Star Wars: Choices of One

Since 1978 TIMOTHY ZAHN has written nearly seventy short stories and novelettes, numerous novels, and three short fiction collections, and won the Hugo Award for best novella. Zahn is best known for his Star Wars novels: Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, Specter of the Past, Vision of the Future, Survivor’s Quest, Outbound Flight, and Allegiance, and has more than four million copies of his books in print. His most recent publications have been the science fiction Cobra series and the six-part young adult series Dragonback. Zahn has a B.S. in physics from Michigan State University, and an M.S. in physics from the University of Illinois. He lives with his family on the Oregon coast.

For Mom,

who never doubted that this whole

writing gig would work out someday

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

AIREN CRACKEN; Rebel leader (human male)

BIDOR FERROUZ; Imperial governor of Poln (human male)

CARLIST RIEEKAN; Rebel leader (human male)

DARRIC LARONE; stormtrooper (human male)

GILAD PELLAEON; senior bridge officer, Chimaera (human male)

JOAK QUILLER; stormtrooper (human male)

HAN SOLO; captain, Millennium Falcon (human male)

KORLO BRIGHTWATER; stormtrooper (human male)

LEIA ORGANA; Rebel leader (human female)

LUKE SKYWALKER; Rebel (human male)

MARA JADE; Emperor’s agent (human female)

NUSO ESVA; warlord (nonhuman male)

SABERAN MARCROSS; stormtrooper (human male)

TAXTRO GRAVE; stormtrooper (human male)

THRAWN; Imperial officer (Chiss male)

VAANTAAR; refugee (Troukree male)

VESTIN AXLON; Rebel leader (human male)

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.…

The choices of one shape the futures of all.

—Jedi saying

CHAPTER ONE

THE LAST HYPERSPACE jump had been a tricky one, starting as it did in one minor star system barely on the charts and ending in another even more obscure one. But the ISD Chimaera’s officers and crew were the finest in the galaxy, and as Commander Gilad Pellaeon looked over the repeater display he confirmed that they’d made the jump precisely.

He strode down the command walkway, gazing at the Chimaera’s long prow, wondering what in space they were doing here. The Chimaera was an Imperial Star Destroyer, a kilometer and a half of heavy armor and awesome weaponry, the very symbol and expression of Imperial power and authority. Even the arrogant anarchists of the Rebellion hesitated before going up against ships like this.

So with that same Rebellion boiling ever more loudly and violently across the Empire, with Lord Vader himself tasked with tracking down and destroying their leadership, what in the name of Imperial Center was the Chimaera doing on passenger transport duty?

“This is insane,” Captain Calo Drusan muttered as he came up beside Pellaeon. “What in the galaxy is Command thinking of?”

“It does seem a bit odd,” Pellaeon said diplomatically. “But I’m sure they have their reasons.”

Drusan snorted. “If you believe that, you’re a fool. Imperial Center has gone top-heavy with politicians, professional flatterers, and incompetents. Reason and intelligence went down the garbage chutes a long time ago.” He gestured at the starlit sky in front of them. “My guess is that someone’s just trying to impress everyone with his ability to move fleet units around.”

“Could be, sir,” Pellaeon said, a small shiver running up his back. In general, Drusan was right about the way the Imperial court was going, though even a ship’s captain shouldn’t be discussing such things out loud.

In this case, however, Drusan was wrong … because this particular order hadn’t come from some flunky at Imperial Center. That was how it had looked, and how it was clearly intended to look.

Unlike the captain, though, Pellaeon hadn’t taken the order at face value, but had taken the time to run a backtrack. While it had indeed come through proper channels from Imperial Center, it hadn’t originated there. It had, in fact, come from an undisclosed location in the Outer Rim.

According to the top-secret dispatches Drusan had shared with his senior officers, that was where Grand Admiral Zaarin was right now, quietly touring the edge of Imperial space aboard the ISD Predominant.

Which strongly implied that the Chimaera’s orders had come from the Grand Admiral himself.

“Incoming ship, Captain,” the sensor officer called from the starboard crew pit. “Just jumped into the system. Sensors read it as a Kazellis-class light freighter.”

Drusan whistled softly. “A Kazellis,” he commented. “That’s a rare bird—they stopped making those years ago. We have an ID yet?”

“Yes, sir,” the comm officer called from the portside crew pit. “Code response confirms it’s the Salaban’s Hope.”

Pellaeon cocked an eyebrow. Not only had their mysterious passenger arrived, but he’d arrived within minutes of the Chimaera’s own appearance. Either he had a highly developed sense of timing, or he was remarkably lucky.

“Vector?” Drusan asked.

“Directly starboard,” the sensor officer called. “Range, eighty kilometers.”

Not only practically on top of the Chimaera in time, but in position, as well. Pellaeon’s estimation of the freighter’s pilot went up another couple of notches.

Of course, not everyone saw it that way. “Kriffing fool,” Drusan grunted. “What’s he trying to do, run us down?”

Pellaeon took a few steps forward and peered out the starboard viewport. Sure enough, the glow of a sublight drive was just barely visible out there against the background stars.

Except that the glow shouldn’t have been visible. Not at that distance. Not unless the pilot was hauling his sublights for all they were worth, and then some.

