Star Wars - Thrawn Trilogy - The Last Command 03

  Fortunately, there was another way.

  Each residential floor of the Imperial Palace had an extensive library, and in each of those libraries was a multicard set entitled The Complete History of Corvis Minor. Given how unexceptional most of Corvis Minor's history had been, the odds of anyone actually pulling the set off the shelf were extremely slim. Which, given there were no actual data cards in the box, was just as well.

  The blaster was a slightly different style from the one Mara had lost to the Imperials. But its power pack was still adequately charged, and it fit snugly into her forearm holster, and that was all that mattered. Now, whatever happened with either the war or New Republic infighting, she would at least have a fighting chance.

  She paused, the false data card box in her hand, a stray question belatedly flicking through her mind. What had Winter meant by that reference to a bottomless source for crewers and soldiers? Had one or more of the New Republic's systems gone over to the Imperial side? Or could Thrawn have discovered a hitherto unknown colony world with a populace ripe for recruitment?

  It was something she should probably ask about sometime. First, though, she needed to get a message encrypted and relayed out to Karrde's designated contact. The sooner she was out of this place, the better.

  Replacing the empty data card set, the comforting weight of the blaster snugged up against her left arm, she headed back to her suite.

  Thrawn raised his glowing red eyes from the putrid-looking alien artwork displayed on the double display ring surrounding his command chair. "No," he said. "Completely out of the question."

  Slowly, deliberately, C'baoth turned back from the holographic Woostroid statue he'd been gazing at. "No?" he repeated, his voice rumbling like an approaching thunderstorm. "What do you mean, no?"

  "The word is self-explanatory," Thrawn said icily. "The military logic should be, as well. We don't have the numbers for a frontal assault on Coruscant; neither have we the supply lines and bases necessary for a traditional siege. Any attack would be both useless and wasteful, and the Empire will therefore not launch one."

  C'baoth's face darkened. "Have a care, Grand Admiral Thrawn," he warned. "I rule the Empire, not you."

  "Do you really?" Thrawn countered, reaching up behind him to stroke the ysalamir arched over his shoulder on its nutrient frame.

  C'baoth drew himself up to his full height, eyes blazing with sudden fire. "I rule the Empire!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the command room. "You will obey me, or you will die!"

  Carefully, Pellaeon eased a little deeper into the Force-empty bubble that surrounded Thrawn's ysalamir. At those times when he was in control of himself, C'baoth appeared more confident and in control than he ever had before; but at the same time these violent bursts of clone madness were becoming more frequent and more vicious. Like a system in a positive feedback loop, swinging farther from its core point with each oscillation until it ripped itself apart.

  So far C'baoth hadn't killed anyone or destroyed anything. In Pellaeon's opinion it was just a matter of time before that changed.

  Perhaps the same thought had occurred to Thrawn. "If you kill me, you'll lose the war," he reminded the Jedi Master. "And if you lose the war, Leia Organa Solo and her twins will never be yours."

  C'baoth took a step toward Thrawn's command seat, eyes blazing even hotter—and then, abruptly, he seemed to shrink again to normal size. "You would never speak that way to the Emperor," he said, almost petulantly.

  "On the contrary," Thrawn told him. "On no fewer than four occasions I told the Emperor that I would not waste his troops and ships attacking an enemy which I was not yet prepared to defeat."

  C'baoth snorted. "Only fools spoke that way to the Emperor," he sneered. "Fools, or those tired of life."

  "The Emperor also thought that way," Thrawn agreed. "The first time I refused he called me a traitor and gave my attack force to someone else." The Grand Admiral reached up again to stroke his ysalamir. "After its destruction, he knew better than to ignore my recommendations."

  For a long minute C'baoth studied Thrawn's face, his own expression twitching back and forth as if the mind behind it was having trouble maintaining a grip on thought or emotion. "You could repeat the Ukian fraud," he suggested at last. "That trick with cloaked cruisers and timed turbolaser blasts. I would help you."

  "That's most generous of you," Thrawn said. "Unfortunately, that, too, would be a waste of effort. The Rebel leaders on Coruscant wouldn't be as quick to surrender as Ukio's farmfolk were. No matter how accurate our timing, they'd eventually realize that the turbolaser blasts hitting the surface weren't the same as those fired by the Chimaera, and come to the proper conclusion."

  He gestured to the holographic statues filling the room. "The people and leaders of Woostri, on the other hand, are a different matter entirely. Like the Ukians, they have a strong fear of the unknown and what they perceive to be the impossible. Equally important, they have a tendency to magnify rumors of menace far out of proportion. The cloaked cruiser stratagem should work quite well there."

  C'baoth's face was starting to redden again. "Grand Admiral Thrawn—"

  "But as to Organa Solo and her twins," Thrawn cut him off smoothly, "you can have them whenever you wish."

  The embryonic tantrum evaporated. "What do you mean?" C'baoth demanded warily.

