Major Vermel would have arrived at Morishim to try to contact General Bel Iblis. Three weeks since he and his Corellian Corvette had vanished without a single trace. The increasingly unavoidable conclusion was that he'd been intercepted somewhere along the way, either by random pirates, overeager New Republic forces, or dissident Imperials.

He'd been a good officer, even a friend, and Pellaeon would mourn his loss and miss his service. But at the moment the critical question was whether he'd been able to deliver his message before that interception occurred.

There was no way for Pellaeon to know. He would simply have to show up at Pesitiin and see if Bel Ibis did likewise.

And if the other did not . . . well, he would deal with that when and if it became necessary.

CHAPTER

17

Its official name was the Grand Rim Promenade; and even on a world that prided itself on engineering achievements as much as Cejansij clearly did, it was a remarkable achievement indeed. Thirty meters wide at its greatest expanse, attached to the eastern wall of the Canyonade about two-thirds of the way from floor to rim, it stretched the entire length-over ten kilometers-of the canyon. Small trade and vending booths were set up all along the canyon wall, the commercial areas interspersed with conversat ion circles or tiny contoured meditation gardens or sculpture clusters. At other spots the wall had been left completely open to allow unobstructed observation of interesting natural vegetation clumps or the small waterfalls that dribbled softly down toward the canyon floor below.

The far more interesting view, though, was on the other side of the Promenade. Beyond the chest-high, elaborately tooled metal-mesh guardwall one could look down into the Canyonade itself, to the city that had been created across the floor and sides. At regular intervals the guardwall opened up into the skyarches that curved gracefully across the canyon to the lesser and more utilitarian walkways on the far side. The skyarches were arranged in diamond-patterned groups of nine: three connecting with the Promenade, two each connecting with the walkways above and below it, one each from the walkways above and below those.

An impressive achievement, made all the more so by the fact that the entire three-hundred-year-old structure was held solidly in place without any repulsorlift support whatsoever. Walking along the Promenade, gazing across through the gathering darkness at the scattering of lights across the canyon and down below, Luke wondered if anyone in these modern days would have both the skill and the self-confidence to undertake anything of this magnitude.

Rolling along at Luke's side, Artoo twittered uneasily. "Don't worry, Artoo, I'm not going to get too close to the edge," Luke soothed the little droid, shifting his shoulders beneath his hooded cloak. "Anyway, it's not dangerous-the brochure said there are emergency tractor beams set up to catch anyone who falls."

Artoo warbled a not entirely convinced acknowledgment. Then, rotating his dome for a surreptitious look behind them, he beeped a question. "Yes," Luke told him soberly. "He's still following us."

Had been following them, in fact, since shortly after their arrival on the Promenade: a large bulky alien, slipping in and out of the other pedestrians with unlikely grace. Luke wasn't sure exactly when he and Artoo had been spotted and identified; possibly during the turbolift ride down from the spaceport, possibly not until they'd arrived on the Promenade itself.

For that matter, it was entirely possible they hadn't been identified at all. Their tail could simply be a local thief hoping to relieve a helpless stranger of his astromech droid.

If so, he was going to be in for a surprise.

Artoo twittered again. "Patience," Luke told him, looking around. They had come to the end of one of the groups of wall-hugging businesses now and were starting into a wide area that featured only a waterfall and two currently unoccupied conversation areas. Quiet, peaceful, and as private as Luke had yet seen up here. An ideal place for holding an impromptu conversation.

Or for springing an ambush.

"Let's pause here a moment," he said to Artoo, crossing over toward the outer edge of the Promenade. They were roughly in the middle of the quiet area now, with the waterfall rippling softly behind them. Picking a section of guardwall, Luke stopped walking and leaned his elbows on the top rail, stretching out to the Force as he did so. There was a subtle change in the emotions of their pursuer now: a change that felt to Luke like the other had made a decision. "He's coming," Luke muttered to Artoo. "I think he's alone, but there could still be trouble. Keep back out of the way, all right?"

The droid acknowledged with a nervous twitter, rolling a meter back in response. Resettling his elbows on the guardwall, Luke gazed out into the Canyonade, a gentle shiver running up his back as he listened to the quiet footsteps approaching from the side. As near as he could tell, this was the exact spot where he'd seen himself in that vision

The footsteps stopped. "Pardon me," a gentle voice asked. "Are you the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker?"

Luke turned, getting his first clear look at the being who'd been following them. He was of an unfamiliar species: tall and broad, with dark shell plates half-hidden beneath a fur-trimmed cloak. His head was large, with alert black eyes and small spikes where the mouth would be on a human. "I'm Skywalker, yes," Luke confirmed. "And you?"

"I am Moshene Tre," the alien said. "Un'Yala of the Cas'ta tribe of the Rellarin people of Rellnas Minor."

He reached a Wookiee-sized hand to the collar of his cloak and turned the edge back. Fastened on the underside was a distinctive gold-filigree pin. "I am also a New Republic Observer. I am honored to meet you, sir."

"And I you," Luke said, nodding in greeting as his last vestiges of tension faded away. The Observers were an experimental, quasi-official part of the New Republic, created in this latest round of governmental policy reorganization. Moving freely about their assigned sectors, their job was to report directly to the High Council and Senate whatever they saw or heard, with a particular eye toward improper governmental activities that the local or sector authorities might prefer to keep out of sight.

There had been some early fears that the Observers might evolve into the kind of secret security forces that the Empire had used with such devastating effect during its reign of terror. So far, though, that didn't seem to be happening. The various governments that had undertaken to sponsor Observers had chosen their candidates carefully, with an eye toward hiring only strongly ethical beings and then strictly defining the limits of their mandate. The fact that the Observers were assigned to sectors far away from their homes and any local or species rivalries undoubtedly helped encourage their sponsors to pick candidates who were as incorruptible and impartial as possible.

A similar system had been used in the Old Republic, Luke knew, with the Jedi Knights acting in the Observers' role. Perhaps someday his academy graduates would be numerous enough-and trusted enough-to once again take on that duty. "What may I do to help you?" he asked.

"Please forgive my impertinence in walking within your shadow," Tre continued. "But I felt a burden to speak with you, and needed to be certain of your identity before I approached."

"I understand," Luke said. "No harm done. How may I help you?"

The Rellarin stepped up to the guardwall beside Luke and waved a massive hand downward. "I wished you to see what is happening in the Canyonade tonight. To see, and to understand."

Luke turned back to the guardwall and looked down. All he could see were the normal street and vehicle lights of a modern city. "Where am I supposed to be looking?" he asked.

"There," Tre said, pointing toward a large diamond-shaped area near the center of the Canyonade directly across from where the two of them stood. Though bordered by normal street illumination, the area itself was almost completely dark, with only a handful of tiny lights showing near the center.

"It looks like a park," Luke hazarded, mentally calling up the map of the Canyonade he'd looked at on the way into the spaceport. "Tranquillity Common, perhaps?"

"That is correct," Tre said. "Do you see the lights in the center?"

"Yes," Luke said. "They're . . ."

He paused, frowning. In the past few seconds, as he and Tre had been speaking, the number of lights had seemingly doubled. Still grouped closely together . . . and then, even as he watched, a new. circle of lights was added to the group.

"They are lights of peace," Tre said. "Tonight, the peoples of Cejansij gather together in support of justice."

"Yes," Luke said. He could see all too well where this one was going. "Justice."

"I perceive from your tone of voice that you do not yet understand," Tre said, his own tone one of mild reproof. "The High Council and Senate dismiss all such demonstrations as riots by the violent or ignorant, or else as plots by the Empire. But such is not always the case."

"I don't think the Senate sees things quite that simplistically," Luke said. Still, he had to admit that Tre had a point. "So what third category would the demonstration down there fall into?"

"As I said: the support of justice," the Rellarin said. "The white lights you see are in remembrance of the peoples of Caamas.' Soon now-yes; there. Do you see?"

Luke nodded. Around the group of white lights, a thin circle of blue lights had appeared. As he watched, more were added, creating an ever-growing ring of blue around the white. "I see them."

"They signify remembrance for the victims of the Vrassh Slaughter," Tre told him. "The land the perpetrators gained by that act has yielded great wealth to them; yet neither the Pas'sic government nor the New Republic has insisted that any of that wealth be given to the survivors' families, as both the custom and ancient law of that world demand."

"One of my Jedi students was of the Vrassh," Luke said, his heart stirring at the memory. "He had a great deal of anger to work through before his training could properly begin."

"Their rage is understandable," Tre said. "Yet there is no such anger in those gathered below." He gestured again toward the growing circle of lights. "Not in the way humans define anger. They are quiet and peaceful, threatening no one. But they will not forget those who were wronged, nor will they allow those in power to forget."

"Yes," Luke murmured. "There are indeed some things that must never be forgotten."

For a few minutes they stood in silence and watched. The circle of blue lights continued to grow; and then, as the white center had given way to blue, the blue gave way to yellow. The yellow was joined and encircled in turn by red, then by pale green, then violet, and finally an outer ring of white. "They are all gathered," Tre said when the series of concentric rings was complete. "Those are the ones who have tonight donated their time in remembrance. Others will donate their time other nights; and as all look down upon the lights they too will remember. And all of Cejansij will strengthen in their resolve to petition the seats of power until all such wrongs are righted."

Luke shook his head. "Except that none Of these wrongs can be righted, un'Yala Tre," he said. "Not Caamas, not any of them."

"The Cejansiji understand that," the Rellarin said. "They know the dead cannot be brought back to life, nor devastated worlds be made whole again. They merely seek such justice as is within the power of mortal beings to grant"

"And what justice would they seek for Caamas?" Luke persisted. "The punishment of the entire Bothan race for the crimes of a few?"

"Many would say that such would not be true justice," Tre agreed. "But others would not share that opinion, and their voices too must be heard." He pointed to the circles of lights. "But now see. They demonstrate that justice cannot be limited to any one people or event. Justice must exist for all."

Luke frowned. The neat circles were breaking up, the different colors starting to mix together at the edges. His first thought was that the demonstration had ended and the participants were starting to leave. But the overall group of lights didn't seem to be getting any larger. The colors continued to bleed together, the rings giving way to a more homogeneous mix of color&mdash

And suddenly he understood. The participants were leaving their own circles of remembrance and interweaving with the people in the other circles. It was a quiet yet deeply moving demonstration of unity.

"Some of those now in the Common do indeed believe that the entire Bothan species should be held accountable for the crime of Caamas," Tre said quietly. "At least in regard to reparations to the surviving Caamasi. Other Cejansiji reject that argument, yet agree that in suppressing knowledge of their part in the crime the Bothan leadership has forfeited any right to claims of innocence. There will also be visiting' offworlders in the Common, holding lights alongside them, whose opinions will be equally varied."

"Sounds like it's about the same here as everywhere else in the galaxy," Luke said.

"True," Tre said. "The point I wished to make, Master Skywalker, is that these differences are not the result of enemy plots or even posturings among political rivals. They are the genuine and honest differences of opinion among the many beings who make up the New Republic. To dismiss any of them as unimportant or unthinking is to insult the honor and integrity of those beings and their cultures."

"I know," Luke said. "I'm sure the Senate does, too. The problem is how to reconcile all those differences. Not just over Caamas, but also in a thousand other matters."

"I do not know how you will succeed," Tre said. "I only know that it must be done, and that it must be done quickly. Already I have heard the stirrings of genuine anger at the Senate's inaction on this matter. There are other even more disturbing stirrings: whispered suggestions that the New Republic no longer cares what any world does against its neighbors or adversaries. Even now some are preparing to settle old grievances, while others seek new alliances for protection."

Luke sighed. "I've lost track of how many times the New Republic government has been accused of being too heavy-handed in one crisis or another over the past few years. Now they're trying to let the sectors and systems do more of their own governing, so of course they're being accused of doing nothing."

"Does this surprise you?" Tre asked. "The one truism in all politics is that loud voices will be raised against any decision that is made."

"Yes," Luke said, looking down at the flickering lights below.

"Many of those now demonstrating will be gathering later tonight at the ThoughtsAreFreedom tapcafe," Tre said. "It is on the far side of the Common, at the western corner of the diamond. If you choose to meet with them, they will be pleased to speak their thoughts to you."

"I'm sure they will," Luke said, carefully hiding a grimace. "Thank you for taking the time to show, me this."

"It is my sworn duty to provide information to the leaders of the New Republic," the Rellarin said gravely. "It is a swearing I take most seriously."

He placed his fingertips together and inclined his head. "I thank you in turn for your time and attention, Master Skywalker, and I urge you to visit the ThoughtsAreFreedom this night. You will gain much knowledge there." Inclining his head again, be turned and headed back along the Promenade.

Behind Luke, Artoo whistled softly, and he turned to see the little droid standing up on mechanical tiptoe as he gazed at the lights of the Canyonade below. "It's impressive, all right," Luke agreed soberly. "That's what makes this so hard to deal with. So much of it really is honest differences of opinion."

Artoo warbled again, his dome swiveling pointedly in the direction of the skyarch to their left the direction they would go to get across the Canyonade and down to the tapcafe Tre had mentioned. "I suppose we ought to go take a look," Luke said reluctantly. "Though I doubt we'll get any new information there. It'll just be more opinions."

He pushed away from the guardwall and started walking toward the entrance to the skyarch. "If you want real information you have to go to someone like Talon Karrde," he continued as Artoo rolled alongside like a well-trained pet. "In fact, I've been thinking that maybe we ought to try to get in touch with him."

Artoo made a rude-sounding noise. "I hope that's for the current attitude toward him on Coruscant," Luke warned, "and not for Karrde himself. He's done a lot for the New Republic."

The droid gave an ambiguous twitter, followed by a remarkably good impression of a pile of coins clinking together. "Yes, I know he's been paid for his help," Luke acknowledged. "You might remember that money was the reason Han first got involved with the Rebellion, too, and he's turned out pretty good."

They reached the entrance to the skyarch and stepped onto the umbrella-roofed, guardwalled bridge. Like the Rim Promenade itself, the Canyonade's skyarches were remarkable examples of engineering skill, curving gently and gracefully across the half-kilometer gorge without the benefit of extra supports or suspension cables. The right side of the walkway was finished in a simple nonslip surface, clearly designed for casual strollers or those who wanted to pause and linger over the view of the Canyonade be low. The left side, in contrast, was equipped with a pair of slideways for the serious traveler who merely wished to go from one side to the other.

It would have been a pleasant walk, Luke thought with a quiet pang of regret, but he didn't seem to have the time lately for such simple pleasures. "The important point is that Karrde has always come to us first with information that we need," he added to Artoo, ushering the droid onto the slideway and stepping on behind him. "Whether he admits it or not, he really is on our side."

Artoo swiveled his dome around to face Luke, made an I-suppose-so sort of grunt, then rotated back to face forward again. The slideway was speeding up, Luke noted with interest, accelerating steadily as they approached the center of the arch. Presumably the entire strip wasn't speeding up, which would create quite a challenge for anyone trying to get onto the strip behind him. Composed of some kind of pseudofluid material, he guessed, using a variant of laminar flow to create variable speeds along its l ength. One more engineering marvel to add to the list.

They reached the top of the arch, and he was just thinking of asking Artoo to analyze the slideway for him, when be felt a flicker in the Force. It wasn't much; little more than a twinge in the near distance. But it was enough.

Somewhere very near at hand, someone was preparing for murder.

He stepped off the slideway, fighting for a moment with the abrupt change in speed before be regained his balance. Artoo, suddenly missing him, squawked in surprise-then squawked again as Luke stretched out with the Force and lifted him bodily into the air. "Quiet," Luke admonished as he set the droid down on the stationary section of the walkway. Looking around, he stretched out again with the Force.

The murderous intent was still there, somewhere close by. But though there were a handful of other pedestrians in sight, there was nothing he could see that appeared to fit the sensation.

At least, not on this particular skyarch.

He turned around, peering upward beneath the edge of his skyarch's roof and through the guardwall mesh of the skyarch running parallel one level above him. And there they were, perhaps ten meters farther along from where he stood: two cloaked and hooded figures standing with their backs pressed against the guardwall, the smaller child-sized figure clinging to the taller one. Beyond them, Luke could just make out the shadowy forms of three assailants moving slowly and confidently in on them. In the hand of one of them, be caught the glint of a blade.

There was no time to waste, and exactly one route that had any chance of getting Luke to them in time. It would take a hefty jump, but nothing that a Jedi drawing on the Force couldn't easily handle. The only imponderable was whether the Canyonade's safety tractor beams would react fast enough to snatch him in midair and whisk him helplessly away.

There was only one way to find out. "Wait here, Artoo," be murmured. Stretching out to the Force, he hopped over the slideway to the top of his skyarch's guardwall. For a pair of heartbeats he crouched there, steadying his balance as he did one final visual measurement of the distance up and across to the other sky-arch. Then, taking a deep breath, he again drew on the Force and leaped.

The emergency tractor beams were obviously not as hair-trigger as he'd feared, and he reached the other side without so much as a nudge from them. Catching the top of the other skyarch's guardwall, he swung his legs through the opening between guardwall and roof to land in a slight crouch on the nonmoving section of the walkway.

He took in the tableau laid out before him in a glance. The two prospective victims, as he'd already seen, were standing ahead and to his right, their backs pressed against the guardwall. The hood on the taller of them bad slipped back, revealing the lined face and white hair of an old woman. The face of the child clinging to her side-most likely a grandchild or even great-grandchild, considering the woman's age-was still completely in shadow. But Luke didn't need to see an expression, the way the child clutched the old woman's side was all the evidence anyone needed to recognize the silent terror there.

A terror that was well founded; From the lower skyarch Luke had seen three knife-wielding men closing in on them. Now, from his new vantage point, he could see that those three were merely the inner circle of a much larger group. Nine other men were standing a few paces farther back, forming a semicircle around their intended prey. All nine of them had the hardened faces of men whose lives had been shaped by violence and cruelty; all nine had blasters out and ready.

And at the moment, all nine of those faces-and five of those blasters-were pointed at Luke.

"That's far enough," Luke called, straightening up from his landing crouch. "Put down your weapons."

"I've got a better idea," one of the men snarled, his voice as nasty as his appearance. "Why don't you turn around and walk away. While you still can."

"I don't think so," Luke said, trying to sound more confident than be felt. With five-six; now-blasters trained on him, it was going to be a race to see whether be could get his lightsaber out fast enough to deflect the shots that would be coming his direction the instant he made a move toward the weapon.

But there was the slideway two steps to his left. One section in each direction; both moving at reasonably high speed. "We're wasting time," one of the other men spat "Burn him and let's-"

And in that instant, in the middle of the sentence, the child moved.

It was so quiet and so smooth that at first Luke didn't realize what was happening. The child rotated out of his panicked death rip on the old woman toward the nearest of the knife-wielding assailants, one arm swinging across the man like a stylized slap cross his chest that fell short of its intended mark. The arm movement seemed to deflect the child like a ricocheted stone toward the second assailant; the slapping movement again, and he was now winging toward the third man&mdash

And with a gurgling gasp, the first man collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Someone swore with startled viciousness, the blasters pointed at Luke wavering as sudden confusion intruded on what had two seconds earlier been a solidly secure situation. Heads turned back toward the child and his grandmother&mdash

And then the second man crumpled, and the third man started to do the same, his knife now inexplicably in the child's hand. But only briefly; an instant later, with an abbreviated flick of the wrist, the knife flashed across the short distance to bury itself in the chest of one of the other assailants.

And as it did so, the hood fell back far enough to finally expose the child's face.

It wasn't a child beneath that cloak. It was a Noghri.

That single glance was the last clear view any of them had of the he alien. For some, it was the last clear view of anything they would ever have. Even as Luke grabbed for his lightsaber the Noghri became a blur of motion: diving, rolling, slashing with blades now in both hands, evading the frantic sputtering of blaster shots with casual ease. A grenade clattered to the walkway at the old woman's feet, vanished as Luke reached out through the Force to maneuver it through the gap between guardwall and roof and, send it hurling straight up.

By the time it exploded harmlessly far above them, the battle was over.

"Master Skywalker," the Noghri said, nodding gravely from the center of the carnage as be slid his two assassin's knives back to concealment. "I am honored by your presence, and grateful for your assistance."

"Such as it was," Luke said, shaking his bead in astonishment. seen Noghri in training and practice combat and had thought knew the limits of their fighting skills. He hadn't even been close. "Somehow, I think you would have managed quite well without me."

"Your pardon, but that is not true," the Noghri demurred, stepping over the bodies and coming over to him. "Your distraction was most timely, allowing me nearly four extra seconds I would otherwise not have bad."

"Not to mention the grenade," the old woman added. She had crouched down beside one of the dead and was going through his pockets with practiced fingers. "If not for your quick action, we would all have been killed. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Luke said, eyeing her with growing doubts she finished her search and moved on to the next body. A Noghri warrior and a woman with the expertise of a professional pickpocket were not exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd come leaping to the rescue. "May I ask who you are?"

"Not who you're probably afraid I am," the woman said, pausing in her search to flash him a smile. "It's really quite honest and mostly respectable. My name is Moranda Savich; Plakhmirakh here is currently attached to me as my bodyguard. We work for an acquaintance of yours: Talon Karrde."

"Really," Luke said. "Oddly enough, I was just thinking out trying to make contact with Karrde."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Moranda said, straightening up. "He's just arrived on Cejansij."