And the only reason someone would do that …

“Captain, I recommend we go to full alert,” Pellaeon said urgently, turning back to Drusan. “That ship’s running from something.”

For a moment Drusan didn’t reply, his eyes flicking past Pellaeon’s shoulder to the approaching freighter. With an effort, Pellaeon forced himself to remain silent, letting his captain work through the logic in his own unhurried, methodical way.

Finally, to his relief, Drusan stirred. “Full alert,” the captain called. “And reconfirm that identity code. Just in case he’s not running from anyone, but is thinking of ramming us.”

Pellaeon turned back to the viewport, hoping he’d been able to keep his bewilderment from showing before the captain could see it. Did Drusan honestly believe anyone would be stupid enough and suicidal enough to try such an insane stunt? Even the lunatics of the Rebellion knew better than that. Still, as long as Drusan’s paranoid assumption got the shields up and the turbolasers charging—

“Incoming!” the sensor officer snapped. “Six unidentified ships jumping in, bearing in sweep-cluster pattern behind the Salaban’s Hope.”

“Come about,” Drusan said, his voice taking on an edge of eagerness. The captain loved it when he had a chance to fire the Chimaera’s turbolasers at something. “All turbolasers to full power.”

Pellaeon grimaced. As usual, Drusan was following standard combat procedure.

Only in this case, standard procedure wasn’t going to work. By the time the Chimaera was ready to fire, the attackers would have caught up with the Salaban’s Hope and be swarming it.

But if the Chimaera threw power to its sublight engines and headed straight toward the freighter, they might scare off the attackers, or at least give them a moment of pause. Closing the distance would also mean getting to the turbolasers’ effective range a little sooner. “Captain, if I may suggest—”

“No, you may not, Commander,” Drusan cut him off calmly. “This is no time for your fancy theories of combat.”

“Captain, the Salaban’s Hope is hailing us,” the comm officer called. “Lord Odo requests your immediate attention.”

Pellaeon frowned. Lord Odo was the sort of name that belonged in the Imperial court, not way out here in the Outer Rim. What would a member of the court be doing this far from Imperial Center?

“Put him through,” Drusan ordered.

“Yes, sir.” There was a click—

“Captain Drusan, this is Lord Odo,” a melodious voice said from the bridge speaker. “As you may have noted, I’ve come under attack.”

“I have indeed, Lord Odo,” Drusan said. “We’re charging the turbolaser batteries now.”

“Excellent,” Odo said. “In the meantime, may I request you shunt all other available power to the tractor beams and pull—”

“Not a good idea, my lord,” Drusan warned. “At this range, a full-power tractor beam could severely damage your hull.”

“That you shunt all power to the tractor beams,” Odo repeated, a sudden edge to his voice, “and pull the two endmost attackers toward you.”

“And if we breach—” Belatedly, Drusan broke off. “Oh. Yes. Yes, I understand. Ensign Caln, tractors on the two endmost raiders—lock up, and reel in.”

Pellaeon turned back to the viewport, a lump in his throat. The engine flares of the attacking ships were visible now, blazing against the stars as they drove hard on the Salaban’s Hope’s stern. Drusan had been right about the dangers of full-power tractor beams at this range. Clearly, that was what Odo was hoping for, that the Chimaera’s tractors would be strong enough to crack or even shatter the raiders’ hulls.

But if the attackers’ ships were stronger than Odo thought, all the maneuver would accomplish would be to pull two of the raiders forward into close-fire range faster and easier than they could manage on their own.

At which point the Salaban’s Hope would have enemy lasers behind it and on both flanks, and it was unlikely that it would have enough shield capacity to handle all three. Hissing softly between his teeth, Pellaeon watched.

Abruptly, the two pursuing ships on the ends began corkscrewing violently, their drive trails spinning like children’s windsparklers. “Tractors engaged,” the tractor officer called. “Attackers locked and coming toward us.”

“Any signs of hull fractures?” Drusan asked.

“Nothing registering, sir,” the sensor officer reported.

“Acknowledged,” Drusan said. “So much for that,” he added to Pellaeon.

“Well, at least they can’t fire on the Salaban’s Hope,” Pellaeon pointed out. “Not with that helix yaw.”

“Difficult to get a stable targeting lock that way,” Drusan agreed reluctantly. “But not impossible.”

And then, suddenly, Pellaeon got it. Odo wasn’t just hoping the Chimaera’s tractors would tear the attacking ships apart. He was letting the Imperials pull the raiders up alongside him, banking on the helix yaw to interfere with their own firing long enough—

He was still working through the logic when the Salaban’s Hope’s lasers flashed to either side, blasting the two tractored raiders to scrap.

And as the expanding clouds of debris twisted free of the tractors’ grip, they naturally and inevitably fell backward past the still-accelerating Salaban’s Hope, and directly into the paths of the four raiders still chasing it.

“Captain, turbolasers online,” the weapons officer reported.

“Target the remaining attackers.” Drusan snorted. “That is, if there’s anything there still worth targeting. And alert the hangar bay duty officer that he has a ship coming in.”

He looked at Pellaeon. “If this Lord Odo is a member of the Imperial court,” he murmured, “at least he’s a competent one.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said. “Shall I take over here while you go down to welcome him?”

