The Hand Of Thrawn Duology_ Specter Of The Past Part 8

"We did what we deemed necessary at the time," Leia said, sternly ordering down her sudden flash of annoyance with the Bothan. "Would you rather he had left Wayland with the datacard?"

"To be blunt: yes," Fey'lya said stiffly. "Clearly, we were his intended recipients. He would have demanded a tremendous sum of money from us, and we would have paid him, and it would have been over."

Leia sighed. "It wouldn't have been over, Councilor. It won't be over until the whole truth is known and those responsible punished."

"That is indeed all that is left to us now," Fey'lya said, standing up. "Thank you for your courtesy in giving me this private briefing, Councilor Organa Solo. I will go now to prepare my defense."

"You're not on trial here, Councilor," Leia reminded him.

Fey'lya's fur flattened. "I will be," he said softly. "As will the entire Bothan race. You will see."

The Dona Laza tapcafe was about as crowded as Shada Dukal had ever seen it, packed almost literally wall-to-wall with beings of a dozen different species and every social cla.s.s from lower-middle on down. "Popular place tonight," she commented to her boss, sitting close beside her at the table.

"It's their turn at the floating Boga Minawk tournament," Mazzic explained, idly stroking the back of Shada's hand, "You wouldn't believe how crazy they go for the game around here."

"You suppose that's why he chose this place?" Shada asked, "Because of the crowd?"

"Don't worry, Cromf will bring him in okay," Mazzic soothed her. "Pa.s.s him enough money and he becomes positively reliable. Especially when the second half of the payment doesn't come until delivery."

Shada looked at the beings pressing around their table. "I'm more concerned about whether we'll be able to pull him out of here quietly with this many people watching."

"There's no rush on that," Mazzic said. "Considering all the trouble we've gone to, we ought to at least hear this deep dark secret be wants to tell us. After that, we can see about putting the restraints on him."

Shada looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Karrde won't be happy about that," she warned. "He was very specific about Lak Jit not talking to anyone."

"We're not on Talon Karrde's paylist," Mazzic reminded her tartly. "What with Cromf's finder's fee, we're not going to break even on this as it is. If this little secret has any market value, we deserve to get a cut of it."

Shada turned away from him, a wave of blackness flowing over her already dark mood. That was always what it came down to in the world of smuggling: profit, and more profit, and doing whatever scheming and back-blading it took to get as much of it as possible.

Concepts like loyalty and honor&mdash "Oh, come on, Shada," Mazzic chided, stroking her hand again. "These bursts of personal guilt have got to stop. This is how the game is played. You know that."

"Sure," Shada murmured. She knew, all right. What hurt the most was that for the past twelve years she'd been a willing partic.i.p.ant in it. Willing, and very able.

Sometimes, late at night, she wondered what had happened to the galaxy. Or perhaps it was just her.

At the near edge of the crowd a young Garoos appeared, easing himself and his loaded tray gingerly between a pair of loud and wildly gesticulating Ishori. He made it without spilling the drinks, and wilted into the seat across from Mazzic. "Wheh!" he half-whistled, picking up one of the four drinks from the tray, his purple-tinged gill flaps undulating rhythmically as he breathed. "Dint think I was gon make it."

"And a fine job you did, too, Cromf," Mazzic a.s.sured him, selecting two of the other gla.s.ses and setting one in front of Shada. "Any sign of our quarry yet?"

"I dint see him," Cromf said, sipping carefully at his drink and looking nervously around him. One ear cl.u.s.ter opened briefly as someone nearby gave a raucous laugh, then closed down again. "I don't like this, Maz'k. Too man' here watch."

"Don't worry," Mazzic soothed. "You just get him to the table. We'll do the rest."

Beside Shada's left ear, one of the decorative lacquered needles twisted into her hair gave two soft clicks. "Signal from Griv," she told Mazzic. "Possible make."

"Good," Mazzic said. "Go get him, Cromf-side entrance. Concentrate on the other half of your finder's fee."

The Garoos half-whistled as he got up from the table and disappeared again into the crowd.