"You're joking," Luke said, frowning. "What's he doing here?"

"Who ever knows what Karrde's doing anywhere?" Moranda interred philosophically. "Why don't you come along and ask him yourself?"

Luke looked down through the guardwall at the city lights below. Once again, he'd managed to be in the right place at the right time. The Force was indeed with him. "Thank you," he said to Moranda. "I believe I will."

***

"Chief?"

Karrde looked up from his desk to find Dankin's head poking around the open office doorway. "Yes, what is it?"

"Savich and her Noghri guard are here," Dankin said. "She's got the data drop you wanted."

"Good," Karrde said, frowning slightly. Back when the Wild Karrde's bridge crew had been preparing to spring Booster Terrik's Errant Venture on the unsuspecting H'sishi, Dankin had been wearing a half-concealed grin. He was wearing the same grin now. "And?" Karrde prompted.

The grin came fully out of concealment "And they also brought you a surprise."

"Really," Karrde said, letting the temperature of his voice cool a couple of degrees. "I hope you remember hew much I like surprises."

"You'll like this one, Chief," Dankin assured him, stepping aside and gesturing. Plakhmirakh and Moranda Savich emerged around the doorway and stepped into the office, the latter holding a data drop cylinder in her hand. And coming in behind them&mdash

"Well, I'll be Kesseled," Karrde said, getting to his feet. "A pleasant surprise indeed. Hello, Skywalker."

"Karrde." Skywalker nodded in greeting. "I'm surprised to find you here."

"The feeling is mutual," Karrde agreed. "Are you alone?"

"Artoo's with me," Skywalker said, nodding back over his shoulder. "He spotted a GV9T repair droid working off your cargo bay and stopped for a chat."

"I hope he enjoys it," Karrde said, taking the cylinder from Moranda and glancing at its markings. "That's the last GV9T I'm ever going to buy. Any trouble, Moranda?"

"We were jumped on the way back," she told him. "Twelve men, very professional, no indications as to who they were working for."

"Probably one of the Hutts," Karrde said, turning the cylinder over in his hand. "They weren't exactly thrilled about losing this."

"Could be," Moranda said. Whoever they were, Plakhmirakh took care of them."

"With assistance from Master Skywalker," the Noghri added in his gravelly voice. "He arrived at exactly the proper moment."

"Jedi Masters have that knack," Karrde said dryly, handing the cylinder back to Moranda. "Good. Take it to Odonnl, then you can go and relax in the crew lounge while he checks it out and issues your payment. Would you be interested in taking on another assignment?"

"Only if it's more fun than courier work," Moranda said. "Apart from the attack, it was all rather boring." She waved a hand each toward Luke and Plakhmirakh. "And with these two around, even that part wasn't very exciting."

"I'll try to do better the next time," Karrde promised. "As a matter of fact, I have one job in particular where your talents might prove useful. Check back here after you've been paid and we'll talk, all right?"

"Fine," Moranda said, nodding. Plakhmirakh gave an abbreviated Noghri bow, and together they left the office.

Karrde cocked an eyebrow at Skywalker. "Thank you for your help. I believe it's now my turn to owe you one."

"Hardly," the other said. "Plakhmirakh vastly overrates my assistance back there."

"Yes, they don't generally need much help, do they?" Karrde agreed. "I've been very pleased with their service. Aside from running interference against Hutt hirelings, what brings you to Cejansij?"

Skywalker shrugged. "The Force, actually," he said. "I was trying for a vision of the future, and I saw myself here. So here I am."

"Ah," Karrde said. "Not a scheduling technique I'd be comfortable with, personally."

"I'm not exactly used to it myself," Skywalker said. "On the other hand, I was just thinking about trying to get in touch with you, and here you are, so it seems to have worked. What are you doing here, anyway, if I may ask?"

"It's not a secret," Karrde assured him. "At least, not from you. I've been looking into the possibility that outside agitators might be involved in some of the protests that have been cropping up around the New Republic. Since Cejansij has a long history of peaceful demonstrations, I thought it would be an obvious target for subversion."

"Makes sense," Skywalker mused. "Though maybe it's too obvious."

"Depends on how subtle our unknown agitators decide to be," Karrde said. "I thought it still worth checking out. You said you'd wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes," Skywalker said. "I've been wondering if you'd made any progress on our clone hunt."

"None whatsoever," Karrde conceded. "None of my information sources have heard even a whisper of clone activity. If they're out there, whoever's using them is keeping it very quiet."

"Mm," Skywalker murmured. "How about the Cavrilhu Pirates?"

Karrde shook his head. "They seem to have gone to ground." He cocked an eyebrow. "Not that I really blame them. Being chased out of your most secure base by a Jedi Master must be a rather disconcerting experience."

"You were chased off Myrkr by Grand Admiral Thrawn, and you didn't panic," Skywalker reminded him.

Karrde forced a smile. The memories of that time still provoked unpleasant twinges. "Perhaps I'm made of stronger stuff. Or perhaps I just don't panic quite so noticeably."

On his desk, the intercom twittered, and he leaned over to touch the switch. "Yes?"

It was Dankin, his expression suddenly and uncharacteristically grim. "Priority message coming through from the Starry Ice," he said tartly. "Faughn says Mara's been captured."

Karrde felt his stomach tighten as he dropped back into his desk chair. "Is Faughn still on?"

"Mostly," Dankin said. "The signal's a little funny-too many relays in the mix-but it's mostly clear. Comm 5."

Karrde keyed to the channel, dimly aware that Skywalker had circled the desk and come up beside him. "This is Karrde. Faughn?"

"Yes, sir," Faughn's voice came, wavering slightly with the distortion of multiple hyperspace relays. "We reached the Nirauan, system and observed an unidentified spacecraft land on the second planet. Jade took our Defender and went in. We got a pulse transmission from her recorder that indicated she was in trouble. Captured, maybe worse."

Karrde could hear his heart thudding in his ears. "Dankin, do we have a copy of the recording?"

"Right here," Dankin's voice said.

"Play it."

He listened as it played through: the flight and landing, Mara's discovery of the cave and fortress, her startled exclamation and that final sickening thud. "Get H'sishi started on a scrub right away," Karrde ordered. That thud had sounded far too much like the sound of a body hitting the ground. . . . "I want everything you can get off that recording."

"We're already on it."

"We did some scrubbing of our own on the way here," Faughn said. "There's definitely breathing and a human-tempo heartbeat after she goes silent, so at least at that point she was still alive. There are fifty or more flying creatures in the cave-we can sort out at least that many sets of wings flapping-though that may not have been who she was talking to. Oh, and from the different speeds of the sound through air and bone, it looks like that thud was something hitting the front or side of her head."

Karrde grimaced. "An attack."

"Or an accident," Faughn said. "We know she was moving just before it happened, and that she was inside a cave. She could have run into a wall or something."

"We can try an echo analysis," Dankin suggested. "Try to figure out how close she was to the wall when she was hit."

"Yes." Karrde looked up at Skywalker, standing in dark silence beside him, troubled eyes seemingly focused on empty space. "You know anything about this?" he asked the Jedi. "Either the planet or whoever she was talking to?"

Skywalker shook his head slowly, his eyes looking even more troubled. "No. But I did see a vision of Mara, the same time I saw myself here. And where she was . .

. it might have been a cave."

"I hated to leave her there," Faughn said. "But I also didn't want to risk all of us disappearing without letting someone know what had happened. Especially given those ships and that fortress."

"No, you did the right thing," Karrde assured her. "The question now is how we get her out." He looked up at Skywalker. "Or rather, who we send to do the job."

Skywalker must have heard the challenge in his voice. His eyes came back from whatever they were staring at to look down at Karrde. "You're suggesting I go?"

"Someone there seems to know you," Karrde pointed out. "At least, Mara thought so. You may be the only one he-or it, or they-will be willing to talk to,"

"I can't leave," Skywalker said, the words coming out almost mechanically, his attention clearly elsewhere. "I have duties here."

"You have a duty to Mara, too," Karrde countered. "For that matter, you have a duty to the rest of the New Republic. You saw one of those ships-you know we're dealing with an unknown culture here. If that fortress she saw is made of the same material as the one on Hijarna, they'll be able to sit in there and shrug off any attack we could throw at them. And -"

"All right," Skywalker said. "I'll go."

Karrde blinked, taken slightly aback by the suddenness of the decision. He'd expected to have to argue at least a few more minutes and probably throw in something concrete before the other agreed.

But he also knew better than to question a decision he was already pushing for. "Good," he said. "Tell me what you need in the way of equipment or supplies, and we'll get it for you. You'll want a bigger ship, of course. Dankin, what do we have available?"

"No time for that," Skywalker said before Dankin could answer. "My X-wing's over in Docking Rectangle 16. If you can download a copy of the nay data to Artoo, we'll get it refueled and be on our way."

"You can't carry a passenger in an X-wing," Faughn objected. "If she's hurt-"

"Then we take her ship and leave the X-wing behind," Skywalker cut her off. "We're wasting time."

"You won't get very far in a Defender," Karrde reminded him, keying his board on a hunch. Yes, the timing and distances would work. "Let me suggest a compromise: you leave here in your X-wing and I'll have the Dawn Beat bring the Jade's Fire to meet you off Duroon. Her droid won't be activated, but you and your R2 should be able to fly it without any trouble."

Skywalker shook his head. "I don't want to try to sneak onto Nirauan with a ship that big."

"Then leave the Fire hidden somewhere in the outer system and ride your starfighter in," Faughn suggested. "The docking port should handle an X-wing without any problems."

Skywalker hesitated a heartbeat, then nodded. "All right."

"Good," Karrde said. "Dankin, get onto spaceport control and have a fuel order cut for his X-wing. Number one on the priority list, and you can bribe or threaten whoever you have to to get it there. Then put together the most comprehensive survival kit you can that will fit an X-wing's cargo hold. Two cubic meters and 110 kilograms, as I recall."

"Got it," Dankin said. "What kind of backup are we going to send in behind him?"

"As much as we can throw together," Karrde told him, keying for a list of available resources. His organization's fleet was impressively large; but scattered around the entire New Republic the way it was, it would take precious time to collect any kind of attack force together.

"I don't want any backup," Skywalker cut into his musings. "Bringing in the Jade's Fire is risky enough; the more ships in the system, the better the chances one of them will be spotted. It'll be better for me to try to slip in by myself."

"But you can't get her out alone," Faughn said.

"I can," Skywalker said softly. "I have to."

"You can't," Faughn insisted. "Karrde? Tell him."

For a long moment Karrde studied the younger man, his mind flicking back to that first meeting between the two of them aboard the Wild Karrde so long ago. Even back then Skywalker had never been what he would have called brash; but looking at him now Karrde was struck by the quiet maturity ten years had added to his face. "It's his call, Faughn," he said. "If he says he can do it, then he can."

Skywalker nodded. "Thank you," he said.

"I think the thanks are all on the other side," Karrde pointed out, trying to force a smile. "All right: fuel and supplies, and the Jade's Fire at Duroon. What else do you need us to do?"

"Just what you're already doing," Skywalker said. "Keep looking into these riots, and if you find anything get the information to Leia."

"Done," Karrde said. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Skywalker said, a shadow crossing his face. "Could you get word to Leia on Coruscant and tell her where I've gone?"

"I'll go myself," Karrde promised, getting to his feet again. "We'll leave as soon as you're gone."

"Thank you," Skywalker said. He turned and beaded for the office door&mdash

"You said you saw Mara in a vision," Karrde called after him. "What was she doing?"

Skywalker paused in the doorway. "She was in a rocky place, floating in water," he said, not turning around. "And she looked dead."

Karrde nodded slowly. "I see."

He was still standing there, gazing at the open door, long after Skywalker bad gone.

CHAPTER

18

Quite unfairly, the battle alarm sounded right in the middle of dessert.

For a split second Wedge considered shoveling the last three bites of his citros snow cake into his mouth at once, decided running to the landing bays with a full mouth lacked the proper dignity, and regretfully left the cake orphaned on the mess-room table.

"Starfighter wings, check in," the Peregrine's fighter coordinator was calling as Wedge slid on his flight helmet and dropped into the cockpit of his X-wing. "Rogue Squadron, where are you?"

"Right here, Perris," Wedge said, glancing around to confirm that the rest of the squadron were indeed present in the bay. "What's going on?"

"Don't know for sure," Perris growled. "All I know is that we just got a panic call from the Sif'kric system. General Bel Iblis talked to them for maybe five minutes, and suddenly we're getting ready to fly. Okay, you show green-launch when ready."

"Copy. Okay, Rogues, let's go."

Twenty seconds later they were in space, driving forward along the Peregrine's flank toward vanguard position. "I don't suppose this might be a drill," Rogue Six suggested on their private frequency.

"Well, if it is, the general owes me another dessert," Rogue Twelve put in. "Anyone been following local politics in this sector?"

"I have, a little," Rogue Nine said grimly. "My father-in-law's got some interests here. Ten to one it's the Frezhlix; they've been feuding with the Sif'kries ever since we chased the Empire out of the area."

"Maybe they've finally decided to finish it," Rogue Two suggested.

"With General Bel Iblis and a New Republic task force right next door?" Rogue Six put in incredulously. What are they using for brains, groat cheese?"

"All ships, this is General Bel Iblis," the general's voice came on the command frequency, cutting off the conversation. "We've just been informed that a strong Frezhlix force is moving on the Sif'krie homeworld of Sif'kric. As that system is only a few minutes away, we've been asked to go take a look."

Terrific, Wedge thought sourly as he glanced back over the New Republic task force. One Katana-fleet Dreadnought, two Nebulon-B escort frigates, and three starfighter squadrons; and they were supposed to take on a force big enough to attack a whole planet?

Bel Iblis might have been reading his mind. "Obviously, we're not planning to go head-to-head with them," be continued. "In fact, we're going to have to be very careful we don't overstep our legal bounds here. That's all I can say until we get there and assess the situation. Commander Perris?"

"All ships, check in," Perris ordered. "Prepare to jump to lightspeed on my mark."

"What does he mean, legal bounds?" Rogue Six asked as the fleet began its check-in.

"My guess is that whoever called Bel Iblis wasn't someone who could officially ask for New Republic assistance," Wedge told him. "Some minor bureaucrat, maybe just a rattled space-traffic controller. If we don't have an official request-"

"Rogue Squadron: go," Perris ordered.

"Copy," Wedge said. He pulled back on the hyperdrive lever, squinted as the starlines flared, and they were off.

It was a twelve-minute flight to the Sif'kric system. Alone in the solitude of hyperspace, he spent those minutes running a final check on the X-wing's systems and armaments, and wondering how the legendary General Garm Bel Iblis was going to pull this one off.

The timer clicked down toward zero. Settling himself, Wedge pushed the lever back. The starlines flared again&mdash

He blinked. What in space-?

On the Rogues' private channel, somebody snorted. "You must be joking," Rogue Two said. "That is an invasion fleet?"

Wedge looked at his tactical readout, shaking his head in silent agreement. Two forty-year-old Kruk battle-wagons, five Lancer-class frigates probably half that age, and maybe thirty modern Jompers customs pursuit ships.

"So much for the big bad threat," Rogue Eight commented contemptuously. "We could probably chase them out of here all by ourselves."

"I don't know," Rogue Eleven said. "Someone seems plenty worried about them. Take a look at the far planetary rim-must be twenty freighters scurrying for cover."

"And another hundred who aren't going to make it," Rogue Seven pointed out. "There to portside-the Frezhlix force has got them cut off."

"I get it," Rogue Nine said. "Those clever little scumrots. That must be the annual pommwomm plant shipment."

"Frezhlix attack force, this is General Bel Iblis of the New Republic," Bel Iblis's voice announced. "Please state your intentions."

"I am Plarx," a thickly accented voice shot back. "I speak for the Frezhlix. Our intentions do not concern the New Republic. This is a private matter between ourselves and the Sif'kries."

"I'm afraid I cannot accept that," Bel Iblis said. "Any aggression against a New Republic member is our concern."

"This is not aggression, General Bel Iblis," the Frezh countered. "We are a delegation come to discuss the Sif'krie vote on the Drashtine Initiative."

There was a pause, Bel Iblis no doubt having someone look up what exactly the Drashtine Initiative was. "Corran, what are these pommwomm plants you mentioned?" Wedge asked.

"They're a type of hot-world shrub that grows on the system's inner planet," Rogue Nine said. "You can get about eight different exotic medicines and twice that number of food flavorings out of them. Problem is, they have to be processed within thirty hours of picking or they're useless."

"So that's what the Frezhlix are doing," Rogue Seven growled. "They don't have to invade anyone or set up a long-term blockade ring. All they have to do is keep those freighters back for a few hours, and the Sif'kries are out a bunch of money."

"Try about twenty percent of their annual gross product," Rogue Nine put in. "We're talking serious economic warfare here. No wonder they sounded panicked when they called."

The main channel crackled to life again. "Speaker Plan, this is General Bel Iblis. I've reviewed the Drashtine Initiative, and I see no justification for this kind of confrontation."

"Then you did not review it closely," the Frezh snarled. "The Sif'krie government cast the deciding vote that prevented our sector's Senator from adding his voice to the growing condemnation of the Bothan government and people."

"The vote was legally taken-"

"The vote was wrong!" Plan snapped. "To allow the Bothans to escape proper punishment will merely encourage further atrocities like Caamas in the future. The Sif'krie government must be made aware of that and given the opportunity to change its vote."

"A convenient enough excuse," Rogue Two muttered.

"He's got a point, though," Rogue Five said. "Heavily wrapped in local politics and blackmail, but a point."

"I understand your feelings on this matter," Bel Iblis said. "But at the same time we cannot stand by and allow you to interfere with interstellar commerce this way."

"Untrue," the Frezh said. "I encourage you to review New Republic regulations on such matters, General Eel Iblis."

There was another pause. "He's right," Rogue Twelve said grimly. "This is intrasystem, not interstellar. We can't move in unless and until we get an official invitation to do so."

"Which means it's all in the government's shockball court now," Rogue Five muttered. What do you think, Corran? Can they move fast enough to save the plants?"

"I don't know," Rogue Nine said. "But I'd be willing to lay odds the Frezhlix picked a time to pull this stunt when some key Sif'krie official is off-planet or otherwise out of touch."

There was a click on the private channel. "Rogue Squadron, this is Bel Iblis. Commander Horn?"

"Yes, sir?" Rogue Nine said.

"I was given to understand that Booster Terrik has some interests in this sector. Is that true?"

There was just the briefest of pauses. "Yes, General, he does."

"Would those interests occasionally include legitimate shipping? Say, when the need and fees are high enough, such as during the annual pommwomm shipment?"

There was a longer pause this time. "I really don't know, sir," Rogue Nine said, sounding puzzled.

"I think it reasonable that they would," Bel Iblis continued. "Given that assumption, do you suppose one of those stalled freighters out there might belong to him?"

And suddenly, Wedge understood. The legendary General Eel Iblis was going to pull this one off, all right. Maybe. "Do we have IDs on the ships, General?" he asked.

"I'm sending the data across now," Bel Iblis said. "Commander Horn, take a look, please."

"Understood, sir," Rogue Nine said, his voice no longer puzzled. So he'd caught on, too. "Yes. That freighter listed as the Sycophant Jolly&mdashover at the far side of the pack? I believe that could actually be the Hoopster's Prank, one of Booster's ships."

"I see," Bel Iblis said, his voice suddenly heavy with official weight. "I recognize your familial relationship with Captain Terrik, Commander, and I realize that this is going to be personally painful for you. But you're an officer of the New Republic Fleet; and we cannot and will not bend the rules against smuggling for anyone."

"We understand, sir," Wedge said, pitching his tone to the same seriousness level. "Request permission to check out this suspect ship."

"Permission granted, Rogue Squadron," Bel. Iblis said. "Be careful not to accidentally engage the Frezhlix forces."

"Understood, sir," Wedge said. "Rogue Squadron, form up around me."

Kicking power to the drive, he swung the X-wing away from the Peregrine. "Looks like the most direct route to the Sycophant Jolly is right through the middle of the Frezhlix blockade force," Rogue Eight commented.

"And we certainly don't want to give them time to dump any contraband while we fly around," Rogue Nine agreed.

"I guess we'll have to go through the blockade, then," Rogue Two concluded. "Just everyone be careful not to accidentally engage."

"Very careful," Wedge said. "Let's do it."

They were halfway to the Frezhlix forces before the alien commander suddenly seemed to notice what was happening. "General Bel Iblis, what are your starfighters doing?" he demanded. "You have no legal justification for an attack on my ships."

"Your ships are not under attack, Speaker Plarx," Bel Iblis assured him. "We've identified one of the freighters waiting beyond your delegation as a smuggler flying under a false ID. By New Republic law, we have both the right and the duty to board any such ship and impound its cargo."

It was forever afterward unclear to Wedge just what exactly the Frezhlix commander thought was going to happen next. Whether he thought Bel Iblis was planning to transfer the perishable cargo from all hundred-odd freighters to the Peregrine, or just declare all the freighters suspect and insist they be escorted down to the planet for a proper search. But whichever it was, he leaped to the wrong conclusion-and the bait-with both hands. "No!" Plarx shouted. "They are not to approach. Do you hear? They will not approach."

"You can't stop us," Wedge put in. "Move out of the way; we're coming through."

