“There was in the Mark One models,” Thrawn said. “It was a shell protecting the brain core. It was removed in later models because the cost outweighed the defensive benefits.”
“So, rare and intrinsically valuable,” Vanto said. He nods understanding. “You say the captain figured out that last part herself?”
“I believe so. She reached for her datapad, presumably intending to confirm her memory of the Mark One construction, but then changed her mind.”
“Didn’t want to make a big deal of it in front of everyone,” Vanto said. “She’ll wait until she’s alone.” He smiles with cynical amusement. “And then will no doubt congratulate herself on her memory and insight and on putting one over on her poor na?ve weapons officer.”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “And we should probably rejoin the others.”
“Right.” Vanto starts down the corridor at a quick walk. “Hopefully, Deyland also won’t mention the droids are functional. If he does, Rossi will probably take them right now, and you won’t get to fiddle with them anymore.”
“He said nothing at the time.”
“Good for him,” Vanto said. “Of course, he does owe you. Getting blindsided when those Delphidians made a run for it could have been embarrassing.”
“Possibly lethal, as well.”
“Very possibly,” Vanto agreed.
“Thrawn!” A distant bellow echoed down the passageway.
“I believe they have reached the electronics repair shop,” Thrawn said.
“And found the other part of your hyperdrive ring,” Vanto said. “Yeah. We might want to hurry.”
—
It took a week for Captain Rossi to come fully up to speed on her new command, and to acquaint herself with her ship, her officers, and her crew.
She was, Eli had to admit, pretty good at it. By the end of the second week she was being spoken of with cautious acceptance by most of the crew, and was well on her way to good working relationships with most of her officers.
With two glaring exceptions.
Eli, of course, was the second one.
The most frustrating part was that he’d predicted the problem right from the start. The captain had an aide; nonhuman Lieutenant Thrawn had one; and no one else aboard ship did.
It wasn’t proper protocol. It certainly wasn’t proper tradition. And in the Imperial Navy, those two things were the bedrock on which everything else was built.
It had taken Captain Virgilio some time to get used to the idea. It had taken Senior Lieutenant Deyland even longer. Neither man, Eli suspected, had ever been really happy with it.
Eli wasn’t expecting Rossi to ever get used to it, or accept it. Unfortunately, there were an infinite number of ways a commander could show her displeasure with something. Or with someone.
Sure enough, over the next month Eli saw a clear pattern developing. Every nasty, dirty, or undesirable job somehow ended up on Thrawn’s list. If it was a job that an officer couldn’t legitimately be ordered to do, Thrawn would still be tasked with overseeing the procedure.
And as Thrawn’s aide, Eli was usually assigned the job right along with him.
Thrawn took it with stoic good grace. Eli made sure his own annoyance was equally invisible. The slightest hint of insubordination, he knew, and Rossi would be on him like a tusk-cat on a shaak.
So when the Blood Crow picked up a distress call from a freighter carrying a cargo of static-locked tibanna gas, Eli knew exactly who would be leading the boarding party.
“If I understand correctly,” Thrawn said as Ensign Merri Barlin maneuvered their shuttle between the Blood Crow and the derelict freighter Dromedar, “the most disagreeable part of this duty is the dust?”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said, looking at the man and woman sitting silently in the jump seats along the shuttle’s walls. Neither of them looked particularly happy with their assignment, either. “Electronics Tech Layneo has had experience with static-locking,” Eli continued, gesturing to the woman. “Care to elaborate on the problem?”
“As Ensign Vanto says, sir, there’s dust,” Layneo said, her face wrinkling briefly with disgust. “A lot of it. Something about static-locking brings the stuff out of every nook and cranny on a ship and deposits it neatly on your uniform and skin. You come out looking like a dirt miner.”
“It sticks to fabrics especially well,” Engineering Tech Jakeeb added. “You usually have to run your uniform through the cleaner twice to get everything out.”
“And we all know how Captain Rossi likes her crew to look sharp,” Barlin called back from the cockpit.
“How does it affect electronic equipment?” Thrawn asked.
“Luckily, the dust is usually coarse enough not to get into properly sealed gear,” Layneo said. “Emphasis on properly. I’ve never seen a civilian transport yet where everything was up to proper code.”
“In fact, I’d bet fifty credits we don’t find anyone aboard,” Jakeeb said. “Automated beacon, dead in space—odds are they got dust in their hyperdrive, couldn’t fix it, and took off.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Layneo said.
“Easy,” Eli warned. “No gambling aboard ship, remember?”
“But we’re not aboard ship, sir,” Jakeeb said innocently.
“This vessel is considered part of the Blood Crow,” Thrawn said. “If static-locking has such serious disadvantages, why is it still used?”
“It’s really only used with tibanna gas, sir,” Layneo said. “The stuff’s highly explosive and highly valuable. Big draw for hijackers. Static-locking the tanks makes stealing them a risky business.”
“Which means it’ll be equally tricky for us if Captain Rossi wants them brought aboard,” Jakeeb warned. “Hopefully, it’ll just be a matter of fixing whatever’s wrong and flying the whole freighter to Ansion.”
There was a gentle bump. “We’re here, sir,” Barlin reported. “Engaging locking collar…okay, we’re set. Atmosphere inside reading normal. Lights on low, temperature mid-range, gravity functional and standard. Scrub is still running.”
“Life-form readings?” Thrawn asked.
“Nothing useful, sir,” she replied. “The static-locking’s still screwing all that up. Okay, scrub’s finished…negative on dangerous chemicals or microorganisms. We’re good to go, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “Ensign Vanto, take Techs Layneo and Jakeeb aft to the engine section. Ensign Barlin and I will go forward to the bridge.”
Two minutes later, Eli and the two techs were moving down the freighter’s central passageway, their footsteps echoing in the gloom. “Really hate derelicts, sir,” Layneo muttered as they walked. Her hand, Eli noted, was resting on the grip of her holstered blaster. “Too many ghost-ship stories when I was growing up.”
“I heard my share, too,” Eli said. “Most are just stories. The rest are real incidents embellished out of all recognition.”
“I’m sure this place will look a lot cheerier once Barlin gets to the lighting controls,” Jakeeb said helpfully.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Layneo growled. “All the light in the world—”
Without warning, the corridor erupted in a blinding blaze of light.
“Freeze!” a taut voice said from somewhere behind them. “You hear me? Freeze! Or I swear I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
—
Vanto’s expression is wary as he comes into view, but the tension that was in his voice when he gave the alarm has subsided. He holds an unfamiliar blaster loosely in his hand. “Ensign Vanto: Report,” Thrawn ordered.
“Lieutenant,” Vanto said. He gives a brief, formal nod of greeting and acknowledgment. His fingers are half curled in the silent signal that confirms all is indeed well. “May I present Nevil Cygni. He apparently mistook us for someone else.”
“Did he,” Thrawn said. Cygni is a human with dark hair and the textured skin of one who has worked long years in bright sunlight. He sits on the deck at Vanto’s feet. His torso is hunched forward, his face buried in his hands. His expression is largely hidden, but the tensed muscles in his neck and arms hold fear and weariness. His clothes are stained with the same dust that clings to the Imperials’ own uniforms. His hands show the scarring and calluses of mild physical labor. “Whom did he mistake us for?”