  "I mean that attacking Coruscant and carrying off Organa Solo by brute force is impractical," Thrawn said. "Sending in a small group to kidnap her, on the other hand, is perfectly feasible. I've already ordered Intelligence to assemble a commando team for that purpose. It should be ready within the day."

  "A commando team." C'baoth's lip twisted. "Need I remind you how your Noghri have continually failed you in this matter?"

  "I agree," Thrawn said, an oddly grim note to his voice. "Which is why the Noghri will not be involved."

  Pellaeon looked down at the Grand Admiral in surprise, then threw an involuntary glance at the door to the command room anteroom where Thrawn's bodyguard Rukh was waiting. Ever since the Lord Darth Vader had first duped the Noghri into their perpetual service to the Empire, the gullible gray-skinned aliens had insisted on putting their own personal honor on the line with each mission. Being pulled off an assignment, especially one this important, would be like a slap in the face to them. Or worse. "Admiral?" he murmured. "I'm not sure—"

  "We'll discuss it later, Captain," Thrawn said. "For now, all I need to know is whether Master C'baoth is truly ready to receive his young Jedi." One blue-black eyebrow lifted. "Or whether he prefers simply discussing it."

  C'baoth smiled thinly. "Am I to take that as a challenge, Grand Admiral Thrawn?"

  "Take it any way you like," Thrawn said. "I merely point out that a wise tactician considers the cost of an operation before launching it. Organa Solo's twins are due to be born any day now, which means you would have two infants as well as Organa Solo herself to deal with. If you're not certain you can handle that, it would be best to postpone the operation."

  Pellaeon braced himself for another explosion of clone madness. But to his surprise, it didn't come. "The only question, Grand Admiral Thrawn," C'baoth said softly, "is whether newborn infants will be too much for your Imperial commandos to handle."

  "Very well," Thrawn nodded. "Our rendezvous with the rest of the fleet will be in thirty minutes; you'll transfer to the Death's Head at that time to assist in their attack on Woostri. By the time you return to the Chimaera"— again the eyebrow lifted—"we should have your Jedi for you."

  "Very well, Grand Admiral Thrawn," C'baoth said. He drew himself up again, smoothing his long white beard away from his robe. "But I warn you: if you fail me this time, you will not be pleased with the consequences." Turning, he strode across the command room and through the door.

  "It's always such a pleasure," Thrawn commented under his breath as the door slid shut.

  Pellaeon worked moisture into his mouth. "Admiral, with all due respect—"

  "You'r
e worried about my having promised to get Organa Solo out of possibly the most secure place in Rebellion-held territory?" Thrawn said.

  "Actually, sir, yes," Pellaeon said. "The Imperial Palace is supposed to be an impregnable fortress."

  "Yes, indeed," Thrawn agreed. "But it was the Emperor who made it that way . . . and as in most things, the Emperor kept a few small secrets about the Palace to himself. And to certain of his favorites."

  Pellaeon frowned down at him. Secrets . . . "Such as a private way in and out?" he hazarded.

  Thrawn smiled up at him. "Precisely. And now that we can finally insure that Organa Solo will be staying put in the Palace for a while, it becomes profitable to try sending in a commando team."

  "But not a Noghri team."

  Thrawn lowered his eyes to the collection of holographic sculptures surrounding them. "There's something wrong with the Noghri, Captain," he said quietly. "I don't yet know what it is, but I know it's there. I can sense it with every communication I have with the dynasts on Honoghr."

  Pellaeon thought back to that awkward scene a month ago, when that painfully apologetic envoy from the Noghri dynasts had come aboard with the news that the suspected traitor Khabarakh had escaped from their custody. So far, despite their best efforts, they'd been unable to recapture him. "Perhaps they're still fidgeting over that Khabarakh thing," he suggested.

  "And well they should be," Thrawn said coldly. "But it's more than that. And until I find out how much more, the Noghri will remain under suspicion."

  He leaned forward, tapped two controls on his board. The holographic sculptures faded and were replaced by a tactical map of the current position of the major battle planes. "But at the moment we have two more pressing matters to consider," he continued, leaning back in his seat again. "First, we have to divert our increasingly arrogant Jedi Master from this mistaken notion that he has the right to rule my Empire. Organa Solo and her twins are that diversion."

  Pellaeon thought about all the other attempts to capture Organa Solo. "And if the team fails?"

  "There are contingencies," Thrawn assured him. "Despite his power and even his unpredictability, Master C'baoth can still be manipulated."

  He gestured toward the tactical map. "What's even more important right now, though, is that we insure the momentum of our battle plan. So far, the campaign is reasonably on schedule. The Rebellion has resisted more firmly than anticipated in the Farrfin and Dolomar sectors, but elsewhere the target systems have generally bowed to Imperial power."

  "I wouldn't consider any of the gains all that solid yet," Pellaeon pointed out.