"No!" the Frezh shouted. There was a jabber of a hissing, guttural language, and then the comm abruptly shut off. Wedge took a deep breath, preparing himself&mdash

And suddenly the Frezhlix battle-wagons opened fire. "Evasive!" Wedge snapped, twisting his X-wing hard to starboard as the laser blasts blazed past, one of the shots nearly taking off his upper portside engines. There was another snarl of hissing gutturals, and another salvo of laser fire shot by. "Rogues, reform," he called. "Return to fleet." Turning his nose farther around, ducking under one final blast of enemy laser fire, he headed back toward the Peregrine.

But the Dreadnought was no longer there. It and the rest of the New Republic fleet, reconfiguring into the general's favorite combat formation, were moving decisively toward the Frezhlix blockade force.

Something that sounded like a wheezing squawk came over the comm. "New Republic force!" the Frezhlix commander snarled. "What are you doing? You have no right to move against me."

"On the contrary, Speaker Plarx," Bel Iblis said, his voice suddenly blade-sharp. "I have every right. You have just opened fire on New Republic spacecraft. Surrender immediately, or prepare to be destroyed."

"I protest!" Plan gasped. "Your ships provoked us into defending ourselves."

"Last chance, Speaker," Bel Iblis said. "Surrender or face the consequences."

There was a snarl of gutturals; and as the Rogues reached the Peregrine and curved around again into their positions in the battle formation Wedge saw that the Frezhlix ships had abandoned their blockade and were turning their guns to face the oncoming New Republic force. Fleetingly, Wedge wondered if Bel Iblis would be gracious enough to simply hold position in the standoff now that he'd broken the blockade, or if he'd insist on making the Frezhlix pay for their aggression.

Plarx took the decision on himself. In an awesome blaze of laser fire the two Kruk battle-wagons opened fire as the Jompers pursuit ships leaped forward to meet the incoming X-wings. "New Republic forces," Bel Iblis said coldly. "Engage at will."

***

"The Frezhlix government has delivered a sharp protest to me over your actions a few hours ago," Admiral Ackbar's gruff voice came over the Peregrine's comm speaker. "They claim you launched an unprovoked attack on a peaceful delegation."

Standing a respectful distance from the general's chair, Wedge caught Corran Horn's attention and rolled his eyes in a silent gesture of disgust. The other grimaced in agreement. "On the contrary," Bel Iblis told Ackbar. "They were engaged in a clear violation of free economic movement. Besides which, they attacked first."

"That's not the way the Frezhlix tell it," Ackbar rumbled. "They say you clearly overstepped New Republic authority."

"I'm sure they do," Bel Iblis said. "Do you wish me to stand for an inquiry?"

"Don't be absurd, General," Ackbar said; and for the first time since the conversation had started the Mon Cal's voice seemed to Wedge to have relaxed a little. "We need all the good commanders we can get. And I don't doubt the Frezhlix deserved whatever you delivered to them. You said there was a smuggling ship in among the other freighters?"

Bel Iblis glanced up at Corran, who nodded. "Yes, sir, without question," the general confirmed. "One of Booster Terrik's. The Sif'krie authorities have impounded the ship and are checking for contraband."

"I can imagine the conversation that will take place on the Errant Venture sometime in the near future," Ackbar said, his voice going a little odd. Mon Cals had a long hatred for smuggling and smugglers, and the admiral was undoubtedly finding a certain poetic humor in what had happened. "Though the justification of your position will be dulled if there was indeed no contraband aboard."

"The regulations don't care whether the search comes up dry or not," Bel Iblis reminded him. "Or are you suggesting that President Gavrisom might not choose to see it that way?"

"The President is bound by certain diplomatic and political necessities," Ackbar said. "However, I'm certain that he will read your report on this incident before rendering any judgment. Still, I suggest you cut your patrol circuit short and return to-"

Abruptly the signal squealed and vanished. "Comm station, what's going on?" Eel Iblis demanded.

"The problem's not at our end, General," a new voice reported. "Looks like the HoloNet carrier's been cut off."

Bel Iblis threw a look at Wedge and Corran. "Trouble on Coruscant?" he asked the comm officer.

"I don't know, sir. I'm checking the other relays . . . no, sir, it's not Coruscant. Looks like the relay at Mengjini has gone down."

"Sir, we're picking up a general alert on the secondary net," a new voice put in. "The relay at Mengjini has allegedly come under attack from a small group of, quote, dissident elements,' unquote."

"Acknowledged," Bel Iblis said. "Navigation, plot us a fast course for Mengjini. Comm, relay the alert to all New Republic forces and bases in the area. Tell them we're going in and request backup reinforcements."

He got acknowledgments and turned again to Wedge and Corran. "It looks as if your reports will have to wait," he said. "Get back to your squadron, and get ready to fly."

"Not good," Corran puffed as he and Wedge jogged down the Peregrine's ventral corridor toward their docking bays. "When they start messing with long-range communications, you know they're getting serious."

"We don't have any proof it's this Vengeance group," Wedge pointed out, dodging around a Dresselian crouched over an open access panel.

"Maybe not," the other countered. "But I never mentioned Vengeance. You thought of them on your own."

Wedge grimaced. "Yeah," he agreed. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Corran said. "And you're also thinking that between killing riots, overt interplanetary attacks, and now long-range comm-kicking, this has gone way beyond a few zealots protesting Bothan involvement in Caamas."

"Yeah," Wedge agreed soberly. "I can hardly wait to see what happens next."

CHAPTER

19

"Read and cry," Lando said, laying his sabacc cards down on the table. "Twenty-three-a Pure Sabacc run."

"Interesting," Senator Miatamia murmured, his leathery Diamalan face unreadable as he studied his own cards. "I presume the reference to crying is not a literal part of the game as you play it. A Pure Sabacc run, you say?"

"Yes," Lando confirmed, an uncomfortable sensation tickling at the back of his neck. The Senator had made this same dramatic pause on the sabacc pot hand in exactly five out of the eight complete games they'd played since the Lady Luck's hurried scramble off Cilpar. Five games that the Senator had also happened to win.

"Unfortunate," Miatamia said, laying his cards almost daintily on the table. "I have an Idiot's Array. I believe that wins?"

"Yes, it wins," Lando said, shaking his head in disgust. Make that six out of nine. "I can't believe you haven't played this game professionally," he grumbled, starting to gather up the cards.

The Diamal flicked his fingers in the air. "You don't truly believe the Diamala have created our vast financial and business empire from mere common sense and hard work, do you?"

Lando paused, half the cards still on the table, eyeing the Senator suspiciously. Was he actually implying-?

No, of course not. Ridiculous. "That was a joke. Right?"

"Of course," Miatamia said, flicking his fingers again. "Common sense and hard work are all any being or species require to succeed. Luck is merely an illusion, trusted by the ignorant and chased by the foolish."

With an effort, Lando fought down a flicker of annoyance. His professional gambling days were long in the distant past, but the Diamal's obvious contempt still rankled a little. "So in other words, if you're smart enough, nothing ever happens you can't anticipate?"

"Of course the unanticipated may happen," Miatamia said. "But those who are prepared can always find their way through."

"All by themselves?" Lando persisted. "They never need any help?"

"They may," the Diamal said, unruffled. "But anticipating the need for assistance is merely one more part of common sense."

"Ah," Lando said, nodding. "So, in other words, the fact that I recognize my need for extra security for my ore shipments means that I have good common sense."

"It may," Miatamia agreed. "It could also mean-"

And suddenly, with a loud crack of released energy coming from the direction of the Lady Luck's hyperdrive, the mottled sky above them abruptly flowed into starlines.

Lando was at the top of the circular staircase by the time the starlines finished shrinking back into stars. "What is it?" Miatamia demanded from behind him.

"Hyperdrive failure," Lando shouted over his shoulder as he all but threw himself down the stairs. If one of the couplings had failed, he needed to get the power rerouted before it started into surge instability and took out everything else on the circuit. With visions of a major repair job out here in the middle of nowhere looming before him-a repair job that would not exactly endear him to his Diamalan guest-he sprinted across the dining area, past the cabins, and skidded to a halt in front of the eng ineering control panel.

And frowned. There were none of the glowing red lights that would have indicated major systems failures, or even the blinking red status lines pointing to minor systems failure. In fact, according to the displays, the hyperspace drop-out was simply the normal automatic response of close planetary approach. There was a duly logged note that course comparison with the nay computer indicated that no planets should be in range at the moment . . .

"Oh, no," Lando breathed, leaping up the short stairway and jabbing at the bridge door release. The door slid open, and he stepped through.

And there it was, floating silently in the darkness directly in front of him: the all-too-familiar shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer.

Biting back a curse, he dived for the helm, slapping the row of emergency power-boost switches on his way. He dropped into the chair, threw full power to the drive, and twisted the yacht's nose hard to starboard.

Or rather tried to twist it. Even with full emergency power, the Lady Luck wasn't moving.

Or rather she wasn't moving where Lando wanted her to go.

"We are in a tractor beam," the Senator's cool voice said from behind him.

"I noticed," Lando said shortly, shifting into a sharp up-down wiggling motion. If the tractor beam operator thought his target was trying to go vertical, be might overcorrect and allow the yacht to slip the lock.

But no such luck. "Strap down," Lando ordered Miatamia, letting the tractor damp out the yacht's residual wiggling and taking a quick look around. The Imperials had to have an Interdictor Cruiser around here somewhere . . . yes, there it was, off in the distance to portside, its nose pointed in the Lady Luck's direction.

But not all that precisely pointed. In fact, the projected cone of hyperdrive-dampening gravity waves was not even close to being centered on the tug-and-back contest taking place out here. If Lando could break free of the tractor beam, there was an even chance he could get to the edge of the cone and escape before the Star Destroyer could reestablish the lock.

If. "Call your aide on the intercom and have him strap down," he told the Senator. The Lady Luck had one last trick up her sleeve, a little something that one of Luke's exploits a few years back had inspired Lando to install. Powering up the backup proton torpedo launcher, he keyed for a Stage Three torpedo and fired.

The torpedo flashed out from under the yacht's bow, accelerating suddenly as the tractor beam yanked at it. There was a flicker from Lando's board as one of the Star Destroyer's turbolaser batteries began to track it&mdash

And then, no more than twenty meters in front of the Lady Luck, the torpedo exploded.

Not into a devastating blast, but into a brilliant cloud of trac-reflective particles. Particles that should, in theory, confuse the lock, tie up the entire tractor beam, and let him slip free.

And it was working. The yacht shuddered for a moment and then jerked hard as the invisible grip was abruptly broken. "Hang on!" Lando shouted, turning the ship's nose hard over. If Luke's experience with the covert-shroud gambit was anything to go by, he would have bare seconds to get to the edge of the Interdictor Cruiser's mass-shadow cone before the Imperials woke up and started shooting.

But even as the Lady Luck started to turn, there was a burst of light from behind the particle cloud between him and the Star Destroyer. He had just enough time to see the glittering trac-reflective particles turn a dull, nonreflective black&mdash

And with another jolt the yacht was once again trapped in the tractor beam.

"What now?" Miatamia asked.

"Only one thing we can do," Lando told him, his stomach tight as he shut down the Lady Luck's sublight engines. We surrender."

***

Six stormtroopers led the way, clumping along in perfect unison in three ranks of two each. Behind them, their softer footsteps not even trying to stay in step, strode Miatamia and his aide. Lando walked behind the two Diamala, obscurely glad to be in the less noticeable position in the back.

Not that that spot really gained him anything. There were six more stormtroopers behind him bringing up the rear.

Apart from a brief "come with us" from the stormtrooper commander, there had been no communication between captors and prisoners. But Lando had been aboard more than one Star Destroyer in his time, and he didn't need either an invitation or a map to know that they were being herded into senior-officer country. Possibly to the Intelligence officer's nerve center, possibly even to the captain's office complex itself.

He'd been unable to read the ship's ID before the Lady Luck had been drawn into the gaping hangar bay, and had been hoping against hope that this was some monstrous practical joke being played on him with one of the New Republic's captured Star Destroyers. With each passing step, with each Imperial officer or crewer who stepped respectfully aside to give the stormtroopers room, the hope faded a little further.

It seemed to take forever, but finally they came to a halt at a door marked simply SECONDARY COMMAND ROOM. "You are expected," the commander said from behind Lando as the leading stormtroopers formed a guard semicircle around the door. "Enter."

"Thank you," Miatamia said, his voice impossibly calm. The door slid open and, without hesitation, the two Diamala strode inside. Reluctantly, Lando followed&mdash

And nearly ran into Miatamia's back as both aliens suddenly jerked to a halt. Lando caught his balance, peering between them to try to see what had startled them so much.

The room was sparsely decorated, with little more than some tactical wall monitors and a double ring of repeater displays encircling a command chair in the middle of the room. Standing beside the chair was a hard-faced man wearing major's insignia.

And rising calmly from the chair itself&mdash

Lando felt his heart seize up in his chest. No.

No, it couldn't be.

But it was.

"Good day, gentlemen," Grand Admiral Thrawn said, gesturing to them. "My apologies as to the rather informal method by which you were brought here. please, come inside."

The horrified moment seemed to stretch itself toward eternity as Lando gazed in stunned horror at that face. It couldn't be. Grand Admiral Thrawn was dead. He was dead. He had to be.

And yet here he was. Very much alive.

No one had yet moved. "Please, come inside," the Grand Admiral repeated, this time with an edge of command in his voice.

Miatamia stirred and continued forward, his movement seemingly breaking his aide's own paralysis. Numbly, Lando followed, sensing as he did so their stormtrooper rearguard filing in behind them.

"That's far enough," the major said harshly as Miatamia came within three meters of the outer display ring. "They've been disarmed?"

"None of them were carrying any weapons," the stormtrooper commander reported. Three of them, Lando noted, had moved up to form a flanking column along their right, a glance over his shoulder confirmed that the commander and the other two had spread out along the wall behind them. A simple yet effective positioning that provided close guard while at the same time keeping the stormtroopers out of each other's crossfire.

"Yes, they are keeping a close eye on you, Captain Calrissian," Thrawn confirmed. "After that unpleasantness at Bilbringi, I've agreed to extra precautions. Not that I'm expecting trouble from any of you, of course."

"Of course," Lando said, turning back to look at him. It was a trick, of course. It had to be. Thrawn was dead. The Imperial Command itself bad said so.

And yet . . .

"You look remarkably well, Admiral," Miatamia said. "I must confess to my surprise at seeing you here."

Thrawn smiled faintly. "My reappearance has surprised many others, Senator Miatamia. And will surprise a great many more in the days to come. However, I didn't ask you aboard merely to toast my continued health. The actual reason-"

"How did you survive the Bilbringi shipyards?" Lando blurted. "The Imperial reports said you were dead."

"You will not interrupt the Grand Admiral," the major snapped, taking a step toward him.

"Peace, Major," Thrawn said quietly, halting the other's advance with an almost languid gesture. "Under the circumstances, a certain degree of shock is entirely forgivable."

"Yet you do not answer his question," Miatamia said.

It seemed to Lando that a faint flicker of distant pain touched the Grand Admiral's face for a moment. "My survival was due to a unique combination of several factors," he said. "You'll forgive me if I withhold the details."

"But your own Imperial reports?" Lando repeated.

"The Imperial reports said what 1 allowed them to say," Thrawn said, his eyes starting to flash with annoyance. "It was necessary while I recovered that-"

He broke off. "Perhaps I've misjudged you, Captain," he said, his voice calm again. "And you, Senator. I assumed that when you encountered a being returned from the dead you'd be more interested in what he had to say than the details of the journey. My mistake." His eyes flicked over Lando's shoulder. "Commander, you may escort them back to their ship. Major, have Intelligence confirm the current location of Ishori Senator Dx'ono."

"Our apologies, Grand Admiral," Miatamia said quickly as the stormtroopers started forward. "As you said, we were momentarily shocked. But we listen now."

Thrawn lifted a hand, and the advancing stormtroopers stopped. "Very well," he said. "My message is quite simple, Senator. You've recently become aware that a group of Bothans were involved in the attempted genocide on Caamas. I've come to offer my aid in bringing those guilty to justice."

Miatamia inclined his head to the side, as if listening to a faint and distant sound. "Excuse me?"

"No, you heard correctly," Thrawn assured him, that faint smile once again touching his lips. "I want to help."

Miatamia twisted his head around to throw a glance back at Lando, turned back again. "How?"

"By identifying the guilty parties, of course," the Grand Admiral said. "If President Gavrisom truly wishes this crisis resolved, he need only ask for my assistance. A visit to Bothawui, a few minutes' conversation with each of the Bothan clan leaders, and I'll know the truth."

Miatamia inclined his bead to the side again. "The Bothan leaders claim they do not know which of their people were involved in the crime."

"Oh, come now, Senator," Thrawn said, his tone dark and cold. "Do you really expect they would say anything else?"

Miatamia seemed to digest that. "And you believe you could learn the truth merely by speaking with them?"

The glowing red eyes glittered. "Yes."

There was a brief silence. "Would it not be simpler for you to merely locate the proper Imperial records and give them to us?"

"Of course it would," Thrawn said. "And such a search is already under way. But the Imperial records library on Bastion is quite extensive, and the process could take weeks or even months to complete." He cocked a blue-black eyebrow. "I don't believe you have that much time to spare."

"You seem convinced that the New Republic is facing a serious crisis," Miatamia said. "We have weathered other such crises in the past."

"Your confidence is admirable," Thrawn said, leaning back slightly in his seat. "But I'd advise that you relay my offer to the Rebellion leadership before rashly and unilaterally rejecting it."

"I never stated that I rejected your offer, Grand Admiral," Miatamia said.

Thrawn smiled. "No, of course you didn't," he said, his tone far more knowing than Lando found comfortable. "I would like nothing more than to continue this discussion, Senator-it's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of debating a trained Diamalan mind. But I have other matters to attend to, and you have a message to deliver. Commander, escort them back to their ship. Good-bye, Senator, Captain."

"A question, Admiral, if I may," Lando said quickly as the stormtroopers came up behind him. His mind was finally starting to unfreeze; and if this was a trick, this might be the only chance they'd have to unmask it. "I saw you once, from a distance, while you were in the company of the smuggler Talon Karrde. Can you tell me where that was and why you were there?"

Thrawn's face hardened. "If this is a test, Captain, you've chosen your topic unwisely. I've spent a great deal of time during my recovery considering the proper payment to be exacted from Talon Karrde for his many betrayals. I do not like to be reminded of him, except to consider how short his remaining life is going to be. That message you may deliver."

"I see," Lando murmured, closing his mouth firmly. His reckless and odds-playing youth was far behind him, and the expression on Thrawn's face was definitely the kind that discouraged further questions.

Once again, though, Miatamia was not so easily put off. "Yet you do not answer his question," he pointed out.

The glowing red eyes shifted to the Diamal, and for a single awful moment Lando thought the Admiral was going to have the three of them gunned down right there and then. But to his relief, Thrawn merely smiled. "The Diamalan mind," he said, his voice utterly calm again. "My apologies, Senator."

He looked back at Lando. "You're referring to my meeting with Karrde at his base on the planet Myrkr when I was searching for Luke Skywalker. You and someone else-General Solo, I assume-watched our landing from within the forest."

Lando felt a cold chill run up his back. "You knew we were there?"

"I knew someone was there," Thrawn said. "As I'm sure you know, select stormtroopers have extra sensor equipment built into their helmets. One of them caught a reflective glint from the macrobinoculars you were using."

"Yet you did nothing?" Miatamia asked. Thrawn shrugged slightly. "At the time I assumed it was merely some of Karrde's people, set there to make sure my stormtroopers didn't become, shall we say, overzealous. Given the density of foliage, even a heavy blaster would have been harmless against us from that position, so I ordered that the observers be left alone."

His mouth hardened, just a bit. "Subsequent events, of course, showed the situation to have been otherwise. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Captain?"

Lando managed a nod. "Yes, Admiral. It does."

"Good," Thrawn said coolly. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen, and again my apologies for the unscheduled stop. Commander, see them to their ship."

Thirty minutes later, seated at the Lady Luck's helm, Lando watched as the Interdictor Cruiser and Star Destroyer made their synchronized jump to lightspeed. "As you said, Senator," he murmured. "Sometimes the unanticipated will happen. I'm glad that those who are prepared will always find their way through."

Miatamia said nothing. Perhaps, for once, he had nothing to say.

Grimacing, Lando keyed the board and swung the Lady Luck's nose back on course for Coruscant. President Gavrisom wasn't going to like this. Not one bit.

Neither would anyone else.

***

There hadn't been any communications planned for this point in the plan. And yet, there was Major Tierce's quarter-sized holographic image, flickering slightly above Moff Disra's private hologram pod. "The transmission's been secured," Disra said, a cold blade-edge of dread grinding into his stomach as he watched the encryption display. If something bad gone wrong . . . "What is it?"

"No problems, if that's what you're wondering," Tierce said. "The whole operation went textdoc smooth."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Disra growled. "So why are you risking an open communication this way?"

"I knew you'd be worried," Tierce said blandly. "I wanted to help set your mind at ease."

Disra smiled sardonically, knowing the expression was probably wasted with a holo this size. "Thank you so much, Major-I do so appreciate your concern. So our puppet performed adequately?"

"I'd even go further and say he performed superbly," Tierce said. "He had them in the palm of his hand from the moment they came in to the moment they left."

"No surprises, then?"