Shada took a deep breath, settling into combat mode and gave the area around them a final examination. If the Devaronian smelled trouble and tried to bolt, he would probably head to his left And then Cromf was back, a horn-headed Devaronian in tow. "Wheh!" he half-whistled, sitting down beside Mazzic. "Crowd in here. This Lak Jit. This smug' Maz'k."

"Pleased to meet you, Lak Jit," Mazzic said, offering him the fourth gla.s.s from the tray.

"You drink Vistulo brandale, I trust?"

"When someone else is paying," Lak Jit said, taking the seat across from Mazzic. "I want you to know first, Mazzic, that though what I am about to tell you is true, I know I cannot ask for money in exchange. I no longer have tangible proof, only the evidence of my own eyes."

"I understand," Mazzic said, setting his hand down in the center of the table. He withdrew it, revealing the short stack of high-denomination coins. "Still, a respectable gentleman should be willing to pay for value received."

Lak Jit smiled his thin Devaronian smile and reached for the coins&mdash And found his wrist locked solidly in Mazzic's grip. "For value received," Mazzic reminded him coldly. Reaching out with the other hand, he slid the stack of coins back to the edge of the table in front of him. "Now," he said, releasing the Devaronian's wrist. "Let's hear what you have."

Lak Jit hunched forward to lean across the table. "Understand that what I am about to tell you is both private and exclusive," he murmured. "No one else outside the New Republic government knows this."

"Of course," Mazzic said dryly, his tone making it clear to Shada that he didn't believe that any more than she did. The Devaronian had probably already sold this same "exclusive"

information to a half-dozen other people. "Let's hear it."

Lak Jit glanced around and hunched a little closer. "It concerns Caamas," he said. "There exists evidence that it was indeed agents of the then Senator Palpatine who engineered its destruction."

Beneath the table, Shada felt her hand curl into a hard fist. Caamas. It had been a long time since she'd thought about that world. A long time since she'd tried to block its name and the childhood memories it evoked of her own world of Emberlene from her mind. Now, suddenly, it was all coming back.

She wouldn't have expected Mazzic to be equally moved. And he wasn't. "Hardly groundbreaking news," he said with a shrug. "That's been the leading theory practically since the last Caamasi firestorm burned itself out."

"But this is proof," Lak Jit insisted. "A record recovered from the Emperor's personal storehouse on Wayland."

"A doc.u.ment you don't happen to have."

"But there's more," the Devaronian hissed, leaning forward until his horns were almost touching Mazzic's forehead. "We now know how it was that the planet was so easily destroyed. The s.h.i.+eld generators were deliberately sabotaged." He jabbed a finger onto the table for emphasis. "By a group of Bothans."

Mazzic shot Shada a glance. "Really," he said, his voice still nonchalant but with a definite note of interest beneath it. "You know their names?"

"Unfortunately not," Lak Jit said. "That part of the doc.u.ment was too badly damaged for my humble datapad to read." He leaned back again in his chair. "But I suggest it doesn't matter. Either way, the Bothans are in for an exceedingly rough time. A clever businessman should be able to make a profit from knowledge of such imminent instability." He gestured to the stack of coins in front of Mazzic. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would indeed," Mazzic said, looking at Shada and twitching an eyebrow. "Very well.

Shada, would you a.s.sist our friend?"

"No need," Lak Jit said. Leaning forward over the table again, he reached out for the coins&mdash And rising half from her seat, Shads jabbed the knuckles of her right hand at the base of his leftmost horn.

He went down without a whimper, dropping face first onto the table, his leftmost horn almost but not quite knocking over Mazzic's drink. A Barabel and a couple of Duros glanced over and then looked away; pa.s.sed-out customers were apparently a common sight at the Dona Laza. Wheh!" Cromf wheezed, staring bulge-eyed at the limp form. "Is he not-?"

"Of course not," Mazzic said, reaching over to tap the needle-shaped signaler in Shada's hair three times. "No one's paying us to kill anyone."

Pus.h.i.+ng his way through the crowd, Griv appeared at the table. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," Mazzic nodded, scooping up the stack of coins. He handed Cromf four of them, dropped the rest into his inside pocket. "Get him out to the speeder."

Griv hoisted the Devaronian to his shoulder and pushed his way back into the crowd. Well, that was a waste of time," Mazzic commented, standing up and courteously offering Shada a hand. "Maybe we can bargain up Karrde's bounty a little. Try to at least come out even."