Drusan made a face. “Fortunately, I’m too busy cleaning up this mess to bother with visitors,” he said. “You go. Get him aboard, get him settled—you know the routine. Tell him I’ll be down to greet him as soon as we’ve made the jump to lightspeed.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said. “Maybe I can get him to tell us where exactly that encrypted course setting we were sent is taking us.”

“Don’t count on it, Commander,” Drusan said. “The Imperial court loves its secrets as much as anyone else.” He waved a hand. “Dismissed.”

Pellaeon had never before had the dubious honor of welcoming an actual member of the Imperial court aboard his ship. But he’d heard all the stories about the nobles’ arrogance, their love of all things rare and expensive, and their colorful and sycophantic entourages.

Lord Odo proved to be a surprise. The first person to emerge into the hangar bay from the docking tunnel was an old, frail-looking human dressed not in lush and expensive colors but in plain, drab pilot’s garb. The second was another human—Pellaeon assumed he was human, anyway—dressed in a gray-and-burgundy hooded robe, black gloves, boots, and cloak, and the black metal full-face mask of a pantomime-mute actor.

There was no third person. If Odo had an entourage, he’d apparently left it behind.

Pellaeon waited, just to be sure, until the pilot signaled for the boarding hatch to be sealed. As it closed with a thump, he stepped forward. “Lord Odo,” he said, bowing at the waist and hoping fervently that the visitor would forgive any unintentional lapses in proper court etiquette. “I’m Commander Gilad Pellaeon, third bridge officer of the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera. Captain Drusan asked me to greet you, and to inform you that he’ll pay his own respects as soon as his duties on the bridge permit.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Odo said in the same melodious voice Pellaeon had heard on the bridge, now muffled slightly by the mask. There was no mouth opening, Pellaeon noted, nor were there even any eye slits. Either Odo could somehow see right through the metal, or else there was a compact heads-up display built into the inside. “Are we on our way?”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, glancing at the nearest readout panel just to make sure. “I believe the encrypted course data that arrived with your boarding authorization said it would be a ten-standard-hour journey.”

“Correct,” Odo confirmed. “I trust you’ll forgive my appearance. My reason for this visit must remain private and my identity unrevealed.”

“No explanation necessary, sir,” Pellaeon hastened to assure him. “I understand how things are done in the Imperial court.”

“Do you, now,” Odo said. “Excellent. Perhaps later you can instruct me on its more subtle aspects.”

Pellaeon felt a frown crease his forehead. Was Odo merely having a joke at a lowly fleet officer’s expense? Or did he really not know the nuances of Imperial court procedure and behavior?

In which case, he was obviously not a member of the court. So who was he?

“I trust you have quarters prepared for us,” Odo continued. “The journey was long and fraught with danger.” The masked and hooded head inclined slightly. “Speaking of which, may I also thank you for your assistance against those raiders.”

“Our pleasure, my lord,” Pellaeon said, wondering for a split second if he should point out that the main tactical thrust of the engagement had in fact been Odo’s.

Probably not. It wouldn’t do for the Imperial fleet to admit that a visiting civilian had come up with a better combat plan than they had. “And yes, quarters have been arranged just off the hangar bay for you and your pilot.” He looked at the pilot and raised his eyebrows. “Your name?”

The pilot looked at Odo, as if seeking permission to speak. Odo made no move, and after a moment the pilot looked back at Pellaeon. “Call me Sorro,” he said. His voice was as old and tired as the rest of him.

“Honored to meet you,” Pellaeon said, turning back to Odo. “If you’ll follow me, my lord, I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

Exactly nine and three-quarter standard hours later, even though it wasn’t his watch, Pellaeon made sure to be on the Chimaera’s bridge.

It was a waste of effort. The Star Destroyer emerged on the dark side of a completely unremarkable world, with an unremarkable yellow sun peeking over the planet’s horizon and an unremarkable starscape all around them.

“And we aren’t likely to see anything else, either,” Drusan growled. “We have orders to hold position right here until Lord Odo returns.”

“There he goes,” Pellaeon said, pointing at the glow of the Salaban’s Hope’s drive as the freighter emerged from beneath the Chimaera’s long prow. The freighter headed toward the planetary horizon ahead, its image fogging briefly as it circled past the edge of atmosphere, and then vanished.

“What do you think about that mask of his?”

With an effort, Pellaeon dragged his mind away from the mystery of where they were to the mystery of who Odo was. “He definitely doesn’t want anyone knowing who he is,” he said.

“Who or what,” Drusan said. “I had Environmental Services do a scan of the air outflow from his quarters. I thought—”

“You what?” Pellaeon interrupted, aghast. “Sir, the orders made it clear we weren’t to question, interfere, or intrude upon Lord Odo’s activities.”

“Which I haven’t,” Drusan said. “Keeping tabs on my ship’s systems is part of my job.”

“But—”

“Besides which, it didn’t work,” Drusan said sourly. “There are fifty different species biomarkers coming off him, at least eight of which the computer can’t even identify.”

“Probably coming from his mask,” Pellaeon murmured, remembering now the sets of parallel slits set into the mask’s curved cheekbone areas. “I assumed the cheek slits were merely decorative.”

“Apparently, they’re stocked with biomarkers,” Drusan said. “Clever little flimp, isn’t he? Still, whatever the reason for his visit, it should be over soon and we’ll be able to take him and his ship back where we found them.”

