Thrawn looked out the viewport again at the planet beneath them. “And while we await the general’s return, you’ll contact Surveillance regarding that long-term team for Hyllyard City.” He smiled. “It’s a very large galaxy, Captain, but even a man like Talon Karrde can run for only so long. Eventually, he’ll have to come to rest.”
It wasn’t really deserving of its name, the High Castle of Jomark. Not in Joruus C’baoth’s estimation, anyway. Short and dirty, its stonework ill-fitting in places and as alien as the long-gone race that had built it, it squatted uneasily between two of the larger crags on what was left of an ancient volcanic cone. Still, with the rest of the rim circling around in the distance, and the brilliant blue waters of Ring Lake four hundred meters almost straight down beneath him, C’baoth could allow that the natives had at least found some good scenery to build their castle on. Their castle, or temple, or whatever. It had been a good place for a Jedi Master to move into, if only because the colonists seemed to hold the place in awe. Then too, the dark island that filled the center of the crater and gave the lake its ring shape provided a suitably hidden landing site for Thrawn’s annoyingly endless stream of shuttles.
But it was neither the scenery, nor the power, nor even the Empire that held C’baoth’s thoughts as he stood on the castle terrace and gazed down into Ring Lake. It was, instead, the strange flicker he’d just felt in the Force.
He’d felt it before, this flicker. Or at least he thought he had. Threads to the past were always so hard to follow, so easily lost in the mists and the hurryings of the present. Even of his own past he had only glimpses of memory, scenes as if from a history record. He rather thought he remembered someone trying to explain the reasons to him once, but the explanation was long gone in the darkness of the past.
It didn’t matter anyway. Memory wasn’t important; concentration wasn’t important; his own past wasn’t important. He could call upon the Force when he wanted to, and that was what was important. As long as he could do that, no one could ever hurt him or take away what he had.
Except that Grand Admiral Thrawn had already taken it away. Hadn’t he?
C’baoth looked around the terrace. Yes. Yes; this wasn’t the home and city and world he’d chosen to mold and command as his own. This wasn’t Wayland, which he’d wrested from the Dark Jedi whom the Emperor had set to guard his Mount Tantiss storehouse. This was Jomark, where he was waiting for … someone.
He stroked his fingers through his long white beard, forcing himself to concentrate. He was waiting for Luke Skywalker—that was it. Luke Skywalker was going to come to him, and Luke Skywalker’s sister and her as-yet-unborn twins, and he would turn all of them into his followers. Grand Admiral Thrawn had promised them to him, in return for his help to the Empire.
He winced at the thought. It was hard, this help that Grand Admiral Thrawn wanted. He had to concentrate hard to do what they wanted; to hold his thoughts and feelings closely in line, and for long periods at a time. On Wayland he hadn’t had to do anything like that, not since he’d fought against the Emperor’s Guardian.
He smiled. It had been a grand battle, that fight against the Guardian. But even as he tried to remember it, the details skittered away like straws in the wind. It had been too long ago.
Long ago … like these flickers in the Force had been.
C’baoth’s fingers slipped away from his beard, to the medallion nestled against the skin of his chest. Squeezing the warm metal against his palm, he fought against the mists of the past, trying to see beyond them. Yes. Yes, he was not mistaken. These same flickers had come three times before in the past few seasons. Had come, had stayed for a time, and then once again had gone dormant. Like someone who had learned how to utilize the Force for a time, but then somehow forgotten.
He didn’t understand it. But it was of no threat to him, and so wasn’t important.
Above him, he could sense now the Imperial Star Destroyer entering high orbit, far above the clouds where none of the others on Jomark would see it. When night fell, the shuttle would come, and they would take him off somewhere—Taanab, he thought—to help coordinate yet another of these multiple Imperial attacks.
He wasn’t looking forward to the effort and pain. But it would all be worth it when he had his Jedi. He would remake them in his own image, and they would be his servants and his followers all the days of their lives.