"Not really. Calrissian tried to trap him with a question about the time Thrawn visited Talon Karrde on Myrkr. Fortunately for us, he'd actually read the detailed report I'd written up on my time with Thrawn and knew the answer."

"Fortunately for him, you mean," Disra said, putting an edge of threat into his voice. "How soon will you be back?"

"That's! the other reason I called," Tierce said. "Now that we're here, I think we're going to stay in Rebellion-occupied space for a while."

Disra frowned, the cold blade-edge starting its grinding again. "What for?"

"I'd like to nose around a bit," the other said with a casual wave of his band. "Send activation signals to some of the sleeper groups we haven't contacted yet-there are still a few we weren't able to send transmissions to because of distance or positioning. Mostly, I want to see what Coruscant's reaction will be to! Thrawn's reappearance."

"Probably to send fifty Star Cruisers charging in at you," Disra snapped. "This is crazy, Tierce. It's also not part of the plan."

"Military plans are always subject to change, Your Excellency," Tierce said calmly.

"This is not what I had in mind for Flim," Disra snarled. "You know that."

"And you know that when I joined I said we could do better than what you had in mind," Tierce countered.

Disra ground his teeth savagely. "You're going to ruin everything. And get yourselves killed in the bargain."

"On the contrary," Tierce said, and even on the quarter-sized image Disra could see his self-satisfied smile. "I'm going to start the Empire back on its road to glory."

"Tierce-"

"I have to go, Your Excellency," Tierce said. "We shouldn't stay on transmission too long, even with good encryption. Don't worry, I'm not planning to take the Relentless to Coruscant or anything so foolish. I just want to spend a little more time here. Call it a hunch."

"In my experience, relying on hunches is a fast trip to the short end of the odds," Disra growled. But Tierce had him, and they both knew it. Short of sending what was left of the Braxant Sector Fleet to chase him down, there was precious little Disra could do at this point to countermand him. "How long are you planning to stay?"

Tierce shrugged. "A couple of weeks, Maybe more. It depends."

"On what?"

"On whether I get the reaction I'm looking for. I'll be sure to let you know if and when it happens."

"Good," Disra said sourly. "If and when the New Republic !fleet appears over Bastion, I'll be sure to let you know."

Tierce smiled. "Thank you, Your Excellency. I knew you'd understand. Good-bye."

The image flickered and vanished. Disra leaned back in his chair, glaring at the hologram pod. This was getting out of hand. It was getting way out of hand. He'd let Tierce run off restrainer bolt long enough; it was time to reel the Guardsman in a little.

And remind him who was master and who was servant.

At the moment, Disra wasn't exactly sure how to do that. But he would think of something.

CHAPTER

20

The Diamalan Senator finished his report and sat down again on the witness bench beside Lando . . . and for Leia, the Grand Convocation Chamber had suddenly become very cold.

The impossible had happened. Grand Admiral Thrawn had returned.

"I do not see the problem," the Likashan Senator called out, her high-pitched voice making the chamber's sound system squeal. We are many; the Empire are few. Let us gather together and move against it. And this time, let us not stop until we have utterly destroyed it."

"If you think that's even an option anymore, then you're a fool," the Sronk Senator countered. "I saw full-left-handed what this Grand Admiral Thrawn did to my world's defenses ten standardcycles ago, and with nothing more than seven Katana-fleet Dreadnoughts as his weapons. He wouldn't have announced his return if be weren't already prepared to receive the full slamming brunt of our closed right hand."

"They have no more than a thousand worlds remaining," a Senator who Leia couldn't identify put in scornfully. "With no more than a hundred Star Destroyers and a few thousand lesser ships. Do you suggest that such a pitiful force could withstand the full thunder of our trampling hooves?"

"You do not know this Thrawn-"

"Please," President Gavrisom cut in. "All of you. We of the Council certainly understand your concerns and your fears. However, at this point I would urge you to ponder this news without jumping to either hasty conclusions or premature actions."

"A preemptive strike would not be a premature action," a huffy voice insisted. "I agree with the Likashan Senator that we must move immediately against the remnants of the Empire."

"Yes," the Likash squealed. "Grand Admiral Thrawn nearly defeated us once, we cannot allow him the time he needs to attack us again."

"He's already had all the time he needs," the Sronk shot back. "Weren't you listening to what I said? He wouldn't have revealed himself if he wasn't ready for us."

"But the situation isn't the same as it was ten years ago," Leia reminded them, striving to keep her own voice steady and to keep the growing sense of dread in the chamber from feeding into her own fears. "Back then Thrawn still had nearly a quarter of the old Empire to work with. As has already been pointed out, his resources are almost nonexistent now."

"So let us take the rest away from him," a voice shouted. "Let us destroy him now!"

"We cannot destroy him," Gavrisom said. "Even if we wanted to, which I'm not yet convinced is the proper response to his offer."

"Why not?" the Likash demanded. "The New Republic has far more warships than the Empire."

The Maerdocian Senator roared something in his own language. "Do you imply you would seriously consider allowing him to interrogate New Republic officials?" the translation whispered in Leia's ear. "That way lies madness."

"He doesn't want all of us," the Kian'thar Senator pointed out "He wants only the Bothans."

There was another roar. "Do you genuinely believe it would end with the Bothans?" the translation demanded. "If so, your path is toward madness."

Gavrisom tapped a key on his board, shutting down the chamber sound system. The shouting died reluctantly away, and he turned the system back on. "Please," be said mildly. "Let us keep our focus clear in this debate. Certainly we have no intention of permitting an Imperial official to interrogate the leaders of any New Republic member world. However, it is equally unreasonable at this point to suggest a concerted attack against the Empire. While it is true that a state of war technically exists between us, recent hostilities have been few and mostly accidental. More to the point, even though our forces outnumber theirs, those forces are at the moment widely dispersed across the galaxy."

He shook his mane in a gesture of mild reproof. "Attempting, as you are all aware, to bring some measure of stability to the New Republic against the stirrings of hundreds of threatening internal wars."

"How ver' conven'ent," the Garoosh Senator half-whistled sarcastically. "For the Empire, a' least."

"They're probably the ones inciting all the wars," someone suggested with obvious contempt. "That would be just like Thrawn's style. Panning the fires of stupid hatred and primitive genocidal nonsense-"

"Do not call our long struggle stupid," the Forshul Senator rumbled. "And as for genocide, I find it highly significant that our oppressors the Prosslee stand ready to excuse the Bothans' own actions against the Caamasi. It is the duty of all right-thinking beings to recognize such an attitude as a danger, not only to my people but also to all of Yminis sector-"

Gavrisom touched the cutoff switch again, and the Forshul's voice dropped into a distant and indistinct voice booming from her section of the chamber. "I thank the Senator from Yminis sector for her comments," the President said. "I would also remind her that this is not the time for such speeches."

"President Gavrisom, I would speak," a familiar voice simmering with familiar anger rolled across the chamber, filling the space even with the sound system turned off.

Leia looked that direction. Ghic Dx'ono, the Ishori Senator, was on his feet, his whole body trembling with the physical rage that in his species always accompanied deep thought. "You may speak," Gavrisom told him, turning the sound system on again. "I would caution you that as this chamber does not wish to hear a tirade against the Prosslee, we also do not wish to hear one against the Diamala."

"I intend no tirade," Dx'ono barked. "I wish merely to remind the chamber that we have only the Diamalan Senator's word that he did indeed face this Thrawn. I would also remind the Senators that he ended his testimony moments ago with an urging that we put the Bothan matter behind us-without punishing the guilty-in order that we might face this supposed new threat."

"The reappearance of Grand Admiral Thrawn is hardly a supposed' threat, Senator Dx'ono," Miatamia countered with typical Diamalan calm. "Merely because he was stopped the last time before reaching any Ishori worlds does not guarantee your safety should he be allowed the freedom to advance again."

"Do not accuse me of thinking only of my own worlds," Dx'ono shot back. "The Ishori seek the safety of all peoples in the New Republic. But at the same time we also demand justice for those peoples."

"The Diamala people support all forms of justice," Miatamia said. "We merely do not consider blind revenge to be justice."

"Only a blind observer would consider our demands to be revenge," Dx'ono snarled. "But that is not the issue here," he added quickly as the tip of Gavrisom's wing moved toward the cutoff switch. "The issue is that you have made a statement to this chamber which conveniently adds weight and thrust to your political side, but which is unsupported by any independent sources."

"Do you not consider former General Lando Calrissian to be an independent source?" Miatamia asked.

"By your own testimony be came to you asking for Diamalan military assistance," Dx'ono barked. "Given that, do you really expect us to consider his words unbiased?"

"On behalf of Captain Calrissian, I resent the implications of that statement, Senator," Leia said, finding herself on her feet. "He's been a stalwart friend and ally, both of the New Republic and the Rebel Alliance before that. If Lando says he saw Thrawn, then he did."

"Once he was a friend and ally," Dx'ono retorted. "Once he was also a smuggler and gambler, experienced at cheating and lying to obtain what he wanted. Now he is a businessman, running a suboceanic mining operation whose profits depend on his obtaining Diamalan assistance. So tell us, Councilor Organa Solo: which of his two backgrounds is he drawing on?"

Leia looked over at Lando, sitting grim-faced and silent behind Gavrisom. "I've known Lando for sixteen years," she said quietly. "I will vouch personally for his character."

"Fine," Dx'ono said with a snort. "You may vouch for him all you like, Councilor. Suppose then, for sake of argument, that he saw a person on that Star Destroyer. But was it Thrawn, or was it something else?"

Leia frowned, trying to read his thoughts across the chamber. But all she could get was the outward anger, masking everything beneath it. "Are you suggesting that the Empire faked the meeting?"

"It could well have been a fake," the Ishori said, glaring at Miatamia. "But I do not necessarily put the blame on the Empire. We all know that there are numerous Imperial Star Destroyers within New Republic territory-some even in private hands, if rumors are to be believed. And as I have already pointed out, the message that was supposedly delivered by this supposed Thrawn conveniently supports the Diamalan stance on the Bothan issue. Coincidence? Or careful manipulation?"

"The ability to manipulate his enemies was one of Thrawn's greatest talents," Fey'lya put in.

"A talent not unique to him," Dx'ono snapped. "The Bothans, for one example, are also masters of the art. So are the Diamala."

"The man in the Grand Admiral's uniform knew about my visit to Myrkr ten years ago," Lando said. "The only people who were there at that time were Thrawn and his stormtrooper escort."

"Not true," Dx'ono shot back. "By your own statement, former General Solo was also there."

Leia felt a sudden stirring of anger. "Are you suggesting-?"

"As was also," Dx'ono continued, cutting Leia off with a dark look, "the smuggler Talon Karrde."

Leia threw a glance at Lando. "Karrde wouldn't be a part of anything like this," she insisted.

"Wouldn't he?" Dx'ono demanded. "Unlike Captain Calrissian, this Karrde has never even claimed any loyalty to the New Republic. He's a smuggler and seller of information, a man whose only concern and loyalty are to profit and gain."

The Ishori drew himself up a little taller, a finger stabbing out accusingly toward Leia. "And a man, furthermore, whose chief links to Coruscant have been to such people as Captain Calrissian and you yourself, Councilor Organa Solo. So now tell us: where exactly do you stand on the Bothan issue?"

The question took Leia completely by surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to stall for time.

"You know what I mean," Dx'ono snarled. "Tell us where you stand, Councilor Organa Solo. Do you believe that full reparations and justice should be demanded of the Bothans? Or do you, like the Diamalan Senator, prefer to allow their horrific crime to go unpunished? Perhaps even enough to create a situation that would force this chamber to that decision?"

"We know where she stands," another angry voice called out. "Did not her bondedmate Han Solo fire on a peaceable protest at the Clans Building on Bothawui?"

"That has not been proved, Senator Shibatthi," Gavrisom broke in sternly, coming to Leia's rescue. "And your accusations are likewise uncalled for, Senator Dx'ono. As I've already said, this is not the time nor the place for yet another debate on the Caamas issue. Both of you be seated, please."

But the damage had already been done, Leia realized as she sat down again. In a single masterful stroke, Dx'ono bad not only cast serious doubt on Miatamia's story but also managed to undermine her own credibility as well. From now on, any attempt she made to defend either Lando or the Diamalan Senator would merely feed into the suspicions he had just planted.

Infighting, suspicions, divisiveness. Yes, it was indeed Thrawn's style.

"This seems a good time to move on to the Admiralty's report on the overall military situation in the New Republic," Gavrisom continued. "Admiral Drayson?"

The admiral stepped to the podium beside Gavrisom; and as be did, a discreet flicker of light caught Leia's eye. The small green comm indicator on her chair arm was flashing.

"She frowned, throwing a surreptitious glance around the chamber. No one but her family and closest aides were supposed to have this comm frequency, and they all had strict instructions that it was to be used only in an emergency. But in that case they were also supposed to key the indicator to a three-flash pattern, and at the moment it was merely blinking steadily.

Stifling a flash of annoyance, she activated her chair's privacy field. Drayson's voice dropped to a tenth of its normal volume as she swiveled the comm display up from its storage position along the side of her armrest. If this was Anakin asking if he could open a new package of cookies, she promised herself darkly as she touched the switch, he was going to be grounded for a week. "Leia Organa Solo."

But it wasn't Anakin. "Hello, Leia," Talon Karrde said, nodding politely. "I hope I'm not calling at too inconvenient a moment."

Reflexively, Leia pulled the display as close to her as she could. Of all the awkward times for him to call&mdash

"As a matter of fact, it is inconvenient," she told him shortly. "I'm in the middle of a Senate meeting."

"Then I'll make it short," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was too smart, and knew her too well, not to know there was more to it than just that. "I have a personal message to deliver to you, one which I'd rather not put on even an encrypted channel. Unfortunately, one of the line directors at Coruscant Space Control feels that I shouldn't be permitted to land."

Leia frowned, Dx'ono's accusations echoing through her mind. But how could word have gotten out so fast? "Do you have his name?"

"Just his bureaucratic operating number: KTR-44875," Karrde said. "He wouldn't even give me that, incidentally; I had to pull it off his ID plate. He's an Ishori, if that helps any."

Leia grimaced. That explained how the word had gotten out so fast. "It does," she told Karrde. "The Ishori Senator has just finished accusing you and Lando of conspiring with the Diamala to get the Bothans off the hook on the Caamas matter. He tried to rope me in on it, too, just for good measure."

"I see," Karrde said, pursing his lips. "And so of course here I am, calling on you for help. My apologies for the bad timing."

"It's not your fault," Leia said, glaring over the top of the display at the chamber and its hundreds of human and alien faces staring down in her direction. She was not going to let them dictate who her friends and associates could be. "You tell this Ishori line director that I'm giving you permission to land-I'll transmit the order as soon as you're off the comm. You're in the Wild Karrde?"

"Yes," Karrde said. "But I could come down in a shuttle if you think that would be more politic."

Leia snorted. "Ruffled feelings are the least of my worries at the moment. Do you know where the West Championne landing field is? It's about two hundred kilometers south of the Imperial Palace, near the Manarai Mountains."

"I have it on the map," Karrde confirmed, eyeing her closely. "Is this something new, or has the Caamas debate simply taken a more vicious turn?"

"I don't know yet," Leia said. "It could be either, depending on who you listen to. We have a place on the thirtieth floor of Orowood Tower, about twenty kilometers east of the landing field. I'll call the Noghri caretakers and have them let you in; we'll be out there as soon as I can get away tonight."

"Sounds cozy," he said, still gazing thoughtfully at her. "Not to mention secluded."

"It is," Leia agreed, wincing slightly. It wasn't hard to guess his thoughts: that despite her protestations to the contrary, she didn't want to risk being seen with him anywhere near the Imperial Palace. "You'll understand why I want to meet there when I tell you what's happened."

"Of course," be said equably. Would it be all right if I used the comm and data retrieval equipment at your retreat until you arrive? Just to keep myself amused, of course?"

Leia smiled. "And to see what you can dig out of the government archives?"

He shrugged. "I might learn something new. You never know."

"I'm sure it's harder for you to learn something you didn't already know than it is for most of us," Leia said dryly. "All right, I'll clear it with the Noghri when I call them."

"Thank you. I'll see you later. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

With a sigh, she keyed off the comm. Infighting, suspicions, divisiveness. Yes, it was Thrawn's style, all right. She could only wonder what be had planned for them next

Switching the comm back on again, she keyed for Coruscant Space Control.

***

All in all, Carib Devist thought as he gazed across the colorful fields of tallgrain rippling across Dorchess Valley, it had been a good day.

It really had. The oppressive summer sun that blazed so steadily down onto Pakrik Minor during the growing season had been hiding coyly behind clouds for most of the day, giving relief from the usual heat. The clouds hadn't burned off until late afternoon, just in time for the sun to disappear for an hour and a half behind Pakrik Minor's far more densely populated sister world of Pakrik Major. By the time it had reemerged the extra heat was actually almost welcome.

There were still some problems in the fields themselves, of course, but that was all part of a farmer's life. Carib and his brothers had had to drive out yet another colony of worms that had tried to make their home among the interlocked tallgrain roots, and had had to deal with a spot of white-blight that could have wiped out the entire crop within days if it hadn't been caught. But it had been caught, and the worms had been rooted out, and none of the droids had broken down or even gone cranky, and th e crops were actually ahead of growing schedule for a change.

No, it had been a good day; and as Carib propped his feet up to point toward the magnificent sunset and sipped at a well-earned glass of R'alla mineral water he decided that it was indeed good to be alive.

A motion to his right caught his eye: his brother Sabmin coming toward the house in that battered old landspeeder of his. Lacy had probably invited Sabmin and his family over to dinner-she was always forgetting to tell him things like that.

But no. Sabmin was alone in the vehicle . . . and as the land-speeder came closer Carib could make out the expression on his brother's face .

He was waiting at the foot of the path by the time Sabmin brought the landspeeder to a dusty halt. "What's wrong?" he asked without preamble.

"It's happened," Sabmin said, his voice a husky whisper. "I was up at the cave and-well, it's happened."

Carib glanced back up the path at the house. Lacy was visible in the kitchen window, carefully pulling the dinner roast out of the focus cooker. "Walk with me," he said.

He led the way down the path toward the edge of the fields. "You confirmed the message was legitimate?" be asked.

"First thing," Sabmin said soberly. "It carried all the proper Imperial codes."

Carib winced. It had been a long time since the word "Imperial" had been used in this part of Pakrik Minor. "Then I guess it's time," he said, a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. After ten years of quiet waiting, they were once again being called to service. "Have you said anything to the others yet?"

"No, I came straight here," Sabmin said. "But there's more."

He glanced around, as if afraid someone might be listening from among the neat rows of tallgrain. "The activation order came in over the name of Grand Admiral Thrawn."

Carib felt his jaw drop. "That's impossible," he hissed. "Thrawn is dead."

"That's what everyone said," Sabmin agreed soberly. "All I know is that his name is on the order."

They had reached the first row of stalks now. "It could be a lie," Carib said, turning sideways to ease between the rows, sniffing the familiar sour-musky aroma rising around him as his tanned leatheris vest brushed across the leaves. "Or else a trick."

"Hardly a trick they could keep up," Sabmin pointed out "Even using old holo-recordings of him in transmissions wouldn't fool anyone for long."

"True," Carib said, stopping beside a nearly ripe stalk and touching a finger to the tallgrain string peeking coyly from a gap in its sheath. Grand Admiral Thrawn, who had turned around five years of steady decline and brought the Empire to within sight of total victory. "You realize, of course, that this could change everything."

"I don't see how," Sabmin said. "The fact still remains that we were planted here for the express purpose of being ready to cause havoc if and when we were called to do so." He stroked the tallgrain string. "Well, the planting took root, the crop has ripened . . . and now they're calling for the harvest."

"Yes," Carib said, dropping his hand back to his side. A harvest of terror and sudden death and destruction, almost certainly directed at the ripe fruit that was Pakrik Major hanging overhead. Pakrik Major, and the annual sector-wide conference that had just gotten under way in the capital. A long-delayed strike against the traitors of the Rebellion, courtesy of the Empire. "But that's not my point," he told Sabmin. "My point is that if Thrawn is really back in command, then whatever we're ordered to do won't be simply a grand but meaningless gesture of suicidal defiance. If Thrawn is back, then the Empire might just win."

Sabmin whistled softly. "You're right," he murmured. "I hadn't even thought about it that way."

"Well, you'd better start thinking about it that way," Carib warned. "And we'd better make sure the others do, too. Any idea when the last maintenance check was done on the TIEs?"

"Not more than a month ago," Sabmin said. "I think it was Dobrow who ran it. You want to talk with him tonight?"

"I want to talk with everyone tonight," Carib said, sidling out of the tallgrain rows and starting back up toward the house. "My place, in two hours."

"We can try," Sabmin said, falling into a probably unconscious military step beside him. "Tabric and Hovarb may not be able to make it, though-three of their gornts went into labor this afternoon."

"The gornts can have their litters by themselves," Carib said shortly. "This is important."

Sabmin threw him a frown. "Oh, come on, Carib, aren't you overreacting just a little? It's an activation order, not a full-blown attack plan."

"If Thrawn is in charge, there won't be a lot of time between the two," Carib growled. "Whatever he's up to, he'll have his timetable shaved down to the half second."