“Unless he wants us to take him elsewhere,” Pellaeon pointed out.

“What does he need us for?” Drusan countered. “He’s got a ship and a pilot. Let him go on his own.” He exhaled noisily. “Well, there’s no point standing around waiting for him. I’m heading back to my quarters. I suggest you do likewise, Commander.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said. Giving the planetary horizon one final look, he followed Drusan back down the command walkway.

“Well?” the Emperor asked.

For a moment Senior Captain Thrawn didn’t answer, merely continued to gaze out the viewport at the forested landscape stretched out below. “An interesting situation,” the blue-skinned Chiss said at last.

Seated at the helm of his freighter, Jorj Car’das kept his gaze straight ahead at the moon’s horizon, wishing fervently that he was still in his self-imposed exile from the rest of the universe. Thrawn clearly didn’t need him here. The Emperor clearly didn’t want him here.

But Thrawn had quietly insisted. Why, Car’das didn’t know. Maybe Thrawn felt he owed Car’das. Maybe he thought he was doing Car’das a favor by bringing him back into contact with the high and mighty this way.

Car’das also didn’t know why the Emperor hadn’t chosen to make an issue of his presence aboard. Maybe he regarded Thrawn highly enough to forgive the other’s little quirks. Maybe he was just amused by Car’das’s obvious discomfort.

Car’das didn’t know. Nor did he really care. About anything.

“First of all, the multifrequency force field you have set up should be more than adequate to protect the construction site,” Thrawn said, gesturing past Car’das’s shoulder at the huge half-finished sphere floating above the moon’s surface. “I trust the generator has redundant energy sources, plus an umbrella shield to protect it from orbital attack?”

“It does,” the Emperor confirmed. “There are also a number of fully crewed garrisons in the forest around the generator.”

“Has the moon any inhabitants?”

“Primitives only,” the Emperor said contemptuously.

“In that case multiple garrisons are an inefficient use of resources,” Thrawn said. “I would recommend burning off the forest for a hundred kilometers around the generator and putting a small mechanized force of AT-ATs and juggernaut heavy assault vehicles under the umbrella shield. Add in point support from three or four wing-clusters of hoverscouts, and the rest of the troops and equipment could be reassigned to trouble spots elsewhere in the Empire.”

“So you would suggest I make the generator completely unassailable?” Palpatine asked.

“I assumed that was the intent.” Thrawn paused, and Car’das glanced back in time to see the captain’s glowing eyes narrow. “Unless, of course, you’re setting a trap.”

“Of course,” the Emperor said calmly. “You of all my officers should understand the usefulness of a well-laid trap.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “One final recommendation: don’t dismiss too quickly those natives you mentioned. Even primitives can sometimes be used to deadly effect.”

“They will not be a problem,” the Emperor said, dismissing the natives with a small wave of his hand. “They don’t like strangers. Any strangers.”

“I leave that to your judgment,” Thrawn said.

“Yes,” Palpatine said flatly. “And now, I sense you have a request to make. Speak.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Thrawn said. If he was surprised or discomfited by the Emperor’s casual reading of his mind, it didn’t show in his voice. “It concerns a warlord named Nuso Esva who has become a serious power in the Unknown Regions.”

Palpatine gave a small snort. “I wonder sometimes if you focus too much of your attention in those far reaches, Captain.”

“It was you who authorized me to make such surveys,” Thrawn reminded him. “And properly so. The Rebellion is a threat, but hardly the most serious one facing the Empire.”

“In your opinion.”

“Yes,” Thrawn said.

There was a short pause. “Continue,” the Emperor said.

“Warlord Nuso Esva has become one of those threats,” Thrawn said. “He possesses an unusually strong spacegoing navy, along with many slave and tributary worlds stretching into Wild Space and to the edge of the Empire. I believe he is even now planning to extend his influence into Imperial space.”

“An alien, I presume,” Palpatine said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Can he be bought?”

“Not bought, bargained with, or allied with,” Thrawn said. “I’ve sent several communiqués to him suggesting each of those options. He’s turned down all of them.”

“And what makes you think he wishes to extend his reach into my Empire?”

“He’s begun a campaign against some of the worlds at the edge of the territories I’ve pacified,” Thrawn said. “His usual pattern is to use hit-and-fade tactics on shipping, or attempt to bribe or otherwise suborn the officials on those worlds.”

“All of whom are also aliens,” Palpatine said with a sniff. “I’ve warned you before that such beings cannot be molded into any sort of permanent political structure. The history of the Republic proves that.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “The point is that Nuso Esva is using these raids to pin down my forces, and the only targets I can see that are worth such efforts are in Imperial space. Obviously, this cannot be tolerated.”

“Then deal with him,” the Emperor said flatly.

“I intend to,” Thrawn said. “The difficulty is that my forces are already overextended and overcommitted. In order to deal a crushing blow I’ll need a minimum of six more Star Destroyers.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Car’das saw the Emperor’s eyes narrow. “Do you seriously believe I have six Star Destroyers to spare, Captain Thrawn?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Thrawn said evenly. “It’s not just the border sectors that are at risk, either. There are indications he may also be making overtures to the Rebellion.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to Lord Vader,” the Emperor said. “The Rebellion is his special interest. Perhaps he can give you the Star Destroyers you require.”