"We're not going to do anything with this?" Shada asked.

"Don't be silly," he chided, taking her arm and guiding her into the crowd. "Who's going to care about a planet destroyed almost half a century ago?"

Shada's stomach tightened. Caamas . . . and Emberlene. "No one," she agreed bitterly. "No one at all."

It took a while-at least two complete read-throughs each, Disra estimated as he slowly paced the floor behind his ivrooy desk, trying to look impatient rather than apprehensive.

But eventually the last of the four Imperial captains finished reading and lifted his eyes from his datapad. "With all due respect, Your Excellency, I find this proposal incredible," Captain Trazzen of the Obliterator said, his soft voice belying his reputation for viciousness. "Surely you realize that you can't simply pull four Imperial Star Destroyers out of a sector fleet and expect the remaining forces to adequately defend their territory."

"I agree," Captain Nalgol of the Tyrannic put in, fingering the Kuat family crest ring he always wore. "In addition-and also with due respect-I would go so far as to question your authority to even order these two missions. All incursions into New Republic s.p.a.ce are supposed to be under the direct command of Supreme Fleet Commander Pellaeon."

"Perhaps," Disra said. "Perhaps not. We'll put that aside for a moment. Are there other questions?"

"I have one," Captain Dorja of the Relentless spoke up. "This mission to Moris.h.i.+m that you want me to go on. What exactly is this courier s.h.i.+p I'm being asked to intercept?"

Disra lifted his eyebrows. "Being 'asked,' Captain? Being 'asked'?"

"Yes, Your Excellency," Dorja said stiffly. "Captain Nalgol is correct: you are supreme commander of the Braxant Sector Fleet only with regard to operations within Braxant sector. Missions to Moris.h.i.+m and Bothawui do not fall under this authority."

"I see." Disra looked at the fourth captain. "You've been rather quiet, Captain Argona."

"The Ironhand is of course under your command, Your Excellency, and we'll go wherever you send us," Argona said quietly. "At the same time, I have to concur with Captain Trazzen's a.s.sessment. Sending away four of the sector fleet's thirteen Star Destroyers is not something to be done lightly."

"Especially with three of them on this long-term mission to the Bothawui system," Trazzen added. "The nature of which, I remind you, precludes any chance of a quick recall."

"Indeed," Argona said. "You'd have to physically send couriers out there to contact us. In an emergency, the extra days that would cost could prove disastrous."

"Nothing worthwhile is ever gained without risk," Disra said coldly. "I'm beginning to think that perhaps the wrong choice has been made in offering these missions to you. If you'd prefer to bow out of a history-making military campaign-"

"No."

The voice had come from the direction of Disra's secret pa.s.sageway. The captains turned&mdash And Grand Admiral Thrawn stepped into the office. There was a gasp from someone, choked off into a stunned silence. "Excuse me, Admiral?" Disra asked carefully. "I said they will not be excused from this mission, Your Excellency," Thrawn said, his voice calm and cool as he walked to the desk and sat down in Disra's chair. "I had my reasons for choosing these particular Star Destroyers and their captains. Those reasons have not changed."

For a moment his glowing eyes focused on the captains as they stood at obviously confused attention before him, measuring and evaluating each in turn. Then, leaning back in his seat, he smiled slightly. "Observe, Your Excellency," he said, looking up at Disra and waving a hand at the officers. "Utterly stunned by my unexpected appearance; yet already they are largely recovered. Quick and flexible minds, combined with utter loyalty to the Empire. That is the combination I need. The combination I will have."

"Of course, Admiral," Disra said.

Thrawn turned his attention back to the captains. "You have questions, of course," he said. "Unfortunately, the one foremost in all your minds cannot at this time be answered.

As I make preparations to return to open command, the method which allowed me to survive the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt ten years ago must remain confidential. I must also ask that for the moment my return be kept a secret, to be shared only with your senior officers, and that only after you've left Imperial s.p.a.ce. Other than that-" He c.o.c.ked his head slightly to the side. "I believe there were some questions about command authority?"

"No questions, Admiral," Trazzen said, his voice almost reverent. "Not anymore."