They walked the rest of the way to Sabmin's vehicle in silence. "All right, I'll tell them," Sabmin said as he climbed in. "They'll be here."

Carib sighed. "Let's make it your place instead," he suggested. "It's only three minutes by landspeeder from there to their barn. They can get back in plenty of time if anything goes wrong with the labor."

Sabmin smiled tightly. "Thanks, Carib. We'll see you there."

CHAPTER

21

"There's Lando," Leia said, pointing out the canopy as Han set! their Incom T-81 down on the Orowood Tower's third-level air-speeder pad. "Over there, by the entryway, behind that red cloud car."

"Yeah, I see him," Han grunted, shutting down the repulsorlifts. "I still think this is a bad idea, Leia."

"I know you do," Leia said, taking a moment to look past the lighted landing area at the darkened shrubbery perimeter beyond it. There was no one visible, either to her eyes or her Jedi senses. "And I can't say I completely disagree with you. But he insisted on coming."

"You'd just better hope Dx'ono didn't get wind of it and have someone follow him here," Han growled, popping the canopy. "You get someone yelling secret meeting' and we'll all have bad it."

"I know," Leia said, climbing out of the airspeeder and looking around. There were some airspeeder running lights visible in the sky around them, and the various roads crisscrossing the area around the Tower were carrying their usual quota of landspeeders. None of the vehicles seemed to be particularly heading their direction.

But there were the darkened windows of one of the Tower's five tapcafes gazing down on them from the fourth floor, not to mention all the windows of the apartments stretching up into the night sky. If one of those windows concealed someone with a set of macrobinoculars . . .

Han clearly bad already bad the same thought. "We'd better get inside," he muttered, taking her arm. "Come on, Threepio, move it."

"Yes, sir," the golden-skinned droid said hastily, levering himself awkwardly out of the back of the airspeeder and shuffling quickly behind them. That was the first time Threepio had said anything, Leia realized suddenly, since they'd left the Imperial Palace. Had be picked up on Han's mood, and was trying to make himself inconspicuous? Or had he been brooding on his own memories of Thrawn's last bid for power?

Lando emerged from his half concealment as they approached. "Han, Leia," he nodded to them. His usual smile of greeting, Leia noted, was conspicuously absent. "Where's Karrde?"

"He's already here," Leia told him as Han keyed the entryway lock. "The Noghri let him in."

"Good." Hunching his shoulders beneath his cloak, Lando threw one last look back into the darkness as be followed Leia in.

Thirty-eight stories tall, the Orowood Tower had originally been planned to be the nucleus of an elaborate and extensive colony of Alderaanians who bad been off-planet when the first Death Star destroyed their world. But though the architects had painstakingly crafted every facet of the Tower to fit the Alderaanian style, Coruscant's crowds and near-total land development were simply too alien to their life view for most of the refugees to feel comfortable living there.

Though the rest of the project had been abandoned, there had been hopes that enough Alderaanians would remain on Coruscant to keep the Tower itself occupied, particularly given its spectacular view of the Manarai Mountains. But that final dream bad been dealt its death blow by Grand Admiral Thrawn's short-lived but terrifying siege of the planet. When the siege was finally lifted, virtually all the Alderaanians left Coruscant, going to New Alderaan or scattering out among the stars. As one of them had e xplained to Leia, they had been lucky enough to escape the destruction of one world, and had no desire to settle on an even more tempting target.

And so the grand experiment had settled into vague obscurity, joining the host of other residential centers clustered beneath the mountains, most of which provided secondary or vacation homes to rich industrialists and government officials. Offworlders and aliens, most of whom bad never even heard of the fabled oro woods of Alderaan, let alone ever walked among them.

Over the years, the ache of that irony had mostly faded from Leia's heart. Mostly.

The turbolift operated with the typical quiet efficiency of Alderaanian construction, depositing them into the lush garden scene that comprised the thirtieth-floor bobby. No one was visible mong the fronds and rock-pile water trickles; but then, no one was supposed to be. "Barkhimkh?" Leia called softly.

"I am here, Lady Vader," Barkhimkh's voice mewed from across the lobby. There was a rustle from the frond, and the Noghri warrior stepped into view beside the archway that opened into the corridor leading to their apartment. "All is quiet."

"Thank you," Leia said.

"Make sure you keep it that way," Han added as they crossed the lobby.

Barkhimkh bowed his bead. "I obey, Han clan Solo."

Karrde was lounging in a Plash self-molding contour chair in the apartment's conversation circle, a datapad in one band and a glass of amber liquid in the other, as Han keyed the door open. "Ah-there you are," the smuggler said, closing the datapad and levering himself out of the chair as they filed inside. "I was just thinking of asking Sakhisakh to try contacting you."

"We got a later start than I'd expected," Leia explained. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Karrde assured them. "The children aren't with you?"

"They just left this morning with Chewie to go visit his family on Kashyyyk," Leia told him. "With all that's been happening lately, I thought it would be better for them to be there."

"Between their Noghri guard and a planetful of Wookiees it's hard to imagine anyplace safer," Karrde agreed. "Hello, Calrissian. Nice to see you again."

"Yes," Lando said. "Though you may not think so when we tell you why you're here."

Karrde's expression didn't change, but Leia could feel a tightening of his emotions. "Really," he said easily. "Let's dispense with the formalities, then. Sit down and tell me all about it."

***

"I'm sorry," the screening system at the other end of the comm said in its maddeningly pleasant mechanical voice. "Communication with the residence you request is restricted. I cannot connect you without a proper authorization code."

"Tell Councilor Organa Solo that it's an emergency," Shada said, putting the most intimidating official tone into her voice that she could as she gazed out the tapcafe window at the Solos' Incom T-81, sitting there on the Orowood Tower's third-floor landing pad. "I'm calling under the authorization of Admiral Drayson of New Republic Intelligence."

The screening system remained unfazed. "I'm sorry, but I cannot connect you without a proper authorization code," it repeated.

Grimacing, Shada keyed the comm off. That had been the last verbal gambit in her repertoire, and it bad done nothing but get her the same runaround. The same thing every time she tried, and she was beginning to get very tired of it.

She'd tried the polite, official way first: calling Councilor Organa Solo's office at the Imperial Palace and-when the screeners there wouldn't let her through, either-trying to get into the massive governmental building itself. But with no official status or business or connections to call on, she'd bit meter-thick transparisteel walls at every turn. She'd tried calling the Solos' main home outside the palace next, with the same results. And now she'd tried to get through to them at their Manarai Mount ain retreat, again with no luck

And with each rebuff, her obviously idealized vision of the New Republic had crumbled a little bit more. She'd hoped they would have more to offer her than the life with the Mistryl that she'd just turned her back on. It was starting to look more and more like she'd been mistaken.

But there was nothing to do now but continue what she'd started. If for no other reason than that there was nowhere left for her to go.

So all right. She'd tried it the polite way and gotten nowhere. Now she would try it the Mistryl way.

The Tower's second-floor shopping complex was quite extensive, and it took her no more than five minutes to collect the three items she needed. One minute after that, armed with a length of brocaded white ribbon, a cheap datapad, and a bottle of equally cheap but awesomely strong dodbri whiskey, she was in the -turbolift heading up.

?????? it would be a short ride, she knew, but she already had the details mapped out in her mind and set to work with no wasted motions. Popping the cap off the whiskey, she splashed a little of the potent concoction onto the collar of her slightly bedraggled ankle-length dress and then sipped a little into her mouth. Wincing at the tingle, she swished it around while she poured the rest of the bottle into the decorative flower boxes that ran around the upper part of the car. She spat her mouthful back into the bottle, glad to be rid of it, then turned her attention to the ribbon. The traditional Coruscant wedding hairbow was tricky to tie, but she knew a variant that was quick and simple and looked enough like the real thing to fool anyone but an experienced observer.

By the time the doors opened onto the Tower's rooftop observation deck, she was ready for her performance. Bottle clutched in one hand, datapad in the other, she stepped out of the car and H threw a casual and calculatedly unsteady look around. No one was visible among the deserted tables and chairs and decorative shrubbery. But then, the group of personal guards that surrounded Councilor Organa Solo seldom were. Getting a fresh grip on her bottle, she set off in a staggering walk for the edge of the roof.

The guard she knew had to be there hadn't made his appearance by the time she reached the chin-high latticework guardrail set into a solid knee-high base. "So fine, Ravis," she muttered to herself in a slurred and despondent voice as she dropped the bottle and datapad onto the roof beside the guardrail. "You don' wanna, huh? Fine. I can get outta your life', if tha's what you wan'. I can get all the way out-"

She broke off with a single underplayed sob. Digging her fingers into the holes of the lattice, she pressed herself against the barrier and twisted her head sideways to peer over and down at the ground below, her senses alert. There was a single whisper of sound from behind her, and then nothing.

So they were going to need more from her before they made any move. Fine; she could oblige them. Extracting her fingers from the guardrail, continuing to sob softly under her breath, she retrieved the datapad and set it down on a nearby chair, propping it up to be clearly visible. With slightly fumbling fingers she pulled the wedding bow out of her hair, kissed it theatrically, and placed it down in front of the datapad. She took another moment to carefully arrange the two items together; then, squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and stepped back to the roof edge. Gripping the lattice again, she climbed up onto the base and swung one leg over the top of the guardrail.

Or rather, tried to. Even as she swung the leg up she heard another whisper of sound, and a band suddenly grabbed her waist sash, tugging her backward and forcing her to bring her leg back down to maintain her balance. "Do not do this," a gravelly catlike voice mewed softly from behind her.

"Le' me go," Shada moaned, letting go of the lattice with her left band and slapping ineffectually at his arm. "Le' me go. He doesn' care bout me-he sai' so. He doesn' wan' me anymore. Le' me go."

"This is not the way," the Noghri said, pulling her gently but firmly. "Come inside and we will speak."

"Done wi' talking," Shada muttered, half turning to look down at him and making sure he could smell the whiskey on her breath as she threw a quick glance over the rooftop. No one else was visible. "Please-he' me go," she pleaded, grabbing the lattice again with her left hand and pulling upward against his grip. "Please."

"No," the Noghri repeated, pulling back with more strength than she would have thought a creature that small could manage. Her fingers strained against the pull&mdash

And without warning she let go, spinning halfway around as she fell straight at him.

The Noghri was fast, all right By the time she'd rotated far enough around to see him he'd already moved a step to the side to get out of her way. His free arm came up, ready to catch her shoulders and break her fall&mdash

And as she fell into that wiry grip, her band jabbed hard into the side of his throat. Without a sound, his legs buckled beneath him and they collapsed together onto the rooftop.

For a few seconds she lay there, still sobbing drunkenly, her eyes darting around the rooftop for signs of a backup. But the Noghri was apparently up here alone.

Which wasn't to say he hadn't checked in before rushing off to save the despondent drunk bent on self-destruction. If be had, she didn't have much time. If he hadn't, she wouldn't have much more.

Stripping off the dress that had concealed her combat jumpsuit, keeping one eye on the turbolift door, she set to work.

***

Karrde turned his glass around in his band, his eyes on the remains of his drink as it swirled partway up the side in response to the movement. "You're sure about all this," he said.

"I'm sure," Lando said positively. "I searched through what we've got of the old Imperial archives and found every recording they had of Thrawn. There wasn't much, but it definitely looked and sounded like the man I saw."

"Which doesn't mean it couldn't be a trick," Han put in, throwing a surreptitious look at Leia. If Karrde's attitude was all an act-if he was secretly behind this Thrawn sighting of Lando's-then she ought to have pulled the proof of that from his mind by now.

But her face had the same grim expression that had been there when Lando first started his story; and even as he watched, her eyes shifted to his and she shook her head microscopically in response to his unspoken question.

Han had thought they were being subtle enough. Apparently not. "I take it I'm under some suspicion here," Karrde continued, still studying his glass. "And not just from the Ishori and their allies. Have I passed the test?"

Han looked at Leia again in time to see her lip twitch. "I'm sorry," she said. "For whatever it's worth, I had no doubts myself."

"Thank you." Karrde smiled slightly at Han and Lando. "I won't embarrass either of you by asking if you shared the Councilor's confidence."

"I don't like taking anything for granted," Han told him. "It's not like you've ever sworn allegiance to the New Republic or anything."

Karrde inclined his head, "You're right, of course. My apologies."

He shifted his gaze to Lando. "All right, then. Let's begin with the assumption we're all hoping is true: namely, that you were the victim of a clever trick. First question: how was it done?"

"Shouldn't be all that hard," Han said. "Some facial surgery to make this guy look like Thrawn, then just add in some skin, hair, and eye coloring."

"Facial surgery usually leaves distinctive marks," Lando pointed out. "I know what to look for, and they weren't there. Besides, what about the voice?"

What about the voice?" Han asked. "Voices can be faked, too, you know. We did it ourselves with Threepio once, remember?"

"If the voice was really that accurate, it could have been a human replica droid," Karrde suggested. "Like the one Prince Xizor of Black Sun used to have."

Lando shook his head, "It wasn't just the voice, Karrde. Or the face, or anything else you could look at. It was-I don't know. There was a presence there, a hidden power and confidence I don't think any droid could fake. It was him. It bad to be."

"Could it have been a clone, then?" Karrde persisted, "Thrawn could easily have taken one or more of the cloning tanks out of Mount Tantiss before it was destroyed."

"I've been wondering about that, too," Leia said. "It could also explain where the clones Luke sensed at Iphigin come from."

"A clone of Thrawn would be dangerous enough," Lando agreed tightly. "But turn it around a minute. Couldn't it just as easily have been a clone sitting on the Chimaera's bridge at Bilbringi? What if Thrawn had anticipated everything that was going to happen-everything-and made the necessary arrangements?"

Karrde swished his drink around a little more in his glass. "Then why did he sit back and let the Empire collapse when his leadership could very likely have saved it?" he asked. "No. If he really was alive, he must have been incapacitated by his wound and gone off somewhere to heal."

"That's pretty much what he implied to Miatamia and me," Lando agreed. "He implied he'd been off recovering."

"Unless that's just what he wanted you to think," Leia warned. "Maybe he was simply off doing something else instead."

"Instead of protecting the Empire?" Han objected. "That doesn't make sense."

Abruptly Karrde set his glass down on the low table beside his chair. "All right, then," he said. "Let's assume the worst case: that that really was Thrawn you saw, and that he's back and out for blood. Why suddenly make an appearance now? And why just to you and Senator Miatamia instead of all of Coruscant?"

"Probably to create exactly the situation we're now in," Leia said. "The tension level in the Senate has jumped straight to the ceiling, with a tremendous amount of animosity and suspicion being focused on the Diamala. And, by extension, to everyone on that side of the Caamas issue."

"With a hint that Gavrisom might not want to resolve the crisis thrown in just to stir things up a little more," Lando added. "I hear some of the Senators are already complaining that he's been dragging his hooves on the whole question of reparations for the Caamasi."

Han grimaced. The Bothans' financial crisis . . "He's doing the best he can," be told Lando.

"Maybe," Lando said darkly. "But it strikes me that there are a lot of other ways Thrawn could have stirred up the government if that was all he wanted."

"What else could be want?" Karrde asked. "He surely wouldn't be foolish enough to take on the entire New Republic. Not with only eight sectors' worth of resources at his disposal."

"Maybe he's found a new superweapon the Emperor bad stashed away somewhere," Lando suggested ominously. "Another Death Star-a completed one this time-or maybe another Sun Crusher. Or something even more dangerous."

Karrde shook his bead. "Farfetched. If there was something like that out there, we surely would have heard of it by now."

"There's another point that needs to be made here," Leia-said. "You talked about him taking on the entire New Republic; but that's only if we could get the entire New Republic together to fight him. With the Caamas issue dividing us so strongly-and with the Empire so weak that most people don't even think of it as a threat-that's not a given anymore."

"If it ever was," Han said sourly. "There was never more than a small fraction of the galaxy actually fighting against the Empire."

"And never more than a small fraction of the Empire fighting against us," Lando pointed out, his eyes on Karrde. "I don't think we realized back then just how much of their energy was going to keeping all these little planetary vendettas and rivalries from blowing up in their faces. Now we're in that same situation, and in my opinion, we simply don't have the resources available to take on whatever Thrawn has planned."

"That of course depends on what he has planned," Karrde said. He was eyeing Lando closely, Han noticed suddenly. As closely as Lando was eyeing him. "So what do you suggest as your next move?"

"Our next move," Lando said, leaning on the word, "is to get this blasted Caamas issue out of the way so we can focus on Thrawn. And that means finding out exactly who the guilty Bothans were."

"That could be a problem," Karrde said, his voice studiously calm. "As far as I know, the Imperials have only two complete sets of records left-one at the Ubiqtorate base at Yaga Minor, the other at the current Imperial capital on Bastion."

"I don't suppose you'd happen to know where Bastion is," Leia said.

"I'm afraid not," Karrde said, glancing at her and then returning his attention to Lando. "Bastion's proper name is one secret the Imperials have managed to keep."

"I wasn't necessarily talking about the Imperials," Lando said. "I was thinking someone else might have the records we're looking for."

Han blinked at Lando. Suddenly the other's insistence that he join them here tonight for their talk with Karrde was taking on a whole new dimension. "You mean that Karrde-?"

"I don't have the records, Calrissian," Karrde said. "If I did, I'd have offered them to you long before now."

"I know that," Lando said, his voice heavy with significance. "I was referring to a different source entirely."

"Who also probably doesn't have them," Karrde said coldly.

Lando's expression didn't change. "But who might."

For a pair of heartbeats the two men continued to gaze at each other. Han threw a frown at Leia, saw his same puzzlement mirrored in her own face. "Is there something here we need to know about?" he asked carefully.

"No," Lando said. "Or maybe I should say not yet."

"Leia, Calrissian and I need to have a short talk," Karrde said, getting abruptly to his feet. "Is there a place where we can have some privacy?"

"You can use the boys' bedroom," Leia said, pointing down the hallway. "Last door on the left."

"Thank you." Karrde gestured Lando to the hallway. "After you, Calrissian."

***

Shada had added an extra anchor to her safety line about two meters above her, on the assumption that if and when the Noghri got reinforcements up to the rooftop they might simply cut the line without bothering to haul her up first for the formality of questioning. Now, dangling a hundred meters above the ground, she eased her low-light eyepiece around the edge of the darkened window beside her and peered inside.

It was a child's bedroom-a children's bedroom, she corrected herself, spotting the second bed pushed against the far wall. Currently unoccupied; and since none of the three Solo children had followed their parents out of the airspeeder, it was reasonable to assume the room would stay that way.

Replacing the eyepiece into its jumpsuit pocket, she pulled out one of her three Zana M6W-9 molecular stilettos and extended its invisibly slender blade. Like a lightsaber, a molecular stiletto could cut through nearly anything. Unlike a lightsaber, though, the Zana's blade was incredibly delicate. A quick thrust against an assailant nearly always resulted in a broken blade-along with a dead assailant, of course-and even the most painstakingly careful cutting job was as likely as not to end up ruining t he tool.

Fortunately, the task facing her wasn't going to be large enough to push the odds. With most buildings on Coruscant she would have had to cut away an entire window to get inside, but the Orowood's designers had incorporated traditional Alderaanian swing-out panels to allow for free air flow. All she had to do was maneuver the stiletto blade between the panels and slice through the catch, and she would be in.

After, of course, finding and disabling whatever alarms the Noghri had installed.

That task turned out to be easier than she'd expected. The window carried only a single alarm, ranged to watch for incoming airspeeders. Apparently, it hadn't occurred to the Noghri that someone might be crazy enough to rappel down from the rooftop the way she had. Though of course, to be fair, they had put a guard up there.

Two minutes later she was inside the darkened room, pulling the window closed behind her and listening bard. There were the usual soft mechanical noises of any modern dwelling, along with the muffled sounds of conversation coming from elsewhere in the apartment. The words were impossible to decipher through the closed door, but she could hear at least four distinct voices.

She stood just inside the door, frowning with sudden indecision. She'd seen Solo and Organa Solo and their droid arrive in their T-81, and had spotted Calrissian waiting for them; but who was the fourth voice? Some random friend who'd happened to drop in? Hardly. A business associate of Calrissian's? Maybe, except that he'd been skulking alone in the shadows before the Solos arrived.

One thing was sure: given how furtive all three of them had been behaving outside, this was clearly a meeting they'd taken great pains to keep secret. A meeting she doubted any of them would appreciate being crashed by a total stranger.

Abruptly she tensed. The conversation had paused, and in its place was a new sound.

Footsteps. Heading her direction.

She was across the room in four quick strides, kneeling beside the bed by the far wall. It was a spaceship-style bed, with storage compartments filling the space beneath the mattress itself. But she hadn't planned on hiding under it anyway. Getting a grip on the storage handles, she pulled.

There must have been a lot of junk in those drawers: even with Mistryl-honed muscles behind the tug the bed moved barely twenty-five centimeters away from the wall. But it would be enough; and at any rate, with the footsteps already paused outside her door, it would have to do. Lunging up from her kneeling position, she half dived, half rolled across the bed and slid silently down on her side into the narrow gap.

She just made it. Even as her shoulder and hip settled against the cool floor the bedroom door slid open and two sets of footsteps came inside. The glow panel blazed on, and the door closed again.

"We had an agreement, Calrissian," an unidentified male voice said. Unidentified, yet definitely familiar. Shada searched her memory&mdash

"Which I haven't broken," Calrissian said, his voice sounding a little defensive.