“An excellent suggestion, Your Highness,” Thrawn said, inclining his head. “I may do just that.”

“It would be interesting to hear what the two of you have to say to each other.” The Emperor gestured. “We’re finished here, pilot. Return us to the Predominant.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Car’das said. Getting a firm grip on the yoke, he put the ship into a smooth curve and headed for the Star Destroyer orbiting in the near distance behind them, wondering distantly if Thrawn realized what he was getting himself into. Sitting here with the Emperor and a silent pair of Imperial Guards behind him was bad enough.

But Vader was even worse. Ever since Yavin, every report Car’das had picked up had indicated that the appropriately titled Dark Lord of the Sith had grown a whole lot darker. The thought of asking him for anything, let alone six Star Destroyers, was something Car’das’s mind wasn’t up to.

It hadn’t always been that way. Once, Car’das had been head of an organization that had spanned the galaxy, a network of smugglers and information brokers who had serviced everyone from the Hutts to the highest levels of the Imperial court. Car’das himself had been to the edge of Chiss space with Thrawn, back before the Clone Wars had savaged the Republic. He’d worked with the young commander, watching as he defeated forces far larger than his own. Later, as Car’das’s organization grew, he’d had many occasions to speak directly with some of the most powerful men in Palpatine’s new Empire. In those days, standing before Darth Vader would have been little more than an unusually interesting day.

But that had been before Car’das’s nearly fatal encounter long ago with that Dark Jedi. Before his subsequent illness and weakness and impending death. Before his abrupt decision to abandon his organization and leave it helpless before the infighting that was probably tearing it apart at this very moment.

Before he’d given up—on everything.

Still, even with his past burned behind him and his future lying bleak and formless in front of him, Car’das could feel an unexpected and unwelcome flicker of old curiosity stirring inside him.

It really would be interesting to hear what Thrawn and Vader had to say to each other.

Pellaeon had returned to his quarters, and had been asleep for nearly six hours when he was awakened by the insistent buzz of his intercom. Rolling over, he tapped the key. “Pellaeon.”

“This is the captain.” Drusan’s voice was practically quivering with suppressed emotion. “Report to the bridge immediately.”

The rest of the senior bridge officers were already assembled across from the aft bridge turbolift when Pellaeon arrived. He eased his way through toward the front, noting uneasily that the group also included all the off-duty engine room officers and the senior commanders of the Chimaera’s TIE fighter, trooper, and stormtrooper contingents. Whatever was going on, it was big.

He found Drusan waiting stiffly beside one of the consoles. Beside the captain, standing silent and still, was Lord Odo.

“Now that we’re all assembled,” Drusan said, his eyes flicking to Pellaeon, “I have an announcement. We’ve been selected for the honor”—he leaned on the word just a bit too hard—“of acting as Lord Odo’s personal transport on a special assignment.”

His lip twitched. “As part of that assignment, Lord Odo will be in ultimate command of the Chimaera,” he continued. “I trust all of you will respect his position and give him your full measures of skill, effort, and obedience. Questions?”

The first officer, Senior Commander Grondarle, cleared his throat. “May I ask the nature of this assignment?” he asked.

“It’s important,” Odo told him evenly. “For now, that’s all you need to know.”

There was a brief, awkward silence. “Have you orders for us, my lord?” Drusan asked at last.

Odo’s hand came up from beneath his cloak, a data card in his gloved fingers. “Here’s our new course,” he said, offering the card to Drusan. “Our first stop will be the Wroona system.”

“And what exactly is at Wroona?” Grondarle asked.

“Commander,” Drusan said warningly.

“That’s all right, Captain,” Odo said. “There’s some specialized equipment that I’ll need to fulfill our mission. The equipment is at Wroona. As it won’t come to us, we shall have to go to it.”

Grondarle’s eyes narrowed. But he knew better than to rise to the bait. Better officers than him, Pellaeon knew, had been shunted to nowhere stations for reacting to the sarcasm of superiors. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Take this to navigation,” Drusan said, handing Grondarle the data card. “Get us moving as soon as the course is loaded.”

“Yes, sir.” Taking the card, Grondarle strode through the pathway that opened up for him and headed through the archway into the main bridge.

“The rest of you, as you were,” Drusan continued, looking around the group. “The watch change is coming up. Don’t miss it.”

He looked at Odo. “Our new commander,” he added, “wouldn’t like it.”

Pellaeon was back in his quarters by the time the Chimaera made the jump to lightspeed. There was, he judged, enough time for him to grab another two hours of sleep before his next shift.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Lord Odo wasn’t human. That much was pretty well guaranteed by the extraordinary means he’d taken to disguise himself, with the mask and the confusing mix of biomarkers. Pellaeon himself didn’t have anything against aliens, and in fact had known and worked with quite a few whom he’d greatly respected.

But the Emperor wasn’t like that. His opinion of aliens was well known, and while he was willing enough to make alliances with aliens when it served his purposes, there were virtually none in the senior positions of the court or the military. The only exception Pellaeon knew of was Senior Captain Thrawn, and even he was frequently sent away into the Unknown Regions to get him off Imperial Center for a while.

So who was Odo? That was the question that kept chasing itself around Pellaeon’s brain. Who was Odo, and what was this mission that was important enough to take the Chimaera off patrol duty and put it under an alien’s command?

