“And have you done so?” Thrawn asked, turning to (ace the maitrakh.
“We have begun,” she said in atrociously mangled Basic. “We have not finished.”
At the back of the room, the dukha doors swung open and one of the tech team stepped inside. “You have a report, Ensign?” Thrawn called to him.
“Yes, Admiral,” the other said, crossing the room and stepping somewhat gingerly around the assembled group of Noghri elders. “We’ve finished our preliminary set of comm and countermeasures tests, sir, as per orders.”
Thrawn shifted his gaze to Khabarakh. “And?”
“We think we’ve located the malfunction, sir. The main transmitter coil seems to have overloaded and back-fed into a dump capacitor, damaging several nearby circuits. The compensator computer rebuilt the pathway, but the bypass was close enough to one of the static-damping command lines for the resulting inductance surge to trigger it.”
“An interesting set of coincidences,” Thrawn said, his glowing eyes still on Khabarakh. “A natural malfunction, do you think, or an artificial one?”
The maitrakh stirred, as if about to say something. Thrawn looked at her, and she subsided. “Impossible to say, sir,” the tech said, choosing his words carefully. Obviously, he hadn’t missed the fact that this was skating him close to the edge of insult in the middle of a group of Noghri who might decide to take offense at it. “Someone who knew what he was doing could probably have pulled it off. I have to say, though, sir, that compensator computers in general have a pretty low reputation among mechanics. They’re okay on the really serious stuff that can get unskilled pilots into big trouble, but on noncritical reroutes like this they’ve always had a tendency to foul up something else along the way.”
“Thank you.” If Thrawn was annoyed that he hadn’t caught Khabarakh red-handed in a lie, it didn’t show in his face. “Your team will take the ship back to Nystao for repairs.”
“Yes, sir.” The tech saluted and left.
Thrawn looked back at Khabarakh. “With your team destroyed, you will of course have to be reassigned,” he said. “When your ship has been repaired you will fly it to the Valrar base in Glythe sector and report there for duty.”
“Yes, my lord,” Khabarakh said.
Thrawn stood up. “You have much to be proud of here,” he said, inclining his head slightly to the maitrakh. “Your family’s service to the clan Kihm’bar and to the Empire will be long remembered by all of Honoghr.”
“As will your leadership and protection of the Noghri people,” the maitrakh responded.
Flanked by Rukh and Ir’khaim, Thrawn stepped down from the chair and headed back toward the double doors. Pellaeon took up the rear, and a minute later they were once again out in the chilly night air. The shuttle was standing ready, and without further comment or ritual Thrawn led the way inside. As they lifted, Pellaeon caught just a glimpse out the viewport of the Noghri filing out of the dukha to watch their departing leaders. “Well, that was pleasant,” he muttered under his breath.
Thrawn looked at him. “A waste of time, you think, Captain?” he asked mildly.
Pellaeon glanced at Ir’khaim, seated farther toward the front of the shuttle. The dynast didn’t seem to be listening to them, but it would probably still pay to be tactful. “Diplomatically, sir, I’m sure it was worthwhile to demonstrate that you care about all of Honoghr, including the outer villages,” he told Thrawn. “Given that the commando ship really had malfunctioned, I don’t think anything else was gained.”
Thrawn turned to stare out the side viewport. “I’m not so sure of that, Captain,” he said. “There’s something not quite right back there. Rukh, what’s your reading of our young commando Khabarakh?”
“He was unsettled,” the bodyguard told him quietly. “That much I saw in his hands and his face.”
Ir’khaim swiveled around in his chair. “It is a naturally unsettling experience to face the lord of the Noghri,” he said.
“Particularly when one’s hands are wet with failure?” Rukh countered.
Ir’khaim half rose from his seat, and for a pair of heartbeats the air between the two Noghri was thick with tension. Pellaeon felt himself pressing back in his seat cushions, the long and bloody history of Noghri clan rivalry flooding fresh into his consciousness … “This mission has generated several failures,” Thrawn said calmly into the taut silence. “In that, the clan Kihm’bar hardly stands alone.”