"Really?" the other voice asked coldly. "You've as good as told them there's a secret here. Do you think either of them needs more than that to gather their little shovels together and start digging?"

-and then abruptly the memory clicked. It was the smuggler chief, Talon Karrde.

"Frankly, Karrde, I think they've both got more important things to worry about right now," Calrissian said tartly. "And to be honest, I never understood why you were so obsessed about secrecy on this thing in the first place. So Jorj Car'das was once a competitor of yours-"

"Keep your voice down," Karrde growled. "I don't want the others hearing that name. And Car'das wasn't a competitor. He was something else entirely."

"Fine," Calrissian said. "Whatever. The point is that we can't afford the luxury of silly games anymore. Not with-"

"Silly games?" Karrde cut him off. "Calrissian, you have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Calrissian retorted. "I'm talking about the genius who came this close to taking down the whole New Republic ten years ago. Whatever Thrawn's got planned, he has to be counting on the Caamas issue to keep us divided."

Shada felt her breath catch in her throat. Whatever Thrawn had planned? But Thrawn was dead.

Wasn't he?

"Thank you for the historical review," Karrde said. "I was there, if you'll remember. Let's not act like the whole New Republic's on the edge of desperation and collapse, though, all right?"

"Are you sure we're not?" Calrissian countered. "After all this time, do you really think Thrawn would have shown himself if he wasn't ready to pounce?"

"If he intends to pounce," Karrde argued. "There are many other things he could be planning besides an overt attack."

"Oh, that's comforting," Calrissian growled. "And all the more reason to get the Caamas issue resolved as quickly as possible. if there's even half a chance Car'das can help, someone has to go see him."

"And you're suggesting I should be that someone?"

"You're the one who knew him," Calrissian pointed out.

"That may not be an asset," Karrde said. "In fact, it could be quite the opposite."

There was the soft sound of a slightly exasperated sigh. "Look, Karrde, I don't know what went on between you and Car'das. What I do know is that we're facing Grand Admiral Thrawn here. And not just us-you're facing him, too. Don't forget be specifically said he'd be coming after you."

"Scare words," Karrde murmured.

"I don't remember Thrawn ever relying on scare words the last time," Calrissian said. "Everything he said was backed up with action. But since you've brought up the subject of scare words, what are you so afraid of, anyway?"

There was the sound of footsteps moving toward the window. "You never met Car'das, Lando," Karrde said quietly. "If you had, you'd understand. In his own way he was more ruthless even than Jabba the Hutt."

"Yet you asked Mara and me to go hunt him down."

"I didn't ask you to do anything at all," Karrde said. "If you'll recall, I tried to get you to sell me that beckon call outright."

"You also tried to tell me it was just some useless curiosity from pre-Clone Wars days," Calrissian reminded him dryly. "You knew perfectly well I wouldn't fall for a story like that. Anyway, that's beside the point. We tracked him down, and made it back just fine."

"You only tracked him as far as a likely system," Karrde said. "You're asking me to walk into whatever fortress he's set up there and go face-to-face with him."

"If Thrawn isn't stopped, he'll be the one who eventually comes knocking at Car'das's retirement home," Calrissian said. "If Car'das has any brains, he'll thank you for the warning."

"Car'das never thanked anyone for anything in his life," Karrde said bluntly. "And he most certainly hasn't retired, either. He'll be scheming or plotting something-that's the nature of the man. And he will not want to be found. Particularly not by me."

Calrissian hissed between his teeth. "Fine," he bit out. "You want to go bury yourself in a hole and wait for Thrawn to come dig you out, you go right ahead. Give me a copy of Mara's route to the Exocron system and I'll go find him myself."

"Don't be absurd," Karrde said. "You and the Lady Luck wouldn't last two days alone in the Kathol Outback."

"Who says I'll be going alone?" Calrissian countered. "I thought I'd ask General Bel Iblis and the Peregrine along."

"That would be the absolute worst thing you could do," Karrde said, an edge of exasperation starting to color his tone. "You bring a capital warship into the Exocron system and Car'das will either go completely underground or blow it out of the sky. You don't know him the way I do."

"No," Calrissian agreed quietly. "I don't."

There was a long silence. A long, waiting silence. "You should never have given up on your con man origins, Calrissian," Karrde said at last. "You're far too good at it. All right. I'll go."

"Thanks," Calrissian said. "You won't regret this."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Karrde warned, his usual easy humor back in his voice. "I suppose we should go break the news to the others."

The door whispered open and the glow panels shut off; and as the room went dark again, Shada heaved herself up out of her hiding place. Rolling back across the bed and onto her feet, she crossed the room and slipped out just before the door closed again.

The two men, Calrissian in the lead, were heading down the hallway toward the edge of what looked like an Alderaanian-style conversation circle, both of them completely oblivious to her presence behind them. Moving up, she fell into silent step behind Karrde.

***

"Okay, I give up," Han said, a puzzled look on his face. "What was that all about?"

Leia shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, replaying the last exchange between Lando and Karrde in her mind as she gazed at the hallway where the two of them had disappeared toward the boys' bedroom. "Some kind of secret they don't want us to know about."

"Yeah, I figured that much," Han said. "What I meant was what's the secret?"

Leia threw him one of her vast repertoire of patient looks, an inventory created by a lifetime of diplomatic service and honed to a fine art by ten years of dealing with three boisterous children. "You know I can't just go in and dig things out of their minds," she reminded him. "It's not even ethical with enemies, let alone friends."

"You Jedi are no fun sometimes," Han said. His tone was bantering, but she could tell from his eyes and mood that he was still uneasy about the situation.

"We're not in the business to have fun," she pointed out.

"You couldn't just sort of, oh, stretch out and get a feel for what they're talking about in there?"

Leia smiled wryly. "I wish you wouldn't do that," she admonished him.

He pulled out one of his own repertoire of innocent looks. "Do what?"

"Suggest that I do something unethical right when I'm trying to persuade myself that it wouldn't hurt anyone," she told him. "That's very disconcerting."

"Specially coming from a guy who isn't supposed to have near as good a conscience as you do?" he suggested blandly.

Leia rolled her eyes. "I swear, Han, I think you can read my mind better without Jedi senses than I can read yours with them."

He waved a hand. "Professional secret. One of the things you learn as a scoundrel."

"Of course," Leia said, looking in the direction of the hallway again. "I wonder how unethical it would be to send Threepio in to take notes for them-"

"Lady Vader," a gravelly voice cut in.

Leia jumped; as usual, she hadn't beard or sensed the Noghri's approach. What is it, Gharakh?"

"Perhaps trouble," Gharakh growled. "The sentry on the rooftop is not responding to his comlink."

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia saw Han roll slightly in his chair to loosen his blaster in its bolster. "You've sent a team to check on him?"

"They are on the way," the Noghri said. "But until we know otherwise, we must assume an intruder is attempting to break in. Where are the others?"

"Down the ball," Leia said. Even as she pointed, she felt the subtle change in air pressure as the distant bedroom door slid open. "That should be them now," she added as the sound of approaching footsteps confirmed it.

"I would ask that you stay in this room for the present," Gharakh said. As he spoke, Lando appeared around the corner, followed by Karrde&mdash "If there is an intruder, we will need to seek him out."

-followed by a tall, slender woman dressed in a dark gray combat jumpsuit.

"Don't bother," the woman said quietly. "I'm here."

CHAPTER

22

Their reactions, as reactions went, were quick and efficient. At the same time, Shada had to admit, they were oddly comic to watch.

The shock of the unexpected voice behind him sent Calrissian jumping half a meter into the air, his gunhand getting momentarily tangled in his cloak before he could haul his blaster free. The Noghri's blaster, unsurprisingly, was already out and trained on her, with Solo's not very far behind. Karrde didn't jump nearly as far as Calrissian bad; but instead of going for a weapon himself, he merely took a long step to the side to give Solo and the Noghri a clear field of fire. A smart move, but no more th an Shada would have expected from someone of his reputation.

Councilor Organa Solo, in contrast to the others, didn't move at all.

Shada didn't move, either, She stood where she was, hands hanging empty at her sides, wondering distantly if the vaunted and probably overrated Noghri combat reflexes would make it more or less likely the guard would overreact to her unexpected appearance by gunning her down.

She almost hoped he would. In many ways, it would be the simplest way to end things.

But the Noghri didn't fire. Neither did Solo nor Calrissian; and with a vague sort of half regret Shada knew she wasn't going to get to go out the easy way.

It was Organa Solo who broke the brittle silence. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice as serene as her face.

"My name is Shada D'ukal," Shada said. "I'm not here to hurt any of you."

Organa Solo nodded. "I know."

Solo threw her a quick sideways glance. "You do?"

"My danger sense would have reacted otherwise," Organa Solo told him. "Long before she arrived in this room."

"What did you do to the guard on the roof?" the Noghri snarled.

"I taught him not to be carelessly compassionate," Shada said. "He's not hurt, except possibly his pride."

There was a quiet mewing of alien language from a comlink attached to the Noghri's collar. "Gharakh?" Organa Solo murmured.

"He is unhurt," the Noghri said. His blaster was still aimed at Shada, but his eyes seemed fractionally less baleful. "They are freeing him from his restraints."

There was a whisper of movement from the corridor behind Shada. She started to turn her head&mdash

"Stand where you are," a Noghri voice ordered from behind her. "Lift your arms."

Shada did as instructed, holding her arms out to the sides as alien hands flitted across her body, wondering where this other group had been hiding. To have sneaked up behind her in what bad seemed to be a dead-end corridor&mdash

She smiled to herself. Of course: they'd come from the roof, following her route down the safety line and in through the bedroom window.

And they'd done so with a speed and efficiency that rivaled the best the Mistryl could have offered. Perhaps the Noghri weren't as overrated as she'd thought.

A minute later the probing hands were gone, taking her hip pack and climbing harness with them. "Sit down," the Noghri standing next to Organa Solo ordered, gesturing toward one of the chairs in the conversation circle. "Keep your hands where they can be seen."

"Don't you trust your searchers?" Shada asked, sitting down in the indicated chair. "Or your mistress, for that matter? Councilor Organa Solo already told you I wasn't here to hurt anyone."

The Noghri's eyes seemed to blaze. "Why are you here?" Organa Solo asked calmly before the alien could speak.

"I wanted to talk to you," Shada told her, settling her forearms along the chair's armrests. "This was the only way I could do it."

She'd expected an outraged denial, or at the very least a snort of derision. But the other woman merely lifted her eyebrows slightly.

Solo was less of a disappointment. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. His blaster, Shada noted, was in his lap, no longer pointed directly at her. But he still had a grip on it.

"It means that unless you're someone with power or money, the corridors of the high and mighty are closed to you," Shada told him, not particularly caring whether she sounded bitter or not. "I've been trying to call for the past three days, and no one would put me through. So much for the great and wonderful New Republic, friend of all the common people."

"So what, you never heard of leaving a message?" Solo growled.

"A message that said what?" Shada countered. "That a nobody with no credentials or status wanted to talk to a great and glorious High Councilor? It would have been tossed out with the next clearing wipe."

"You're talking with me now," Organa Solo said mildly. "What is it you want to say?"

Shada focused on her, the carefully rehearsed words seeming to stick in her throat Words that would slice through her last ties to the Mistryl, and her people, and her life. "I want to join you," she said, her voice sounding hollow and distant in her ears. "I want to join the New Republic."

For a painfully long moment the only sound in the room was the thudding of her own heart in her throat. It was, predictably, Solo who broke the silence. "You what?" he asked.

"I want to join the New Republic," Shada repeated. The second time wasn't any easier than the first. "I have a number of abilities you'll find useful: combat and surveillance, escort and security-"

"Why are you asking us about this?" Solo interrupted, sounding bewildered. "The New Republic has recruitment centers all over Coruscant."

"I don't think you fully appreciate the situation here, Solo," Karrde spoke up before Shada could reply. "Shada hasn't just walked in off the street-or rather, dangled in off the roof. She's chief bodyguard for our smuggler friend Mazzic."

A ripple of surprise ran across the others' faces. "Former bodyguard," Shada corrected. "I resigned three weeks ago."

Karrde cocked an eyebrow. "Your idea?"

Shada felt her throat tighten. "Not entirely."

"I don't see what difference it makes where she came from," Solo persisted. We're still none of us in the business of hiring."

"Han's right, Shada," Organa Solo said, her eyes studying Shada's face with an uncomfortable intensity. Had those Jedi techniques pulled the secret Mistryl connection from her mind? "There's really nothing we can do for you."

"I'm not asking for charity," Shada bit out. "Frankly, you need me more than I need you. Especially with Thrawn on the loose again-"

"What do you know about Thrawn?" Solo asked sharply.

"I was in the back room just now," Shada said. She glanced over at Karrde, caught the sudden tightening of his expression. "Calrissian implied be was back."

She looked back at Organa Solo. "I also know about the Caamas Document," she told the other woman. "And I know that the only way you're going to get out of the mess you're in is to get hold of an intact copy of it."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Calrissian throw a significant look at Karrde, a look the smuggler chief carefully ignored. "It would certainly help," Organa Solo acknowledged. "What does this have to do with you?"

"You're going to need help," Shada told her. "I can supply it."

"All by yourself?" Karrde murmured.

"Yes, all by myself," Shada bit out. "You've seen me in action. You know what I can do."

She looked back at Solo. "So do your people, though you might not know it," she said. "Nineteen years ago on Tatooine I helped get you the technical readout for a prototype component of the second Death Star's superlaser."

Another ripple of surprise ran through the room. A ripple that, to Shada's own mild surprise, didn't seem to touch Solo himself. "Really," he said. "Tell us how."

"A friend and I stole the component from an Imperial research base," she said, trying to read his face. Suddenly the one who'd been pushing her the most seemed almost to be on her side. "It was code-named the Hammertong. We flew the ship it was mounted aboard to Tatooine-"

"What kind of ship?" Solo interrupted.

"Loronar Strike Cruiser," Shada said. "Heavily modified-the interior had been gutted so the thing would fit inside. We half buried the ship in a dune and went to the Mos Eisley cantina to find a freighter pilot with a ship who could transport a segment of it for us."

She gestured to Solo. "My partner and I saw you gun down Greedo in there," she said. "We were going to try to hire you, but were picked up by the Imperials before we could get over to you."

"Why?" Solo asked. "I mean, why did they grab you?"

"Karoly and I had disguised ourselves as Brea and Senni Tonnika. Our cam-we'd beard we looked a lot like them," she corrected as smoothly as she could. Now was not the time to mention the Mistryl camouflage prematch files. "We didn't know some Moff had put a detain order on them. Anyway, a Rebel sympathizer sprung us from our police cell and got us a freighter. We flew out a segment of the superlaser component and gave him a droid with the technical readout loaded in."

"What was this sympathizer's name?" Solo asked.

Shada had to search her memory. "Winward," she said. "Riij Winward."

Solo nodded slowly. "So that was you, huh?"

Organa Solo blinked at him. "You knew about this?"

"I read Winward's report," Solo told her. "It was in the briefing textdoc Madine gave us before we headed out for Endor."

His wife shook her head. "I must have missed it."

"Well, there were a couple of small differences," Solo said dryly. "According to Winward, they'd promised him his own segment of the superlaser in return for springing them."

"There was a sandstorm coming," Shada protested. "There was no time to cut another segment and get it loaded."

"And they didn't exactly give him the technical readout," Solo added. "He had to sort of borrow their droid to get it."

Shada felt her face warm. "Yes, you're right," she admitted. "I'd forgotten that"

"Charming," Calrissian murmured under his breath.

Shada threw him a glare. "For whatever it's worth, my partners thought we should have killed him rather than let anyone know what we'd done," she bit out. "I stopped them from doing that."

There was another silence. A hard, tense, discomfiting silence. Shada kept her eyes on Organa Solo, trying to read her face. As the ranking political power of the group, it would be up to her to make the final decision.

"I've got an idea," Calrissian spoke up. "She said Karrde knows what she can do. So why don't we send her with him?"

Shada looked at Karrde, her impulsive refusal freezing in her throat. She'd just wasted twelve years with one smuggling group, and she hadn't come to Coruscant just to hook up with another one.

But there was something in Karrde's expression . . .

"And just where is it Karrde's going?" Solo asked, cocking his head toward the smuggler chief.

"A special mission," Karrde said. His eyes were still on Shada, that expression still on his face. "Something Calrissian asked me to do."

"Do we get a hint?" Organa Solo asked, a small smile playing around her lips.

Karrde didn't smile back. "It's possible there's a copy of the complete Caamas Document out there that's not in Imperial hands," He told her, "I'm going to see if I can get hold of it."

Solo and Organa Solo exchanged startled glances. "Why didn't you tell us this before?" Organa Solo demanded, the patient amusement gone from her face.

"Because up till now none of this has been any of my business," Karrde said coolly. "Political arguments have nothing to do with me, except insofar as planetary snits and sulkings tend to benefit information dealers."

He booked at Calrissian. "But now a new factor has been stirred in to the mix. One which I've been persuaded can no longer be ignored."

Organa Solo hunched her shoulders as if a sudden cold draft had blown across her back. "Thrawn."

Karrde nodded soberly. "Thrawn." He looked at Shada. "And yes, I would be greatly pleased to have Shada's assistance. If she's willing, of course."

Shada grimaced, the irony a bitter taste in her mouth. Nineteen years late, she'd finally made the wrenching decision to shift her allegiance from her own people to the New Republic . . . only to find that the New Republic didn't want her. And the only one who did was as much an outcast from their great and wonderful new society as she was. "Sure," she told Karrde. Why not?"

"Trust me, Shada, Karrde gets all his best people this way," Calrissian said dryly. "When you get aboard the Wild Karrde, ask Mara Jade how she got hired."

Something flickered across Karrde's face. "Mara won't be with us," he said. "That's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you tonight, Leia. Mara's come to some kind of . . . accident."

Calrissian's sly smile vanished, and the others sat up straighter What kind of accident?" Organa Solo asked.

"A confusing one," Karrde said with a grimace. "She and the Starry Ice tracked one of the unidentified ships your brother saw in the Kauron system-"

"Wait a minute," Solo interrupted. "What's this about unidentified ships?"

"He and Mara saw it skulking around the Cavrilhu Pirates' base," Karrde said. "Didn't he send you a report?"

"Yes, but only a very sketchy one," Organa Solo said. "He just said he hadn't learned anything from the pirates and that he would give us all the details when he got back to Coruscant. There was nothing about any unidentified ship."

"He must not have wanted to say anything on an open channel," Karrde said. "I've got a copy of his and Mara's records of that sighting, plus the data we took when another of the ships buzzed the Errant Venture. I'll get copies to you before I leave."

"Forget the ships a minute," Calrissian put in impatiently. "What happened to Mara?"

"The Starry Ice tracked it to a small world in Gradilis sector," Karrde said. "Mara went in for a closer look and spotted a fortress, entered a cave for a one-sided conversation with unknown beings, mentioned Skywalker's name in response to something they said or did, and then abruptly went silent."

Calrissian's face bad gone rigid. "You mean she was-?"

"No, she wasn't killed," Karrde hastened to assure him. "At least not then-you can hear her breathing on the recording that was pulse-transmitted back to the Starry Ice."

"And these beings knew Luke?" Organa Solo asked, her forehead furrowed. With thought or dread, Shada couldn't tell which.

"Knew him, or knew of him," Karrde told her. "There wasn't enough context for us to tell which."

"We need to get hold of him right away," Solo said to his wife. "See if he can tell us anything."

Karrde cleared his throat self-consciously. "Actually, I've already spoken to him. He couldn't shed any light on it, either."

Organa Solo regarded him suspiciously. "And?" she prompted.

"That was the other thing I wanted to tell you," Karrde said, his urbane air cracking just a bit. "He's gone off to find her."

Organa Solo's expression didn't change, but suddenly the temperature in that part of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. "He's what?" she asked, her tone ominous.

"She's in danger, Leia," Karrde said. "Luke was the only one who could get there fast enough to make a difference. The only one who had a reasonable chance of dealing with whatever the creatures were Mara ran into. And whoever or whatever is up in that fortress. This doesn't just concern Mara; it concerns the entire New Republic."

"And what, you think this Bothan mess doesn't?" Solo growled. He was on his feet now, glaring across the conversation circle at Karrde. "We've got a hundred little wars simmering out there, half of them using Caamas as an excuse to go in and settle old grudges. We've already emptied the New Republic diplomatic corps and Jedi academy trying to find enough mediators to go around, and we still don't have enough. We need Luke here."

"I didn't force him to go after her," Karrde countered, not quite glaring back. "He weighed all the factors and made his own decision."

"Except that he didn't know Thrawn was back," Solo countered. "Did he?"

"Let it go, Han," Organa Solo said quietly, reaching up to touch her husband's arm. "What's done is done. Karrde's right: it was Luke's decision to make. He's made it, and we'll just have to manage without him until he returns."

"If it helps, you can consider my service to be in exchange for his," Karrde said, his mouth still tight. "I'm sorry to have brought such bad news. I really thought you'd be more understanding."

Solo took a deep breath, exhaled it raggedly. "Yeah," he said. "Well. . . when are you heading out?"

"Immediately," Karrde said, crossing to Shada and offering her a hand. "Assuming my new assistant has no errands she has to attend to first."