"Good." Thrawn c.o.c.ked a blue-black eyebrow at Nalgol. "I take it from your expression, Captain Nalgol, that you don't concur with your colleague?"

Nalgol cleared his throat self-consciously, his finger squeezing his ring as if trying to extract confidence from the carved crest. "I certainly don't question your authority, Admiral Thrawn," he said. "But I would very much appreciate some clarification. I'm familiar with the Bothawui system, and I can think of no reason why it should be of any serious military value to the Empire. Certainly not worth tying up three Star Destroyers for."

"Your evaluation is quite correct," Thrawn agreed. "It's not the system itself that interests me, but events which in the near future will be taking place over the Bothan homeworld. Events which I intend to turn to the Empire's advantage."

"Yes, sir," Nalgol said. "But-"

"In time, all will be clear," Thrawn said. "For now, I must ask that you trust my judgment."

Nalgol drew himself to his full height. "Always, Admiral." He stepped forward and offered his hand across the desk. "And if I may say so, welcome back. The Empire has sorely missed your leaders.h.i.+p."

"As I have missed the privilege of command," Thrawn said, rising to his feet and gripping the proffered hand briefly. "The refitting of your three Star Destroyers is already under way, and should be completed within two days." He s.h.i.+fted his attention to Dorja. "As for your mission, Captain Dorja, the Imperial courier you're to intercept at Moris.h.i.+m is scheduled to leave in twenty hours. Will you have enough time to return to the Relentless and reach the system ahead of it?"

"Easily, Admiral." Dorja's lip twitched in what pa.s.sed for a smile with him these days.

"And if I may, sir, I'd like to echo Captain Nalgol's sentiments. I'm honored to once again serve under your direct command."

Disra looked at Dorja, his chest suddenly feeling tight. Dorja had served directly under Thrawn?

"I'm pleased to once again lead you, Captain,." Thrawn said gravely. "During my time on the Chimaera I often felt that you had more leaders.h.i.+p potential than circ.u.mstances allowed you to develop. Perhaps we'll have the opportunity now to judge that evaluation."

Dorja fairly glowed. "I'll do my best to prove you right, sir."

"I can ask no more than your best," Thrawn said. "And will accept nothing less," he added, looking at each of the captains in turn. "You have your orders. Dismissed."

"Yes, Admiral," Trazzen said for all of them. They turned and left, with what seemed to Disra to be a markedly more spirited step than that with which they'd entered the office half an hour earlier. The double doors swung ponderously shut behind them&mdash "A fine group of gentlemen," Flim declared, digging a fingerinto the collar of his white Grand Admiral's uniform. "A bit gullible, perhaps, but fine gentlemen all the same."

"Oh, they're fine, all right," Disra snarled, glaring at the secret door the con man had made his grand entrance through. "They're also extremely dangerous. Tierce? Where are you?"

"Right here," Tierce said, stepping out of the secret door, "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" Disra snapped. "Bad enough that three of the four captains you picked for these missions aren't particularly loyal to me. But someone who served directly with Thrawn? Are you insane?"

"Don't be insulting," Tierce said coldly, joining the others by the desk "I had to bring in someone like Dorja on this. A junior student of tactics could tell you that."

"I don't think tactically," Disra shot back. "At least, not according to you. That's why your expertise is necessary, remember ?"

"Calm down, Your Excellency," Flim interjected, carefully popping the glowing surface insert out of his left eye. "Sooner or later, it was inevitable that I face someone who personally knew Thrawn. What better time or place than here, where all four of them could have been dealt with quietly and discreetly if necessary?"

"Exactly," Tierce said. "And as to my choice of commanders, those not personally loyal to you are precisely the ones we need to work Flim's magic on."

"And have you considered what they might do once they're out of range of that magic?"

Disra countered. "What if they decide they're not really convinced after all and do some checking?"

"Oh, they're going to," Tierce a.s.sured him. "That was why I wanted Nalgol to be in this first group. He comes from a long line of Kuat n.o.bility, and I knew he'd be wearing his poison injector ring."

Flim paused midway through popping out the other surface insert. "His what?"

"His poison injector ring," Tierce repeated. "Poisoning one's enemies is a centuries-old tradition there. Oh, relax-Nalgol hasn't carried any poison in that ring for years."