Slowly, Ir’khaim resumed his seat. “Khabarakh is still young,” he said.
“He is indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “One reason, I presume, why he’s such a bad liar. Rukh, perhaps the Dynast Ir’khaim would enjoy the view from the forward section. Please escort him there.”
“Yes, my lord.” Rukh stood up. “Dynast Ir’khaim?” he said, gesturing toward the forward blast door.
For a moment the other Noghri didn’t move. Then, with obvious reluctance, he stood up. “My lord,” he said stiffly, and headed down the aisle.
Thrawn waited until the door had closed on both aliens before turning back to Pellaeon. “Khabarakh is hiding something, Captain,” he said, a cold fire in his eyes. “I’m certain of it.”
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, wondering how the Grand Admiral had come to that conclusion. Certainly the routine sensor scan they’d just run hadn’t picked up anything. “Shall I order a sensor focus on the village?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Thrawn shook his head. “He wouldn’t have brought anything incriminating back to Honoghr with him—you can’t hide anything for long in one of these close-knit villages. No, it’s something he’s not telling us about that missing month. The one where he claims he was off meditating by himself.”
“We might be able to learn something from his ship,” Pellaeon suggested.
“Agreed,” Thrawn nodded. “Have a scanning crew go over it before the techs get to work. Every cubic millimeter of it, interior and exterior both. And have Surveillance put someone on Khabarakh.”
“Ah—yes, sir,” Pellaeon said. “One of our people, or another Noghri?”
Thrawn cocked an eyebrow at him. “The ridiculously obvious or the heavily political, in other words?” he asked dryly. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Let’s try a third option: does the Chimaera carry any espionage droids?”
“I don’t believe so, sir,” Pellaeon said, punching up the question on the shuttle’s computer link. “No. We have some Arakyd Viper probe droids, but nothing of the more compact espionage class.”
“Then we’ll have to improvise,” Thrawn said. “Have Engineering put a Viper motivator into a decon droid and rig it with full-range optical and auditory sensors and a recorder. We’ll have it put in with the group working out of Khabarakh’s village.”
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, keying in the order. “Do you want a transmitter installed, too?”
Thrawn shook his head. “No, a recorder should be sufficient. The antenna would be difficult to conceal from view. The last thing we want is for some curious Noghri to see it and wonder why this one was different.”
Pellaeon nodded his understanding. Especially since that might lead the aliens to start pulling decon droids apart for a look inside. “Yes, sir. I’ll have the order placed right away.”
Thrawn’s glowing eyes shifted to look out the viewport. “There’s no particular rush here,” he said thoughtfully. “Not now. This is the calm before the storm, Captain; and until the storm is ready to unleash, we might as well spend our time and energy making sure our illustrious Jedi Master will be willing to assist us when we want him.”
“Which means bringing Leia Organa Solo to him.”
“Exactly.” Thrawn looked at the forward blast door. “And if my presence is what the Noghri need to inspire them, then my presence is what they’ll have.”
“For how long?” Pellaeon asked.
Thrawn smiled tightly. “For as long as it takes.”
CHAPTER
11
“Han?” Lando’s voice came from the cabin intercom beside the bunk. “Wake up.”
“Yeah, I’m awake,” Han grunted, swiping at his eyes with one hand and swiveling the repeater displays toward him with the other. If there was one thing his years on the wrong side of the law had hammered into him, it was the knack of going from deep sleep to full alertness in the space between heartbeats. “What’s up?”
“We’re here,” Lando announced. “Wherever here is.”
“I’ll be right up.”
They were in sight of their target planet by the time he’d dressed and made his way to the Lady Luck’s cockpit. “Where’s Irenez?” he asked, peering out at the mottled blue-green crescent shape they were rapidly approaching. It looked pretty much like any of a thousand other planets he’d seen.
“She’s gone back to the aft control station,” Lando told her. “I got the impression she wanted to be able to send down some recognition codes without us looking over her shoulder.”
“Any idea where we are?”