"I'm ready whenever you are," Shada told him, ignoring the proffered hand and getting to her feet without assistance. "Assuming Councilor Organa Solo's bodyguards are finished sifting through my pack and climbing gear."

"They are waiting for you by the door," the Noghri beside Organa Solo said gravely.

"Fine," Karrde said, nodding to Organa Solo as he moved toward the entrance. "Thank you for your hospitality, Leia. I'll contact you if and when I find anything."

"Two other things, Karrde, before you go," Organa Solo said. "Three actually. First: will you need a translator droid for your trip?"

"That's a good point," Karrde conceded. "The organization has several, of course, but none are aboard the Wild Karrde at the moment. It won't be too hard to pick one up along the way, though."

"That'll take extra time," Organa Solo said. "If you'd prefer, we could lend you Threepio."

Solo made a noise in the back of his throat. "Over his stripped gears, of course."

"That's a very generous offer." Karrde cocked an eyebrow. "It wouldn't have anything to do with the thought that you might be able to get an unbiased report of the trip out of him when we get back, would it?"

"Of course not," Organa Solo said, arching her own eyebrows slightly. "I'm hurt you'd even suggest such a thing."

"Forgive me," Karrde said. "In that case, I accept, with thanks."

"As Han suggests, we'll want a few minutes to talk with him first," Organa Solo said. "We can bring him over to the spaceport when we pick up those spaceship records from you. Second: I wasn't able to tell you this before, but under the circumstances it's something you may need to know. One of the other datacards that Devaronian found at Mount Tantiss was labeled The Hand of Thrawn.'"

Karrde nodded. "Yes, I'd heard."

Organa Solo's eyebrows lifted. "How did you-? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"My source and I thank you for your discretion," Karrde said. "There's something else you need to know, though. Before Mara went chasing after that unknown ship, we picked up a transmission from it, clearly directed at the Errant Venture. We haven't yet been able to decipher the message, but it definitely contained Thrawn's name. His full name, not just the core name Thrawn'."

Solo frowned. "I didn't even know he had more name."

"Most people don't," Karrde agreed. "But Mara did. So did whoever was aboard that ship."

"What do you think it means?" Organa Solo asked.

"I don't know," Karrde said. "Maybe we'll have some answers when Skywalker and Mara get back. At any rate, I'll add a copy of that recording in with the others. You said there were three things?"

Organa Solo smiled. A smile that was shaded with tension, but a smile nonetheless. "May the Force be with you," she said quietly.

Almost involuntarily, Shada thought, Karrde smiled back. "And with you," be said. His eyes flicked to Solo and Calrissian. With all of you," be added. "Good-bye."

***

"Nice speech you made back there," Shada commented as Karrde lifted the airspeeder off the Orowood Tower's pad and turned its nose toward the West Championne field where the Wild Karrde was waiting. "A little over-rehearsed, maybe, but not bad for all that"

"You're too kind," Karrde said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She was staring straight ahead at the nighttime Coruscant landscape, her face faintly illuminated by the glow from the instrument board. With better light, he decided, her expression would probably still have been impossible to read, "May I ask which part of the discourse sounded like a speech to you?"

"That bit about why it had to be Skywalker who went charging off to rescue Mara Jade," she said. "You weren't really expecting them to greet that news with shouts of joy, were you?"

Karrde shrugged. "I didn't expect them to be quite so upset about it, either," he said. "Of course, to be fair, I didn't know about Thrawn until this evening."

Shada shook her bead. "It's hard to believe he survived."

"Agreed," Karrde said. "On the other hand, it's equally hard to believe the Empire would pull a dangerous stunt like this purely as a bluff. Either Thrawn's really back, or somebody somewhere has a Pure 23 hidden in his vest."

Shada seemed to ponder that. "Suppose this Thrawn is actually just a clone," she said. "Would it be as skilled as the original?"

"I suppose it would depend on how much of his tactical ability was innate and how much was learned." Karrde considered. "And whether or not they used a flash-teaching imprint taken from Thrawn's own mind, and how good the pattern was. I just don't know."

"Because if they have one clone of Thrawn, why not fifty?" Shada went on. "And if they have fifty clones of Thrawn, why not a hundred clones of that crazy Dark Jedi Joruus C'baoth, too?"

Karrde winced. That last possibility hadn't even occurred to him. "Why not, indeed?"

Shada didn't pick up on his rhetorical question, and a dark silence descended on the airspeeder. Karrde flew mechanically, not really seeing Coruscant's magnificent horizon-to-horizon lights.

Or rather, seeing the total destruction of those lights superimposed on his view. Thrawn had threatened such destruction the last time he attacked the planet. This time, he might actually do it.

They were descending toward the reassuring bulk of the Wild Karrde when Shada spoke again. "So who's this Jorj Car'das we're looking for?"

With an effort, Karrde shook off the vision of a circle of Star Destroyers closing in on him. "He's someone who used to be in the same business I am," he told her. "Probably still is, actually."

"But not a competitor?" she prompted.

"You were certainly paying attention in there," he complimented her. "Incidentally, just out of curiosity, where in the bedroom were you hiding? I didn't notice any place where anyone bigger than a Noghri could have been tucked away."

"I was on the floor, between the back bed and the wall," she said. "A gap like that always looks smaller than it really is. If Car'das wasn't a competitor, what was he?"

Karrde threw her a smile. "Persistent, too. I like that in my people."

"Delighted to hear it," she said. "If he wasn't a competitor, what was be?"

Ahead, the Wild Karrde's hangar door was sliding open to receive them. "Ask me on the way into the Exocron system," he told her. "Assuming we make it that far."

Shada snorted under her breath. "So, what, you're asking me to risk my life on nothing but your word?"

"You don't have to come," Karrde said mildly. "If you want to leave right now, you're free to do so."

She looked away from him. "Thanks for the permission. I'll stay."

The airspeeder settled with a muffled dunk into its slot in the Wild Karrde's hangar. "As you choose," Karrde said as be shut down the engines. "Out of curiosity, why exactly did you leave Mazzic?"

She twisted her shoulders out of the restraints. "Ask me on the way out of the Exocron system," she said sardonically. "Assuming we make it that far."

Without waiting for a response she popped her door and dropped feetfirst onto the deck. "I'm sure some of us will," Karrde murmured, watching as she threaded her way between the other vehicles toward the exit.

The only question was which ones.

CHAPTER

23

This time, the alarm didn't come in the middle of dessert. It came instead in the middle of the night.

Wedge jerked awake, hand flailing for a cutoff switch that wasn't where it was supposed to be. His knee twitched to the side, coming up short against something solid; and as the brief stab of pain jolted him fully awake, he remembered where he was. As per orders-and one of General Bel Iblis's hunches-he and the rest of Rogue Squadron were sleeping in their X-wings.

From the sound of the alarm still blaring away, the general's hunch had apparently paid off.

He slapped at the alarm switch, hitting it this time, and keyed the comm. "Antilles," he snapped.

"Full scramble," Commander Perris's voice snapped back. "We've got a panic call in from Bothawui."

"Terrific," Wedge muttered, hitting his engine prestart. Trust the Bothans to ruin a good night's sleep. "Okay, Rogues, you all heard the man. Let's get em in the air."

There was a chorus of acknowledgments, and the whine of engine prestarts began to fill their corner of the Di'tai'ni Diplomatic Landing Circle. Someone wearing a maintenance coverall-a Trintic, probably, though it was hard to tell in the dim light-was lumbering across the field toward the X-wings, gesturing frantically at this no doubt unauthorized noise. Wedge gestured him back and keyed in his repulsorlifts. "What is it, another Clan Building riot?"

"Get a good grip on your helmet," Perris said grimly. "According to the Bothans, a Leresen attack force is on the way."

Wedge blinked. "A Leresen attack force?"

"That's what they say," the fighter coordinator confirmed. "A full-class war fleet, and don't ask me what their problem is."

"Pick one," Rogue Three grumbled. "There are so many reasons nowadays to hate the Bothans."

"Let's not sink to the lowest divisory here," Wedge admonished. The X-wings were all in the air now, forming up around Wedge as they pulled for space. "Perris, where's the general?"

"He's on his way up," Perris said. "C'taunmar and her A-wings are flying escort for his shuttle, just in case. We're going to be a few minutes behind you, though, and he said for you to go on ahead."

"And do what?" Rogue Five asked. "Bluff the Leresai until you get there?"

"Sure," Perris said dryly. "Unless, of course, the dazzling Rogue Squadron reputation routs them completely."

"Oh, yeah, right," Rogue Five came back, just as dryly. "Isn't it lucky for the Bothans that we and our dazzling reputation just happen to be only two systems away from them?"

Wedge frowned. It was lucky, now that he thought about it. Suspiciously lucky, in fact. "Perris, can you pull the original order that brought us here?" he asked.

"Already pulled," Penis said. "According to Coruscant, the Di'tai'ni government specifically asked for General Bel Iblis to mediate this dispute with their resident non-Tai'ni workers."

"Any idea whether the Di'tai'ni government owes favors or large amounts of money to the Bothan government?" Rogue Nine asked.

"That's a good question," Perris said thoughtfully. "A very good question, in fact."

"It's my old CorSec training," Rogue Nine said. "They taught us to always follow the money."

"Well, at the moment the money's irrelevant," Wedge said. They had reached the deeper darkness of space now, almost far enough out to make the jump to lightspeed. "We've been called in to defend a New Republic member from aggression, and that's what we're going to do."

"Good luck," Perris said. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

The panel beeped: the course was set. "Okay, Rogues," Wedge said. "Let's go."

The flight to Bothawui took a little longer than that panic-call run they'd taken a week ago to bail out the Sif'kries and their pommwomm-plant shipment. Somehow, though, it felt a lot shorter. Wedge found his mind bouncing back and forth between questions of imminent Leresen aggression, possible Bothan duplicity, general galactic tension, and what in blazes his squadron was doing in the middle of all of it.

And all too soon, they were there.

"Form up," he ordered as the rest of the X-wings came out of hyperspace around him. "Pick up your long-range scanners."

"I don't think," Rogue Two said tightly, "that that'll be necessary."

Wedge grimaced. "No," he agreed. "I guess not."

It was a Leresen attack force, all right. And for once it looked as if the Bothans hadn't been exaggerating. Spread out across the sky directly ahead of the incoming X-wings were six capital ships, all of alien design and manufacture but each nearly the size of a New Republic Assault Frigate. Another twenty smaller ships filled the gaps between them, with at least five squadrons of starfighter-class ships forming a defense perimeter around the whole group.

"Our reputation had better be really dazzling today," Rogue Twelve muttered.

"Cut the chatter," Wedge told him, studying the group. They were well outside Bothawui's planetary shield, beyond the range of any ground-based weapons the defenders were likely to have. He couldn't remember whether or not the Bothans had any orbital battle platforms circling their homeworld, but if they did none of them were on this side of the planet at the moment.

Which pretty much left Rogue Squadron all by itself out here. Twelve X-wings and a reputation.

He cleared his throat and keyed the comm for a broad-band common frequency. "This is General Wedge Antilles and the New Republic unit Rogue Squadron calling the Leresen task force," he announced. "You're encroaching without permission on Bothan space. Please state your intentions."

"This matter is none of your concern, Rogue Squadron," a startlingly melodious voice responded. "It is a private dispute between the Leresen and Bothan governments."

Wedge glanced at his scanners. No sign yet of Bel Iblis and the Peregrine. "May I ask the nature of this dispute?"

"Death and resolution," the melodious voice said. "The death of two Leresai at the hands of the Bothans, and the Bothan refusal to resolve."

Wedge grimaced, keying to the Rogues' private frequency. Clearly, there was a terminology problem here, some Leresen concept or phrase that wasn't translating properly to Basic. But even so, there was something else he wasn't getting here. "Any idea what he's talking about?" he asked.

"Hang on-I'm checking the records," Rogue Eleven said. "I've got a hunch . . . yep, here it is. There were two Leresai killed in that riot at the Combined Clans Building. Both shot, one of them before the mob broke into the building."

"Thanks," Wedge said, switching back. "Leresen commander, I understand your anger over your loss. What is it you want the Bothans to do in restitution?"

"Leresen law is very precise," the alien said. "Claw for claw, horn for horn, life for life. One guilty for himself, or ten innocent of his tribe."

A cold chill ran down Wedge's back. "What do you mean, ten innocent?" he asked carefully.

"The Bothans have refused to turn over to us members of the clans who killed two unarmed Leresai," the voice said evenly. "Two lives will thus be paid by twenty."

So mathematically precise, Wedge thought. But how exactly they thought they were going to pull off such a trick with all the Bothans huddling safe behind their planetary shield . . .

"Uh-oh," Rogue Four said quietly. "Vector three-six by four-one."

Wedge looked. Just coming into view around the planetary horizon behind and beneath them was a small space station.

"It's a low-orbit, zero-gee-crystal manufacturing plant," Rogue Four continued grimly. "Mon-Cal design. If I recall correctly, the normal worker complement is fifteen to twenty-two."

Wedge bit back a curse, keying for private frequency. "Intercept course," he ordered. "I want us between the station and the Leresai."

He switched the comm back as be threw power to the drive. "I understand your anger and frustration with the Bothan government," he told the alien commander. "But you must understand that we can't simply stand by and permit you to kill innocent people. General Garm Bel Iblis will be here soon; perhaps he can mediate-"

"There can be no mediation," the Leresai said with a note of finality in his voice. "The law is the law, and its demands must be fulfilled. Neither you nor any others will stop us."

There was a click, and the conversation was over. "Maybe not," Wedge muttered under his breath as he keyed back to the Rogues' frequency. "But we can sure give it a good try. All right, Rogues, time to get serious. Lock S-foils into attack position." He reached for the control&mdash

"No!" Rogue Nine snapped suddenly. "Don't lock S-foils."

Wedge paused his hand hovering over the switch. Why not?"

"I don't know," Rogue Nine said, his voice tight with strain. "There's something wrong. I can't quite . . . but there's definitely something wrong."

"Rogue Leader?" Rogue Eight asked.

"Stand by," Wedge said, switching his comm to Rogue Nine's personal frequency. "Corran? What's up?"

"Like I said, I don't know," Rogue Nine repeated. "All I know is that I sensed danger when you ordered the S-foil lock. I'm running a diagnostic now, but so far I haven't found anything."

"Is this one of your-?" Wedge hesitated, not wanting to ask about the other's Jedi skills even on a secure channel.

"I think so, yes," Rogue Nine answered the question anyway.

Wedge glanced ever at the Leresen task force. They hadn't moved from their position. Waiting patiently for their target to orbit over to them.

And clearly not expecting any trouble at all from Rogue Squadron . . .

He keyed back to the main Rogue frequency. "Everyone hold course," he ordered, turning his X-wing toward Rogue Nine. "You especially, Rogue Nine. I'm coming in close."

A minute later they were flying in tight parade-flight formation, the twin lasers on Wedge's starboard wingtips nearly brushing the underside of Rogue' Nine's fuselage. "All right," he said, easing in another couple of centimeters. "You've got my starboard flank; I've got your portside. Give it a fast look and see if you can spot anything that shouldn't be there. If you don't, we'll switch sides."

"No need," Rogue Nine said, his voice taut. "There it is: a thin cylinder running vertically between the S-foils, just forward of the laser power line."

"You've got one, too," Wedge growled. Now that he knew where to look, the add-on was obvious. "Ten to one the whole squadron's been booby-trapped."

"All right, so we don't lock S-foils," Rogue Two said. "We can still fire, can't we?"

"I don't think we should try it," Wedge warned, frowning hard at the innocent-looking cylinder. "In fact-Corran, roll starboard a couple of degrees, will you?"

Rogue Nine's fuselage rolled away slowly from him. "I was right," Wedge bit out, thoroughly disgusted now. "The top of the cylinder's got two branches. One runs into the wing's servo -line, the other looks like it feeds right into the laser power line. My guess is that either locking or firing will knock out the lasers. Or worse."

Rogue Twelve cursed feelingly. "Has to have been those two Leresai in the Di'tai'ni maintenance crew who were always hanging around," he said. "So what do we do, try to bluff them?"

Wedge looked out at the Leresen ships. They were on the move now, starting to form up around the manufacturing station speeding helplessly toward them. "No point," be said quietly. "They already know we're out of it."

And so they watched helplessly as the Leresai set about quickly, efficiently, and systematically demolishing the station. Taking their toll of twenty innocent lives in payment for the guilty.

By the time the rest of the Peregrine task force arrived, it was all over.

Or, perhaps more accurately, it had just begun.

***

"It's finally started," Leia announced bleakly as she locked the apartment door behind her and sank down onto the couch next to Han. "The shooting has finally started."

"Yeah, I heard," Han said grimly, radiating concern as be slipped his arm around her. "What's the Senate doing about it?"

"Mostly trying to figure out what they can do," Leia told him.

"What's to figure?" Han asked. "The Leresai slaughtered twenty-one Bothans, not to mention shredding a perfectly good space station. Can't Gavrisom just order the Leresen government brought up on charges?"

"I wish it were that easy," Leia said. "Unfortunately, it's not. Three of the High Councilors have already stated they'll vote against any such resolution, on the grounds that we haven't made similar reparation demands on the Bothan government over the destruction of Caamas."

"But they're not the same thing," Han insisted. "In fact, they're exactly opposite. The Leresai killed innocent people; the Caamas thing is about not punishing innocent people."

"We didn't demand that the Bothans punish the surviving guards who fired on the rioters, either," Leia reminded him.

She sensed his flash of gruff embarrassment. "Yeah," be growled. "Because of me."

Leia squeezed his knee reassuringly. "Not just because of you, dear," she said. "The Council's position is that the guards' action qualified as self-defense. Unfortunately, not everyone sees it that way."

Han sniffed. "Clan thinking."

"Yes, I know," Leia said. "It doesn't make sense to me, either, to hold a relative or clansman responsible for someone else's actions. But the reality is that family or clan accountability is a central tenet of a lot of cultures out there."

"Maybe," Han conceded. "But you still have to slap down the Leresai. If you don't, it'll just encourage everyone else who has a grudge against the Bothans."

"It already has," Leia said, a shiver running through her. "A dozen other governments have filed notice with the Senate that they're going to be presenting their own lists of demands against the Bothans."

"Or else?"

Leia shrugged. "That's the implied threat."

Han made a rude noise in the back of his throat "You know what high esteem I hold the Bothans in, hon, but this is getting ridiculous. I suppose Fey'lya's screaming to Gavrisom for protection?"

"He doesn't have to," Leia told him. "The Diamala and Mon Calamari have announced they're sending ships to defend Bothawui against any further aggression."

Han whistled under his breath. "You're kidding. What kind of ships?" &mdash

"Big ones," Leia said. "Star Cruisers from the Mon Cals, some Nebula and Endurance-class warships from the Diamala. They say they're protecting the rights of the innocent. Others are saying they're just the latest victims of Bothan manipulation."

"That would be my vote," Han said. "Has Bel Iblis proved yet the Bothans were behind that phony Di'tai'ni mediation request?"

"No actual proof, but he personally has no doubts the whole thing was a ruse to keep him and the task force within easy striking distance of Bothawui," Leia said, grimacing. "Between that and the Leresai sabotage of Rogue Squadron's lasers-"

"What, they've admitted it?"

"Not only admitted it, they were proud of it," Leia said. "They consider it the height of honor to keep outsiders from getting hurt in one of their quarrels."

Han snorted. "I'll bet Wedge was real pleased about that."

"He and Garm are about ready to spit blaster bolts," Leia said. "Garm told Gavrisom flat-out that the New Republic is not going to play the lowest piece in anyone else's political games."

"That sounds like a direct quote," Han said. "Here, turn around a little." Pulling his arm from behind her neck, he started massaging her shoulders.

"It was," Leia said, feeling her taut muscles softening reluctantly under the pressure of Han's fingertips. "That feels good."

"Good-it's supposed to," Han said with a touch of forced humor. "You know, messing with someone like Bel Iblis wasn't a smart thing for the Bothans to do."

"I'm sure they know that," Leia agreed. "It shows how desperate they're getting."

She sensed the sideways movement as Han shook his bead. "This is crazy, Leia. Don't any of them even care that Thrawn's back?"

"Of course not," Leia said. "Half of them don't believe a word of it-they think the Diamala cooked the whole thing up to scare everyone into letting the Bothans off the hook, The other half concede it may be true, but don't see any way the Empire could possibly be a threat to them anymore."

"Then they're all fools," Han growled. "Thrawn's got something up his sleeve. I'll bet the Falcon he does."

"I agree," Leia said with a sigh. "On the other hand, at this point he almost doesn't have to do anything at all. The New Republic's rapidly degenerating into a hundred different armed camps, all polarized around the Caamas issue."

"Can't the Caamasi do anything to stop it?" Han asked. "They can't want this."

"Of course they don't," Leia said. "But you have to understand that Caamas has become more an excuse than it is a genuine issue. Everyone says they have the interests of Caamas and justice at heart, but a lot of them are just using that as a battle cry while they settle old scores."

"Yeah," Han said sourly. "So what do we do?"

"Only one thing we can do," Leia said. "We have to take the excuse away from them; and that means getting the names of the actual Bothans that were involved and putting them on trial."

There was a subtle change in Han's emotions. "Yeah," he said. "Well . . . Karrde's trying."

Leia frowned. "Did you speak to him today? I thought he'd already left Coruscant."

