So the Rebels continue to edge toward our trap, do they?”
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, glad to be getting back to something he could understand. “We’ve had two more reports of Rebel support ships moving into positions at the edge of the Draukyze system.”
“But not obviously.”
Pellaeon frowned. “Excuse me, Admiral?”
“What I mean is that they’re being highly secretive about their preparations,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “Quietly detaching intelligence and support ships from other assignments; moving and re-forming sector fleets to free capital ships for service—that sort of thing. Never obviously. Always making Imperial Intelligence work hard to put the pieces together.”
He looked up at Pellaeon, his glowing red eyes glittering in the dim light. “Almost as if Tangrene was indeed their true target.”
Pellaeon stared at him. “Are you saying it isn’t?”
“That’s correct, Captain,” Thrawn said, gazing out at the artwork.
Pellaeon looked at the Tangrene holo. Intelligence had put a 94 percent probability on this. “But if they’re not going to hit Tangrene … then where?”
“The last place we would normally expect them,” Thrawn said, reaching over to touch a switch on his command board. Tangrene system vanished, to be replaced by—
Pellaeon felt his jaw drop. “Bilbringi?” He wrenched his eyes back to his commander. “Sir, that’s …”
“Insane?” Thrawn cocked a blue-black eyebrow. “Of course it is. The insanity of men and aliens who’ve learned the hard way that they can’t match me face-to-face. And so they attempt to use my own tactical skill and insight against me. They pretend to walk into my trap, gambling that I’ll notice the subtlety of their movements and interpret that as genuine intent. And while I then congratulate myself on my perception” —he gestured at the Bilbringi holo— “they prepare their actual attack.”