Pellaeon didn’t know, and it was clear that Odo himself wasn’t going to tell them.

But maybe there was another way. The Empire, after all, was the greatest repository of information the universe had ever known. Maybe Odo had left a trail somewhere that could be followed.

Getting up, Pellaeon put on a robe and went to his desk. He turned on the computer and keyed the intercom for the duty security officer. “This is Commander Pellaeon,” he said when the officer answered. “Where are Lord Odo and his pilot?”

“Lord Odo is on the bridge,” the officer replied. “Sorro is in their shared quarters.”

“When was Sorro last out?”

“One moment … it appears that when they returned from their planetary excursion, he went to the bay officers’ mess while Lord Odo went to the bridge.”

“Lord Odo doesn’t eat on the bridge, does he?”

“He hasn’t so far,” the officer said. “Sorro typically brings food back to their quarters for him.”

“Any particular types of food?”

“There’ve only been three meals, so I can’t make any generalizations,” the officer said. “But so far it’s been a different menu each time. Would you like a list?”

“Yes, send it to me,” Pellaeon said. A person’s taste in food and drink could be useful clues in establishing his identity. “And set up a standing order to inform me whenever Sorro leaves his quarters. I presume Captain Drusan has already told you to keep track of them both?”

“Yes, sir, he has.”

“Good. Carry on.”

Pellaeon keyed off the intercom, and for a moment he gazed off into space. Then, settling himself in his chair, he began punching computer keys. Somewhere on his way to gaining the Empire’s trust, someone had to have crossed official paths with Odo, Sorro, or the Salaban’s Hope.

Wherever and whenever that was, Pellaeon was going to find it.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CRAWL SPACE under the mining operations complex had been tricky to find. It had been even trickier to get into, and it had been trickier still to find the right junction box.

But it had been worth it, Han Solo decided with satisfaction as he poked his probe around the tangle of wires. Even with the dirt and the heat.

Even with the company.

“Han?” Luke Skywalker murmured from behind him—for at least the fifth time. “How’s it going?”

“It’d go faster if I didn’t have to keep stopping to answer your questions,” Han growled, easing a group of wires aside with his probe. The kid was good enough in a fight, but he had a bad habit of talking too much when he was nervous.

“Right,” Luke said. “Sorry.”

Han grunted, blowing a drop of sweat off the tip of his nose as he pushed his way past another knot of wires. Why Imperials couldn’t keep their wiring nice and neat and easy to track through was beyond him. Not a Hutt’s curse worth of pride in their work.

Still, if the workers had had any pride, they probably wouldn’t have put a nice convenient junction box down here beneath the complex’s reactor heat exchanger where anyone with half a brain could get to it. In which case he and Luke would have had to do this the hard way.

“I just wanted to remind you that I’m ready whenever you are,” Luke said.

“Great,” Han said. “I’ll let you know.” There it was: the junction he was looking for. Keeping the other wires out of the way with his probe, he maneuvered his jumper clip into the gap. A little delicate maneuvering, a little gentle touch …

And without even a spark, he had it sealed.

“Also, Leia just called,” Luke continued. “She said we’re pushing the timing here—”

“All done,” Han said, easing the probe back out of the box.

“Great,” Luke said.

And with a sudden snap-hiss, the blue-white blade of his lightsaber flared into the narrow crawl space.

“Hey—watch it!” Han snapped, flinching back from the blade hovering way too close over his head and arm. “I said it’s done.”

For a moment the hum and blaze of the lightsaber continued to fill Han’s ears and eyes. Then, to his relief, the kid finally closed it down. “I thought I was supposed to take care of the alarm and lock once you found the right junction,” he said, an edge of not-quite accusation in his voice.

“Sure, if you don’t mind everyone knowing someone with a lightsaber was messing around down here,” Han said.

“Maybe they’ll blame Vader.”

“Funny,” Han grunted. “A lot of people have seen you running around with that thing, you know. And not just Rebels. Anyway, it’s done—I hotwired around it.”

“Oh,” Luke said, and as Han’s eyes recovered from the lightsaber’s glare he saw an uncertain frown on the kid’s face. “So why am I here?”

“Maybe Leia didn’t think I should be out at night without supervision.” Han pulled out his comlink and flicked it on. “This is Solo,” he said, identifying himself. “You’re clear.”

“Right,” Princess Leia Organa’s voice came back, the word sharply clipped, her tone no-nonsense and business-like.

But Han could read beneath the tone. Whatever she said, whatever she did, she was crazy about him.

He was pretty sure, anyway.

“Now what?” Luke asked.

“We get out of here,” Han said, stuffing his tools back in their pouch and closing the junction box cover. “I just hope whatever they want in there is worth all this.”

“I hope so, too,” Luke said. “We really need a new base.”

Han frowned. “They’re looking for a new base?” He nodded upward toward the building above them. “In there?”

“Yes,” Luke said, sounding surprised. “Didn’t Leia tell you? It’s a mining clearinghouse, with records of all the major mining operations in this part of the Empire.”

“I know what it is,” Han said patiently. “I thought we were looking for some bulk cruisers or ore carriers we could grab.”

