And with the desired perfect timing the two cloaked cruisers hovering on repulsorlifts beneath the shield at those two points fired in turn, their turbolaser blasts sizzling through the atmosphere into two of Ukio’s major air defense bases.
That was what Pellaeon saw. The Ukians, with no way of knowing about the cloaked cruisers, would have seen the Chimaera fire two devastating shots cleanly through an impenetrable planetary shield.
“Third transmission cut off right in the middle, sir,” the comm officer reported with a touch of dark humor. “I think we surprised them.”
“Let’s convince them it wasn’t a fluke,” Thrawn said. “Prepare firing sequence two. Master C’baoth?”
“The cruisers are ready.”
“Turbolaser battery two: stand by firing sequence two on my mark. Three … two … one … fire.”
Again the green fire lanced out, and again, with perfect timing, the cloaked cruisers created their illusion. “Well done,” Thrawn said. “Master C’baoth, move the cruisers into position for sequences three and four.”
“As you command, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
Unconsciously, Pellaeon braced himself. Sequence four had two of the Ukians’ thirty overlapping shield generators as its targets. Launching such an attack would mean that Thrawn had given up on his stated goal of taking Ukio with its planetary defenses intact.
“Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera, this is Tol dosLla of the Ukian Overliege,” a slightly quavering voice came from the intercom speaker. “We would ask you to cease your bombardment of Ukio while we discuss terms for surrender.”
“My terms are quite simple,” Thrawn said. “You will begin by lowering your planetary shield and allowing my forces to land. They will be given control of the shield generators themselves and of all ground-to-space weaponry. All fighting vehicles larger than command speeders will be moved to designated military bases and turned over to Imperial control. Though you will, of course, be ultimately answerable to the Empire, your political and social systems will remain under your control. Provided your people behave themselves, of course.”
“And once these changes have been implemented?”
“Then you will be part of the Empire, with all the rights and duties that implies.”
“There will be no war-level tax levies?” dosLla asked suspiciously. “No forced conscription of our young people?”
Pellaeon could imagine Thrawn’s grim smile. No, the Empire would never need to bother with forced conscription again. Not with the Emperor’s collection of Spaarti cloning cylinders in their hands.
“No, to your second question; a qualified no to your first,” Thrawn told the Ukian. “As you are obviously aware, most Imperial worlds are currently under war-status taxation levels. However, there are exceptions, and it is likely that your share of the war effort will come directly from your extensive food production and processing facilities.”
There was a long pause from the other end. DosLla was no fool, Pellaeon realized—the Ukian knew full well what Thrawn had in mind for his world. First it would be direct Imperial control of the ground/space defenses, then direct control of the food distribution system, the processing facilities, and the vast farming and livestock grazing regions themselves; and in a very short time the entire planet would have become nothing more than a supply depot for the Imperial war machine.
But the alternative was for him to stand silently by and watch as his world was utterly and impossibly demolished before his eyes. And he knew that, too.
“We will lower the planetary shields, Chimaera, as a gesture of good faith,” dosLla said at last, his tone defiant but with a hint of defeat to it. “But before the generators and ground/space weaponry can be turned over to Imperial forces we shall require certain guarantees regarding the safety of the Ukian people and our land.”
“Certainly,” Thrawn said, without any trace of the gloating that most Imperial commanders would have indulged in at this point. A small act of courtesy that, Pellaeon knew, was as precisely calculated as the rest of the attack had been. Permitting the Ukian leaders to surrender with their dignity intact would slow down the inevitable resistance to Imperial rule until it was too late. “A representative will be on his way shortly to discuss the particulars with your government,” Thrawn continued. “Meanwhile, I presume you have no objection to our forces taking up preliminary defense positions?”
A sigh, more felt than really heard. “We have no objections, Chimaera,” dosLla said reluctantly. “We are lowering the shield now.”
On the tactical display, the blue haze surrounding the planet faded away. “Master C’baoth, have the cruisers move to polar positions,” Thrawn ordered. “We don’t want any of the drop ships blundering into them. General Covell, you may begin transporting your forces to the surface. Standard defensive positions around all targets.”