And then even Grand Admiral Thrawn would have to admit that he, Joruus C’baoth, had found the true meaning of power.
CHAPTER
2
“I’m sorry, Luke,” Wedge Antilles’ voice said over the comm, the words punctuated by occasional spittings of static. “I’ve tried every handle I can think of, including pulling all the rank I’ve got and some I haven’t. It’s still no go. Some data pusher up the riser somewhere has issued orders that the Sluissi’s own defense ships have absolute top priority for repair work. Until we can find this guy and talk him into a special dispensation, we’re not going to get anyone to touch your X-wing.”
Luke Skywalker grimaced, feeling four hours’ worth of frustration welling up in his throat. Four precious hours wasted, with the end still not in sight, while on Coruscant the future of the entire New Republic was even now teetering on the edge. “Did you get this data pusher’s name?” he asked.
“I couldn’t even get that,” Wedge said. “Every line I’ve tried has disappeared about three layers up from the mechanics themselves. I’m still trying, but this whole place has gone kind of baffy.”
“A major Imperial attack will do that to you,” Luke conceded with a sigh. He could understand why the Sluissi had set their priorities the way they had; but it wasn’t like he was just going off on a joyride, either. It was a good six-day flight from here to Coruscant as it was, and every hour that he was delayed was one more hour the political forces trying to oust Admiral Ackbar would have to consolidate their position. “Keep trying, okay? I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Sure,” Wedge said. “Look, I know you’re worried about what’s happening on Coruscant. But any one person can only do so much. Even a Jedi.”
“I know,” Luke agreed reluctantly. And Han was on his way back, and Leia was already there … “I just hate sitting around being out of it.”
“Me, too.” Wedge lowered his voice a bit. “You’ve still got one other option. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” Luke promised. It was certainly an option he’d been tempted to take his friend up on. But Luke wasn’t officially a member of the New Republic military anymore; and with the New Republic forces here at the shipyards still at full alert, Wedge could face an immediate court martial for handing his X-wing over to a civilian. Councilor Borsk Fey’lya and his anti-Ackbar faction might not want to bother making an example out of someone as relatively low in rank as a starfighter wing commander. But then again, they might.
Wedge, of course, knew all that better than Luke did. Which made the offer that much more generous. “I appreciate it,” Luke told him. “But unless things get really desperate, it’ll probably be better all around if I just wait for mine to get fixed.”
“Okay. How’s General Calrissian doing?”
“He’s in roughly the same boat as my X-wing,” Luke said dryly. “Every doctor and medical droid in the place is tied up treating battle injuries. Digging minor bits of metal and glass out of someone who’s not currently bleeding is kind of low on their priority list at the moment.”
“I’ll bet he’s really pleased with that.”
“I’ve seen him happier,” Luke admitted. “I’d better go give the medics another push. Why don’t you get back to prodding the Sluissi bureaucracy from your end—if we both push hard enough, maybe we can meet in the middle.”
Wedge chuckled. “Right. Talk to you later.”
With one final crackle of static, the comm cut off. “And good luck,” Luke added softly as he got up from the public-use comm desk and headed off across the Sluis Van Central reception area toward the medical corridor. If the rest of the Sluissi equipment had been damaged as much as their in-system communications, it could be a long time indeed before anyone had enough spare time to put a couple of new hyperdrive motivators into a civilians X-wing.
Still, things weren’t quite as dark as they could have been, he decided as he maneuvered his way carefully through the hurrying crowds that seemed to be going in all directions at once. There were several New Republic ships here, whose work crews might be more willing than the Sluissi themselves to bend the rules for a former officer like Luke. And if worse came to worst, he could try calling Coruscant to see if Mon Mothma could expedite matters any.
The drawback to that approach was that calling for help would probably give the appearance of weakness … and to show weakness in front of Councilor Fey’lya was not the right signal to be sending now.