  "Precisely," Thrawn nodded. "Each depends on our maintaining a strong and highly visible Imperial presence. And for that, it's vital that we maintain our supply of clones."

  He paused. Pellaeon looked at the tactical map, his mind racing as he searched for the response Thrawn was obviously waiting for him to come up with. The Spaarti cloning cylinders, hidden away for decades in the Emperor's private storehouse on Wayland, were about as safe as anything in the galaxy could be. Buried beneath a mountain, protected by an Imperial garrison, and surrounded by hostile locals, its very existence was unknown to anyone except the top Imperial commanders.

  He froze. Top Imperial commanders; and perhaps— "Mara Jade," he said. "She's convalescing on Coruscant. Would she have known about the storehouse?"

  "That is indeed the question," Thrawn agreed. "There's a good chance she doesn't—I knew many of the Emperor's secrets, and it still took me a great deal of effort to find Wayland. But it's not a risk we can afford to take."

  Pellaeon nodded, suppressing a shiver. He'd been wondering why the Grand Admiral had chosen an Intelligence squad for this mission. Unlike standard commando units, Intelligence units were trained in such nonmilitary methods as assassination. . . . "Will a single team be handling both missions, sir, or will you be sending in two?"

  "One team should be adequate," Thrawn said. "The two objectives are well enough interlocked to make that reasonable. And neutralizing Jade does not necessarily mean killing her."

  Pellaeon frowned. But before he could ask what Thrawn had meant by that, the Grand Admiral touched his board and the tactical holo was replaced by a map of Orus sector. "In the meantime, I think it's time to underline the importance of the Calius saj Leeloo for our enemies. Do we have a follow-up report yet from Governor Staffa?"

  "Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, pulling it up on his data pad. "Skywalker left at the same time as the decoy shuttle, and is presumed to have followed its vector. If so, he'll reach the Poderis system in approximately thirty hours."

  "Excellent," Thrawn said. "He'll undoubtedly report in to Coruscant before he reaches Poderis. His subsequent disappearance should go a long way toward convincing them that they've found the conduit for our clone traffic."

  "Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, keeping to himself his doubts as to their chances of actually causing Skywalker to disappear. Thrawn presumably knew what he was doing. "One other thing, sir. There was a second follow-up to Staffa's original report, one that came in under an Intelligence encrypt code."

  "From his aide, Fingal," Thrawn nodded. "A man with Governor Staffa's casual loyalties practically begs us to assign him a quiet watchdog. Were there any discrepancies with the governor's report?"

  "Just one, sir. The follow-up gave a complete description of Skywalker's contact, a man Staffa had indicated was one of his own agents. Fingal's description strongly suggests the man was, in fact, Talon Karrde."

  Thrawn exhaled thoughtfully. "Indeed. Did Fingal suggest any explanation for Karrde's presence in Calius?"

  "According to him, there are indications that Governor Staffa has had a private trade arrangement with Karrde for several years," Pellaeon said. "Fingal reports he was going to have the man picked up for questioning, but was unable to find a way to do so that wouldn't have alerted Skywalker."

  "Yes," Thrawn murmured. "Well . . . what's done is done. And if smuggling was all that was involved, there's no harm. Still, we can't have random smugglers buzzing around our deceptions and perhaps accidentally poking holes in them. And Karrde has already proved he can be a great deal of trouble."

  For a moment Thrawn gazed in silence at the Orus sector map. Then, he looked up at Pellaeon. "But for now we have other matters to deal with. Prepare a course for the Poderis system, Captain; I want the Chimaera there within forty hours." He smiled thinly. "And signal the garrison commander that I expect him to have a proper reception prepared by the time we arrive. Perhaps in two or three days' time we'll have an unexpected gift to present to our beloved Jedi Master."

  "Yes, sir." Pellaeon hesitated. "Admiral . . . what happens if we get Organa Solo and her twins for C'baoth and he's able to turn them the way he thinks he can? We'd have four of them to deal with then instead of just one. Five, if we're able to capture Skywalker at Poderis."

  "There's no need for concern," Thrawn said, shaking his head. "Turning either Organa Solo or Skywalker would take C'baoth a great deal of time and effort. It would be even longer before the infants are old enough to be of any danger to us, no matter what he does to them. Long before any of that occurs"—Thrawn's eyes glittered— "we'll have come to a suitable arrangement with our Jedi Master over the sharing of power in the Empire."

  Pellaeon swallowed. "Understood, sir," he managed.

  "Good. Then you're dismissed, Captain. Return to the bridge."

  "Yes, sir." Pellaeon turned and headed across the room, the muscles in his throat feeling tight. Yes, he understood, all right. Thrawn would come to an arrangement with C'baoth . . . or he would have the Jedi Master killed.

  If he could. It was not, Pellaeon decided, a confrontation he would like to place any bets on.

  Or, for that matter, be anywhere near when it happened.