“Acknowledged, Admiral,” Covell’s voice said, a little too dryly, and Pellaeon felt a tight smile twitch at his lip. It had only been two weeks since the top Fleet and army commanders had been let in on the secret of the Mount Tantiss cloning project, and Covell was one of those who still hadn’t adjusted completely to the idea.
Though the fact that three of the companies he was about to lead down to the surface were composed entirely of clones might have had something to do with his skepticism.
On the tactical hologram the first waves of drop ships and TIE fighter escorts had exited the Chimaera and Stormhawk, fanning out toward their assigned targets. Clones in drop ships, about to carry out Imperial orders. As the clone crews in the cloaked cruisers had already done so well.
Pellaeon frowned, an odd and uncomfortable thought suddenly striking him. Had C’baoth been able to guide the cruisers so well because each of their thousand-man crews were composed of variants on just twenty or so different minds? Or—even more disturbing—could part of the Jedi Master’s split-second control have been due to the fact that C’baoth was himself a clone?
And either way, did that mean that the Mount Tantiss project was playing directly into C’baoth’s hands in his bid for power? Perhaps. One more question he would have to bring to Thrawn’s attention.
Pellaeon looked down at C’baoth, belatedly remembering that in the Jedi Master’s presence such thoughts were not his private property. But C’baoth wasn’t looking at him, knowingly or otherwise. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, the skin of his face taut. A faint smile just beginning to crease his lips. “Master C’baoth?”
“They’re there,” C’baoth whispered, his voice deep and husky. “They’re there,” he repeated, louder this time.
Pellaeon frowned back at the tactical hologram. “Who’s where?” he asked.
“They’re at Filve,” C’baoth said. Abruptly, he looked up at Pellaeon, his eyes bright and insane. “My Jedi are at Filve.”
“Master C’baoth, confirm that the cruisers have moved to polar positions,” Thrawn’s voice came sharply. “Then report on the feint battles—”
“My Jedi are at Filve,” C’baoth cut him off. “What do I care about your battles?”
“C’baoth—”
With a wave of his hand, C’baoth shut off the intercom. “Now, Leia Organa Solo,” he murmured softly, “you are mine.”
The Millennium Falcon twisted hard to starboard as a TIE fighter shot past overhead, lasers blazing away madly as it tried unsuccessfully to track the freighter’s maneuver. Clenching her teeth firmly against the movement, Leia Organa Solo watched as one of their escort X-wings blew the Imperial starfighter into a cloud of flaming dust. The sky spun around the Falcon’s canopy as the ship rolled back toward its original heading—
“Look out!” Threepio wailed from the seat behind Leia as another TIE fighter roared in toward them from the side. The warning was unnecessary; with deceptive ungainliness the Falcon was already corkscrewing back the other direction to bring its ventral quad laser battery to bear. Faintly audible even through the cockpit door, Leia heard the sound of a Wookiee battle roar, and the TIE fighter went the way of its late partner.
“Good shot, Chewie,” Han Solo called into the intercom as he got the Falcon leveled again. “Wedge?”
“Still with you, Falcon,” Wedge Antilles’ voice came promptly. “We’re clear for now, but there’s another wave of TIE fighters on the way.”
“Yeah.” Han glanced at Leia. “It’s your call, sweetheart. You still want to try and reach ground?”
Threepio gave a little electronic gasp. “Surely, Captain Solo, you aren’t suggesting—”
“Put a choke valve on it, Goldenrod,” Han cut him off. “Leia?”
Leia looked out the cockpit canopy at the Imperial Star Destroyer and eight Dreadnaughts arrayed against the beleaguered planet ahead. Clustering around it like mynocks around an unshielded power generator. It was to have been her last diplomatic mission before settling in to await the birth of her twins: a quick trip to calm a nervous Filvian government and demonstrate the New Republic’s determination to protect the systems in this sector.