“That’s the cover, sure,” Luke said. “But that’s just to leave a false trail. The real plan is to download a bunch of locations where mining operations were started but abandoned. Leia thinks that—”

“Yeah, I know what she thinks,” Han growled, wiping irritably at the sweat on his forehead. “A place with no mining usually means there’s nothing else worth grabbing, either, which means no one wants the place.”

“That’s what she said,” Luke confirmed. “Sorry—I thought you knew.”

“I guess not.” Han jerked a thumb back along the crawl space. “Go on, get moving.”

The trek back down the crawl space was just as long, hot, and dirty as the inward trip had been. Finally, they reached the access point. “Too bad Chewie was too big to fit in the tunnel,” Luke commented, grunting as he pushed up the access cover and maneuvered it off the opening, letting in a rush of cool night air. “If he’d come with us instead of Leia—”

“Quiet,” Han interrupted, pushing up beside him and listening hard. Somewhere in the near distance he could hear the whine of an approaching landspeeder. “Out of the way—out of the way.”

“What is it?” Luke asked, pressing himself against the side of the tunnel to let Han past.

“Security patrol,” Han said, easing his head up out of the opening. The narrow alleyway they were in was about two hundred meters long, squeezed in between two windowless walls and lit by half a dozen pole-mounted glow panels spaced along the sides of the buildings. The distant whine was getting louder, which meant the security patrol was getting closer.

The crucial question was, was it heading toward the building Leia and the others should be leaving right about now? Or was it headed away from them?

There was no way to know. But this was no time for taking chances. “Give me your lightsaber,” he said, pulling himself out through the opening.

“What?” Luke said. “But—”

“Give it to me and then get out of there,” Han snapped. “We need to make a distraction.”

Reluctantly, Luke unclipped the lightsaber and held it up. Han snatched it out of his hand and ran to the nearest of the light poles, peering at the lightsaber’s grip. If he remembered right, the activation switch was right there …

With its usual snap-hiss, the blue-white blade appeared. Gripping the weapon with both hands, making sure to keep the blade pointed away from him, Han braked to a halt by the pole. If this was a standard design, the power conduit should run right up through the center. Setting the tip of the blade against the housing, he gave it a firm push.

And with a small flash of yellow-white, the glow panel above him went dark.

“What are you doing?” Luke gasped.

“Getting their attention,” Han told him, glancing back over his shoulder. The landspeeder still wasn’t visible, but it was getting louder. “Come on,” he added, heading away from the sound at a quick jog.

“First close that down and give it back to me,” Luke said, running beside him at a cautious distance. “You’re going to get one of us killed.”

“I got it under control,” Han assured him.

“Now,” Luke said firmly, starting to reach out a hand and then apparently thinking better of it. “Come on.”

Han rolled his eyes and shut off the weapon. “Fine—you do the next one.”

“Okay,” Luke said taking the lightsaber and sprinting toward the next light post.

He had reached it, and had just ignited the weapon when the security landspeeder swung into view at the other end of the alleyway. “Han!” Luke bit out.

“Yeah, I see them,” Han growled, snatching out his blaster. “Get that light out.”

His answer was another brief sizzle as the glow panel overhead went dark. The landspeeder had meanwhile turned into the alleyway, and in the glow of the remaining light panels Han could see there were four men in the vehicle. Lifting his blaster, he carefully lined up the muzzle on the landspeeder’s front left edge and fired.

With a gratifying crackle of metal and plasteel, the landspeeder dropped onto its side. There was a brief earsplitting screech as the vehicle’s edge scraped against the permacrete, and then all four passengers were dumped out as the landspeeder made a hard left and slammed nose-first into the building on that side.

“Go!” Han ordered Luke, turning and sprinting toward the other end of the alleyway. If they could get out before the men back there pulled themselves together and called it in, they should be able to get back to Leia and the airspeeder before reinforcements arrived.

They’d made it halfway to the far end of the alleyway when another landspeeder blew into sight directly ahead of them. It wobbled slightly and then braked to a halt across the opening, blocking their escape.

“Han?” Luke called.

“Yeah, yeah,” Han said, skidding to a halt and wondering what they were going to do this time. Hitting the forward power coupler like he had with the other landspeeder wouldn’t do any good now that the thing was already stopped and its occupants were climbing out. There was no cover anywhere nearby, and no way out.

Unless Luke could cut a new door for them with his lightsaber. “Luke—”

“No, behind us,” Luke cut in.

Han twisted around. Their airspeeder had appeared behind them, burning through the alley with its stabilizer wingtips running bare centimeters from the walls. Hanging half out one of the side doors, his hairy arms stretched down toward them, was Chewie.

“Get ready, kid,” Han said. Spinning back around toward the security men forming up behind their landspeeder, he fired off a few shots to keep them occupied and then stuck his left arm straight up into the air. This was probably going to hurt.

An instant later Chewie’s hand closed around his forearm and yanked him straight up off the permacrete.

There was a muffled yelp from Luke as he was similarly grabbed. Clenching his teeth, squinting his eyes against the sudden windstorm in his face, Han fired off a couple more wild shots at the security guards. The airspeeder swung over the guards and the landspeeder and Han felt himself swing to the side as the pilot made a sharp left around the side of the building. Fumbling his blaster back into its holster, he squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if Leia was going to make them ride like this all the way back to the rendezvous point.