"Far as I know he has," Han said. "No, I just put out the word with a few smuggling people I know that I want to talk to Mazzic."

"What about?"

"I just wanted to find out whether this Shada D'ukal really worked for him," Han told her. "And why exactly she left."

Leia smiled. "You wouldn't be worried about Karrde, would you?"

"No," Han protested. "Course not. He can take care of himself."

"It's all right, dear," she soothed him, patting his leg again. "I like him, too."

"I don't exactly like him," Han said, still protesting. "I mean, he can be a real pain in the neck sometimes."

"So could you, dear," Leia reminded him. "Still can, for that matter. You know, I sometimes think Karrde is sort of what you would have been if you hadn't joined the Rebellion."

"Maybe," Han said. "Except for the beard."

"Thank the Force for small favors," Leia said dryly. "Anyway, that's how I spent my day. Aside from chatting with smugglers, how did you spend yours?"

"Thinking, mostly," he said. "I was thinking it was about time we got away for a while."

"And a lovely thought that is," Leia murmured. "But Gavrisom would have a fit if I tried to leave right now."

"That might make it worthwhile all by itself," Han said. "I don't think I've ever seen Puffers throw a fit."

Leia smiled. "I appreciate the offer, Han, I really do. But you know we can't."

"You give up too easily," he reproved her casually. "I'll bet you I could arrange something."

Leia pulled away from the massage, tuning to frown at him. There'd been another change in his emotions just then . . . "And assuming I took that bet," she asked suspiciously, "what else would you tell me you did today?"

He favored her with one of his innocent looks. "Me? Oh, nothing much. You taking the bet or not?"

"Out with it, Han," she said, putting some intimidation into her frown. Where did you book us a flight to?"

As always, the intimidation bounced off without noticeable effect. "Nowhere important," he said, a smile now lurking beneath all the innocence. "I just thought we could take a little jaunt out to Kanchen sector. Pakrik Major, to be exact"

Leia searched her memory. She'd heard of Kanchen sector, and vaguely remembered Pakrik Major being the sector capital. But that was about it. What's out there that we're interested in?" she asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Han assured her. "Well, I mean except for an annual sector conference that a New Republic official really ought to attend. You know-diplomatic courtesy and all that."

She sighed. "And what crisis are they going through that they need me to mediate?"

"That's the beauty of it," he said, grinning openly now. "There isn't one. Everything out there's real peaceful. We'd sit through a few boring meetings, then head off into the silence and relax."

"You assume there's silence somewhere nearby that we can get to."

"There is," Han said. "Pakrik Major's got a twin planet, Pakrik Minor, where they've got nothing but farms, a few resorts, and lots of undeveloped countryside."

This was sounding better and better. "Farms, you say?"

"Fruit and tallgrain, mostly," Han said with a nod. "And forests and mountains and all the silence you want And no one here even has to know we're going."

Leia sighed. "Except Gavrisom," she said, feeling a twinge of regret. "And he'll never approve."

Han's grin turned smug. "Sure he will. Fact is, I called him this afternoon and set it all up. He loves the idea."

She blinked. "He loves the idea?"

"Well, maybe he doesn't love it, exactly," Han backpedaled. "But he's letting us go, and that's what's important. Right?"

"Right," Leia said, eyeing him. "You going to drop the other glove, or not?"

Han shrugged. "He didn't exactly say it outright," he admitted reluctantly, "but I got the feeling he wouldn't mind if the two of us sort of disappeared for a while."

"Even with Thrawn on the loose?"

Han made a face. "Especially with Thrawn on the loose."

Leia sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. She should have guessed that there would be something like that behind it. Between the Bothan shooting controversy still clinging to Han and her own support of Lando's unsubstantiated claim about seeing Thrawn, the two of them had become political embarrassments. No wonder Gavrisom was jumping at the chance to get them out of the public eye for a while. "I'm sorry, Han," she apologized. "I always ask that one question too many, don't I?"

"It's okay, hon," he said, squeezing her tightly. "We don't have to let them take the shine off this, you know. It was our idea to take a vacation, no matter what they think it is."

Leia smiled tightly. "You can't throw me out; I quit,'" she quoted the old joke.

"Something like that," he said. "Anyway, I talked to Chewie, and there's no problem with keeping the kids on Kashyyyk a little longer. It'll be some time just for the two of us."

Leia smiled tightly into his neck. "You know, that's almost exactly what I told myself when Gavrisom sent us to Bothawui," she said. "You saw how well that turned out."

"Well, this time it's going to work," Han said positively. "No Bothans, no riots, no one shooting at us. Guaranteed."

"I'll hold you to that," she warned, pulling out of the hug for a quick kiss. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as you're packed," he said, squeezing her arm. "And hurry up&mdashI've been packed for hours."

"Yes, sir," Leia said, mock-seriously, as she stood up and headed for their bedroom. Some quiet, peaceful time away from trouble and controversy. Yes, it was exactly what she needed.

The tallgrain farms of Pakrik Minor. She could hardly wait.

CHAPTER

24

The scouts had spent the past twenty-eight hours sweeping the system; and when they returned they brought the report Admiral Pellaeon had been expecting. Except for the Chimaera itself, the Pesitiin system was about as deserted as a region of space could be.

"Offhand, sir, I'd say he turned down your offer," Captain Ardiff said, coming up beside Pellaeon on the Star Destroyer's command walkway.

"Perhaps," Pellaeon said, gazing out the viewport at the stars. "It's also possible that my suggested timetable was a little optimistic. General Bel Iblis may be having difficulty convincing the New Republic hierarchy that it would be to their benefit to talk to me."

"Or else he's having trouble putting together a big enough combat force to take on an Imperial Star Destroyer," Ardiff said ominously. "It strikes me that this could be a giant rachnid's web we're comfortably settling ourselves into the middle of."

"Relax, Captain," Pellaeon soothed the younger man. For all his budding military capability, Ardiff had a tendency to ramble over his own tongue when he was feeling nervous. "Bel Iblis is a man of honor. He wouldn't betray my invitation that way."

"I seem to recall that he was also once a man of ambition," Ardiff countered. "And at the moment be looks to be getting lost among the swarm of other generals and admirals infesting the New Republic military. It could easily occur to an ambitious man that capturing you would dramatically increase his visibility."

Pellaeon smiled. "I'd like to believe that after all these years I could still be such a valuable prize," he said. "But I hardly think that to be the case."

"You can be as modest as you want, Admiral," Ardiff said, gazing uneasily out at the starlit sky. "But right now you're about the only thing that's holding the Empire together."

Pellaeon gazed out at the stars. "Or the only chance we have of survival," he added quietly.

"However you want to think about it, sir," Ardiff said, a note of asperity creeping into his voice. "The point remains that Colonel Vermel went out to deliver your message and never returned. Why?"

"I don't know," Pellaeon had to concede. "I take it you have a theory?"

"Yes, sir, the same theory I've had since before we left Yaga Minor," Ardiff said. "I think Vermel learned something, either from Bel Iblis directly or else he overheard something someone else said. That whatever he heard made it necessary for Bet Iblis to lock him up where he couldn't communicate with you. That at best we're wasting our time, and that at worst we're walking into a trap."

"It's still a worthwhile gamble, Captain," Pellaeon said quietly. We'll give Bel Iblis a few days to show up. After that-"

"Admiral Pellaeon?" the sensor officer called from the starboard drew pit. "Incoming ships, sir. Looks like eight of them, coming in on vector one-six-four by fifty-three."

Pellaeon felt his throat tighten. "Identification?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Four are Corellian gunships," another voice called. "The big one's a Kaloth battlecruiser&mdashlooks like it's been heavily modified. Three are Telgorn Pacifier-class assault boats. IDs . . . inconclusive."

"What do you mean, inconclusive?" Ardiff demanded.

"Their IDs don't match anything in the registry," the officer said. "I'm running an overlay check to see if I can unravel them."

"Disguised ships," Ardiff said darkly.

"Smugglers use ID overlays, too," Pellaeon reminded him. "So do pirates and some mercenary groups."

"I know that, sir," Ardiff said. "I also know that there's precious little in this system any of those groups could possibly want."

"A point," Pellaeon admitted. "Communications officer, transmit our identification and ask for theirs."

"Identification transmitted," the other said. "No response."

"Incoming ships have changed course," the sensor officer called. "Now on intercept vector with the Chimaera."

Ardiff hissed tensely between his teeth. "Steady, Captain," Pellaeon advised him. "Lieutenant, get me a full sensor scan of the incoming ships. Weapons capabilities and hull markings in particular."

"Acknowledged, sir-"

"Admiral!" another voice cut him off. "Incoming ships have reconfigured into attack formation."

"I think, Admiral," Ardiff said, his voice hard, "that we have Bel Iblis's answer."

Pellaeon closed his left hand into a fist at his side. "Any hull markings, Lieutenant?" he called.

"It's coming up now, sir . . . yes, sir, there are. The gunships are carrying Corellian Defense Force insignia. The others . . . the same, sir."

"Thank you," Pellaeon murmured. He could feel Ardiff's eyes on him, and the heat of the other's anger and bitter vindication. "Captain, you'd best prepare the Chimaera for combat."

"Yes, sir." Ardiff half turned toward the portside crew pit. "All pilots to their fighters," he ordered. "Ready to launch on my command. Deflector screens powered up; all turbolasers energized and ready."

"And tractor beams," Pellaeon added quietly.

Ardiff threw him a puzzled glance. "Sir?"

"We may want to bring in one or more of the ships," Pellaeon explained. "Or some of the battle debris."

Ardiff's lip twitched. "Yes, sir. All tractor beams, activate."

Pellaeon took a few steps closer to the forward viewport, moving away from the heightened buzz of activity from the crew pits and aft bridge. Could that really be Bel Iblis out there, blazing toward the Chimaera in full battle formation?

No. Ridiculous. He'd never met Bet Iblis in person, but everything he'd ever read about the man indicated a strong sense of honor and dignity. A man like that wouldn't pull what was essentially a cowardly sneak attack, not in response to an honest request for parley. Even in Bel Iblis's losing battles against Grand Admiral Thrawn he'd maintained that same dignity.

His battles against Thrawn . . .

Pellaeon smiled tightly. Yes, there it was. A way, perhaps, to find out whether or not that was really Bel Iblis leading that motley attack force out there.

There was a movement of air at his side. "It's possible he's just being cautious," Ardiff said, the words coming out with obvious reluctance. "The shield overlap that comes from an attack formation like that makes it useful for defense, as well. And he may simply not want to transmit his identity until he's closer."

Pellaeon eyed the young captain with mild surprise. "You impress me, Captain," he said. "One of the most important attributes of a good commander is the ability to think beyond his own expectations."

"I want to be fair, sir," Ardiff said stiffly. "But not at the risk of your ship. Do you want me to launch TIEs or Preybirds?"

"Not yet," Pellaeon said, looking back out the viewport. The incoming ships were visible now, tiny specks rapidly growing larger. "Whatever happens here, I want it clear that we did nothing to provoke hostilities."

For a long minute they stood together in silence and waited. The incoming ships grew steadily larger . . .

And suddenly they were speeding low across the Chimaera, raking the Star Destroyer's upper surface with a blaze of turbolaser fire. They pulled up, heading directly for the bridge-someone in one of the crew pits behind Pellaeon yelped with surprise or fear&mdash

And then they were gone, branching to either side around the command superstructure and pulling for the safety of distance.

Ardiff let out a hissing breath. "I think that proves their intentions, Admiral," he said, his earlier nervousness vanished into an icy professionalism. "Request permission to attack."

"Permission granted," Pellaeon said. "But with turbolasers only."

Ardiff gave him a sharp look. "No fighters?"

"Not yet," Pellaeon told him, searching the sky for the attackers. Probably still making their way around after that mad plunge aft. "I have something else planned for the Preybirds."

Ardiff threw a quick glance around them. "Admiral, I respectfully urge you to reconsider," he said, his voice barely loud enough for Pellaeon to hear. "That battlecruiser is packing some serious weaponry. It went by too fast this time to do any major damage, but that kind of skittishness isn't likely to last. If we don't use the fighters to keep them at arm's length we'll just be begging for trouble."

"I understand your concerns, Captain," Pellaeon told him. The attackers had come around into sight now, distant specks swinging around almost leisurely for their second pass. "But I have my reasons. Order turbolaser batteries to stand ready."

He could see Ardiff's throat working, but the captain merely gave him a curt nod. "Turbolaser crews: stand ready," he called harshly.

"Trust me, Captain," Pellaeon murmured, trying hard not to smile as his mind suddenly flashed back ten years. Then, he'd been the earnest captain standing on this same deck, trying in the most diplomatic way possible to make his superior see sense in the middle of a tense combat situation. He'd had much more experience than Ardiff, of course, but that had merely made his frustrations run that much deeper as he stood by helplessly and watched as the Chimaera drove hard into certain disaster.

And yet Thrawn had never reprimanded him for his impertinence or lack of understanding. He had merely continued calmly with his plans, allowing the results to speak for themselves.

Pellaeon could only hope that the results of this plan would be even half so eloquent.

The attackers had completed their circling and turned toward the Chimaera. "Here they come," the sensor officer called. "Looks like they're going to do a crossways run this time."

"They're worried about running into the command superstructure," Pellaeon commented. "That must mean one or more of their ships almost couldn't pull out in time on that last run."

"Or else they're simply going for variety," Ardiff growled, frustration bubbling beneath the words.

Again the memories flickered, and again Pellaeon carefully suppressed his smile. Right now, in the heat of combat, a smile would definitely not be something Ardiff would understand. "Stand by turbolasers," he said. "Fire at will."

The attackers swept toward them, weapons blazing. The Chimaera's turbolasers answered, and for a few seconds the sky outside the bridge became a dazzling display of green and red fire.

And then the attackers were gone, clawing again for distance, and the Star Destroyer's awesome weaponry fell silent. "Damage?" Pellaeon called.

"Minor damage only," the report came from the starboard crew pit. "Three turbolaser tracking systems in Quadrant One have been knocked out, and there are some minimal hull breaches along the forward ridgeline. They've been seated off."

"They're trying to knock out all the turbolasers in Quadrant One," Ardiff muttered, "Once they do that, that battlecruiser can just sit off the bow and blast away at the hull."

"That does seem to be their intention," Pellaeon agreed. "Damage to the enemy?"

"Unknown, but probably minimal," the sensor officer reported. "That overlapping shield configuration of theirs is pretty strong-not easy to punch through."

"But it's primarily ray-shielding?" Pellaeon asked.

"Yes, sir, at least on the battlecruiser," the officer confirmed. "The gunships also have some minimal particle shielding."

"We're not going to have much chance of hitting them with proton torpedoes, if that's what you're thinking," Ardiff warned. "In close, their angular speed is too high for the torpedoes to track; and at any real distance, they'll have all the time they need to target and destroy them."

"I understand the tactics involved," Pellaeon said mildly. "Let's see if we can rewrite the script a bit. Colonel Bas, order one Preybird squadron to launch on my command. Their attack vector . . . "

He paused, following the attackers with his eyes. They had reached the farthest point of their curve now, and were starting to swing back around for another pass. "Attack vector two-three by seven," he decided. "They're to stay on that vector in tight parade-flight formation until otherwise ordered."

He could feel Ardiff's eyes on him. "Parade-flight formation, sir?" the captain echoed, clearly not believing his ears.

"The shield overlap will help protect them from enemy fire," Pellaeon explained.

"Not well enough," Ardiff countered. "Not against a Kaloth battlecruiser at close-in range."

"With any luck, they won't need to get that close," Pellaeon said. Just as with their last two runs, he saw, the attackers were coming straight in. Perfect "Colonel: launch fighter squadron."

"Acknowledged," Colonel Bas said. "Fighters launched."

Pellaeon turned back to the viewport. A few seconds later the Preybirds appeared around the edge of the hull, a clump of close-formation drive trails arrowing straight out toward the incoming attackers. "Stand by Number Eight proton torpedo cluster," he called. "All fifteen torpedoes to fire in three-by-five sequence along vector two-three by seven."

The background hum in the bridge suddenly-seemed to falter. "Sir?" the fire-control officer asked hesitantly. "That's the same vector-"

"As the Preybirds," Pellaeon finished for him. "Yes, I know, Lieutenant. You have your orders."

"Yes, sir!"

"Fire torpedoes on my command only," Pellaeon continued, watching the Preybirds streaking toward the incoming attackers. Almost there . . . "Colonel Bas, order the Preybirds to perform a full-speed saggery-blossom maneuver on my command. Lieutenant fire proton torpedoes."

"Torpedoes fired," the other confirmed; and from beneath the Chimaera's bow a tight column of torpedo trails appeared, five groups of three torpedoes each, driving hard directly toward the now-distant drive trails of the Preybirds.

Abruptly Ardiff gave a small snort of understanding. "Ah. Of course."

"Indeed," Pellaeon agreed, watching the departing torpedoes closely, painfully aware of the sliced-second timing that was required. Almost there . . . "Colonel Bas . . . now."

For a single agonizing heartbeat nothing happened. Then, with parade-flight precision, the Preybirds broke out of their clustered formation. Turning sharply out and away from their original vector, they formed a brief stylized saggery flower shape as they curved back around toward the Chimaera. The enemy turbolaser fire that had been pounding away at their overlapped shields split in response, swinging outward to track each of the individual fighters&mdash

And with a flash of brilliant light the first three proton torpedoes roared through the undefended center area, blazed their way directly between the two gunships in the lead, and impacted squarely against the bow of the battlecruiser.

Even from the Chimaera's distance the consternation among the attacking ships was instantly apparent. Instantly apparent, and utterly useless. Even as the bunched ships clawed desperately to get some distance between them, the second torpedo group hit, blowing out an impressive cloud of shattered hullmetal and transparisteel. The third group must have run into a piece of the debris from that second blast; all three torpedoes blew prematurely, sending one of the dodging gunships corkscrewing violently into the night with a ruptured hull.

By the time the last three torpedoes had spent their fury, the battle was over. The battlecruiser had been reduced to rubble, and the other ships were running for their lives.

"Brilliantly done, Admiral," Ardiff said, admiration and embarrassment mixing in his voice. "I'm, ah, sorry if I sounded-"

"Understood, Captain," Pellaeon assured him. "Believe it or not, I've been in your place myself."

"Thank you, sir." Ardiff gestured toward the glowing cloud of burning wreckage. "Shall I send a team to retrieve some of the debris? It might be able to tell us who that was."

"Go ahead and send a team," Pellaeon said. "But I can tell you right now that it wasn't General Bel Iblis."

"Really," Ardiff said, his eyes on PeIlaeon as he gestured his order to the crew pit. Not questioning, this time, but honestly curious. "How can you be that sure?"

"First things first," Pellaeon said. "While the team is retrieving the debris, I want you to run the record of the battle through the Predictor. It's still online, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Ardiff said, smiling tightly with understanding. "That's why you let them do that second run against us, isn't it? So that there would be enough data for the Predictor to analyze."

"Exactly," Pellaeon said. "It didn't work very well at figuring out the tactics of a given enemy; let's see if it can work in reverse to figure out the enemy from the given tactics. If we're lucky, it may be able to give us at least a hint of who out there might favor this particular combat style."

"And you're sure it wasn't Bel Iblis?"

Pellaeon looked out at the glowing cloud. "Have you ever heard of an A-wing slash, Captain?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"It's a New Republic battle technique," Pellaeon said, turning back to face him. "It requires highly precise timing, which is why it's hardly ever used. A group of starfighters, X-wings usually, heads directly toward the defense line guarding a capital ship. At the last second the X-wings disengage, veering around and away."

"Rather like what our Preybirds just did."

"Exactly as our Preybirds just did," Pellaeon nodded. "The defenders' natural reaction, of course, is to assume the attackers are attempting a flanking maneuver and veer to follow and engage. But what they don't realize until it's too late is that a group of A-wings has been flying directly behind the X-wings, hidden by the X-wings themselves and their drive glow. By the time they spot that second wave, they're too far out of line to block them, and the A-wings have a clear run through to the now undefended ship."

"Clever enough," Ardiff said. "I can see why you wouldn't want to use it very often, though it certainly worked well enough with proton torpedoes playing the A-wings' role. What does this have to do with Bel Iblis?"

Pellaeon smiled tightly. "I was at the battle where he invented it."

Ardiff blinked in surprise; and then he too smiled. "In other words, it's not a tactic he'd be fooled by?"

"Not a chance in the galaxy," Pellaeon agreed. "But with those Corellian markings, I'd say someone worked very hard to make us think it was him."

Ardiff sobered. "Someone from the Empire?"

"Or someone from the New Republic," Pellaeon said. "We know there are factions on our side who don't want peace. I imagine they have their counterparts on the other."

"Probably," Ardiff said. "So what do we do now?"

"Whoever ordered that attack wanted us to think Bel Iblis was behind it," Pellaeon said. "The small size of the force, plus the quick and unashamed disengagement, implies he didn't really care whether or not he actually inflicted any damage. His purpose, therefore, must have been to drive us away from here before Bel Iblis could arrive."

"And so we stay?"

"So we stay," Pellaeon agreed. "At least awhile."

"Yes, sir." Ardiff pursed his lips. "You realize, of course, that our unknown opponent may not give up this easily. He may attack again."

Pellaeon turned again to look out at the fiery debris. "Let him try."

To Be Concluded