Then, abruptly, his body swung forward as the pilot slowed, his stomach lurching as they dropped back to the ground. His feet touched permacrete—

“Get in!” Leia snapped as Chewie let go of his arm.

Ten seconds later they were back in the air, now with Luke and Han safely inside. “What in space was that all about?” Leia demanded as Han rubbed his shoulder.

“I heard a security patrol,” Han told her. “I thought it’d be a good idea if they didn’t know about the evening’s company.”

“So naturally you start waving blasters around.” She transferred her glare to Luke. “And lightsabers.”

“You’re missing the point, sweetheart,” Han said calmly. “Okay, so they know we were in the alley. But thanks to us, they don’t know which building you were in.”

Leia opened her mouth … closed it again as she apparently got where he was going. Knowing which of the complex’s buildings the intruders had invaded would considerably narrow security’s search for what they’d been up to. “There are still only four buildings whose alarms you could shut off from that alleyway,” she said stubbornly.

“And they don’t know which of the four it was,” Han repeated patiently. “And they didn’t get to see which door you came out of, either.”

Leia’s face darkened. She’d lost this one, and she knew it. If security had spotted the team leaving, it would have not only told them which building to focus on, but also given them a clue as to which part of the building they’d been in. This way, they would have to search everything.

“That’s okay—you don’t have to thank me,” Han said into the stiff silence. “Luke and I are part of the team.”

He looked at Luke, but the kid was keeping exceptionally still and quiet. For that matter, so were all the others.

He looked back at Leia, to find that she’d turned away from him and was staring out the side window. And was also being still and quiet.

The trip back to the rendezvous point was a lot longer than the inward trip had been.

At least General Carlist Rieekan was happy. Not that Han would have cared much if he hadn’t been. “Excellent work, Princess,” the general said, nodding to her and sweeping his eyes approvingly around the rest of the group gathered at the table. “Well done, all of you. With Vader breathing down our necks, we desperately need to carve ourselves a little breathing space. Hopefully, one of the planets on this list will fit the bill.”

He picked up the handful of data cards, fingering them as if they were some kind of anti-Vader Jedi magic. “That’s all for now,” he said. “Your individual commanders will have your next assignments. Princess Leia, Skywalker, I’d like you to stay behind a moment. The rest of you, dismissed.”

There was a general scraping of chairs and feet as the team left the table and headed for the door. All, of course, except Leia and Luke.

And Han.

Leia seemed to be the first one besides Rieekan to notice that Han was making no move to leave. She gave him a puzzled look, then a frown, and finally a glare. It was on the glare that Luke also noticed Han’s lack of movement, though all he did was look puzzled. Chewie gave him one of those what-are-you-doing-now sort of looks, but left without saying anything.

Rieekan, predictably, didn’t react at all. He waited until everyone else had left before speaking. “Is there a problem, Solo?” he asked calmly.

“I’m here for the extra meeting,” Han told him, just as calmly. “I thought I was part of the team.”

Rieekan nodded. “And you are.”

“So let’s get on with it,” Han said, folding his arms across his chest.

For a moment Rieekan eyed him in silence. Then, gesturing Han toward a door at one side of the conference room, he stood up. “Will you two excuse me a moment?” he said. “Solo and I need a word in private.”

Han had been on the receiving end of enough reprimands during his time in the fleet to know that this one was likely to be a Class A windstorm. But to his surprise, Rieekan merely let the door slide shut behind them and raised his eyebrows. “All right,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

A straight-up question, Han decided, deserved a straight-up answer. “I wasn’t told what the real mission tonight was,” he said. “I didn’t not understand. I was deliberately not told.”

“Would knowing we were looking for a new base have made a difference in how you handled your part of the job?”

“My part, probably not,” Han conceded. “But it could have made a big difference in Leia’s. I know something about mining operations, and there are a few tips I could have given her.”

“Such as?”

“Such as to stay clear of anything that smells of Hutt,” Han said. “And I don’t just mean places with Hutt in the name. There are at least fifteen different covers and shells they like to use.”

“That’s good to know,” Rieekan said, nodding. “Maybe you can help the analysts sift through the data once it’s been compiled.”

“That’s not the point,” Han growled. “If I’m going to be part of this Rebellion thing, I need to be kept up to speed with what’s going on.”

“You think that, do you?” Rieekan asked.

“We just agreed I’m part of the group,” Han countered. “What do I have to do? Become an officer?”

Rieekan looked him straight in the eye. “Basically, yes.”

Han stared at him. The question had been one-third rhetorical and two-thirds sarcastic. Rieekan’s response had been neither. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” Rieekan said. “You were in the fleet—you know how this works. The upper ranks get the data and the authority to make decisions. The lower ranks get just enough of both to do their assigned tasks.”

“Fine,” Han growled. “So how do I get the big rank bars?”

“You know how that part works, too,” Rieekan said. “To be a leader you have to lead.”

Han snorted. “Now you’re flying in circles.”

“Not really,” Rieekan said. “Lower ranks get limited data and authority, like I said. But they also have limited responsibility. Leaders don’t have the luxury of passing the blame elsewhere.”

“I’ve led teams before,” Han reminded him. “That Shelkonwa thing, for one. Luke and Chewie and me did pretty good on that one.”

ALSO BY TIMOTHY ZAHN