Eli shook his head. “You can’t tell from the departure vector where a ship is going.”
“True,” Thrawn said. “But it would have been inefficient to leave in the entirely opposite direction, especially as they know they have limited time before the Dromedar’s disappearance becomes general knowledge. We may therefore make an initial assumption that their destination is within a cone of no more than ninety degrees centered around their departure vector.”
Eli pursed his lips. And that cone covered their current location at Ansion, so at least getting to Cygni’s destination in four days wasn’t completely out of the question.
Wherever there was. On that, they still didn’t have a clue.
“What else do we know?” Thrawn pressed. “What did Angel call their rendezvous?”
Eli had to search his memory. “He called it the Trapo,” he said. “I presume you’ve already looked for a planet by that name?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “There is no planet or major city listed in the registry. But note that he called it the Trapo, not simply Trapo. That may imply a colloquial or slang term.”
“A term for what?”
“I do not yet know,” Thrawn said. “But I believe that with the right questions we may learn that. What else do we know?”
Eli shrugged. “We have the faces of our prisoners. But even if they haven’t altered or deleted their data files—and a lot of criminals do exactly that—it would take days or weeks to sort through all the planetary records and figure out who they are.”
“We may also have the pirates’ own name for themselves,” Thrawn pointed out. “Do you remember? I asked you about it at the time.”
“You mean Culoss?” Eli asked, frowning. “I thought that was just some slang word.”
“I believe it is more than that,” Thrawn said. “Angel reacted too strongly to my interest in the word for it to have been innocent or harmless.”
“I didn’t notice any reaction.”
“It was somewhat subtle.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Eli said, starting to feel some cautious excitement. A Mid Rim base like Ansion might not have complete files on the Empire’s citizens, but it should have a list of the major criminal organizations within its jurisdiction. “Have you looked them up?”
“I have,” Thrawn said. “There is nothing listed under that name.”
“Oh,” Eli said, feeling his excitement fade.
“But there are several possible connections I may be able to exploit,” Thrawn continued. “We shall see once I am able to speak with them.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Eli asked. “I assume you maneuvered Rossi into leaving me here for a reason.”
“Two reasons,” Thrawn said. “I need you to monitor my interrogation. There may be a point where you will be uniquely useful.”
“All right,” Eli said, wondering what Thrawn could possibly mean by that. Uniquely useful wasn’t a term anyone had ever applied to him. “And the second reason?”
Thrawn was silent a moment. “For what I am planning, I may need a witness,” he said quietly. “You, Ensign Vanto, will be that witness.”
—
The three pirates are expressionless as they walk into their side of the interrogation room in single file. Each looks around the room as he enters, noting the gray metal walls, ceiling, and floor. Each also quickly spots the interrogation desk beyond the transparent barrier that bisects the room.
Thrawn waited until they were seated. Then he touched the intercom control set into his desk. On both sides of the barrier, indicator lights blinked on. “Good evening,” he said, speaking toward the microphone. “I am Lieutenant Thrawn.”
None of the three speak in response. But their facial heat increases. The muscles in their cheeks and throats and around their eyes shift between sullenness and hostility. The larger body muscles beneath their prison clothing twitch and tighten in distinct patterns.
“You are no doubt wondering why you are here,” Thrawn continued. “I wish to offer you a deal.”
Their facial glows briefly intensify, then fade to their previous levels. “You don’t believe me, of course,” Thrawn said. “But it is true. We have a saying: Grasp the useful, let the useless fly. You three are the useless.”
“And you can go plop yourself straight back to Pantora,” the tallest of the three retorted. There is a distinctive twang to his voice, a twang that had become apparent during the passage to Ansion. It is not identical to Vanto’s accent but with strong similarities, likely indicating similar Wild Space roots. “If you came here to insult us, you’re wasting your time.”
“I intend no insults,” Thrawn said. “On the contrary, I am impressed that successors of the pirate queen Q’anah still operate throughout the galaxy.”
The pirates’ facial heat increases dramatically. Their eyes widen; their throat muscles stiffen. They immediately try to hide their reactions, but they are only partially successful and it is already too late.
“You surely did not believe that you were unnoticed,” Thrawn continued. “Indeed, Grand Moff Tarkin has long noted that remnants of Q’anah’s Marauders had escaped their captain’s fate. I have been in contact with Tarkin, and he has expressed a desire to come to Ansion and deal personally with this last trace of his old enemy.”
“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” the pirate spokesman said.
“A brave but useless bluff,” Thrawn said. “However, as I stated, I would prefer to trade you for your leader. Grand Moff Tarkin might not agree. But I am here, and he is not. The true irony is that your leader Angel holds much the same philosophy as I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You surely noted which of your colleagues were selected to travel with him to Cygni’s rendezvous,” Thrawn said. “More important, you surely noted which of you were not chosen. You and the remainder, who were left to die.”
One of the pirates looks at their spokesman, his expression tense. The spokesman ignores him, but his own facial glow intensifies.
“From both short-term and long-term perspectives it was a reasonable decision,” Thrawn continued. “In the short term, Angel loses several experienced crew, but your capture and interrogation gain him additional time to remove the tibanna cylinders from the Dromedar. In the long term, he pares away those he deems no longer useful to his goals.”
“And the Marauder?” the spokesman shot back. “Sorry, Blueface, but Angel’s not stupid enough to dump a perfectly good frigate for nothing.”
“As I said: long-term perspective,” Thrawn replied. Now they had the pirate ship’s name. “Cygni has demonstrated the efficiency of his more subtle approach to ship capture. He has no doubt persuaded Angel that the Dromedar will serve him better than the Marauder. Certainly a freighter permits a more stealthy approach to its victim than an armed frigate.”
On the desk, his datapad lit up with a message: Frigate Marauder linked to five hijackings under ID code Elegin’s Hope. “Especially one that has come under as much scrutiny as Elegin’s Hope,” he added.
“You’re talking parth spit.” The pirate spokesman’s voice is low and contemptuous.
“I applaud your tenacity,” Thrawn said. “But surely you can see it is of no value. I already know too much for you to save yourselves, and once Tarkin arrives we will know everything. Unless you choose to accept my offer, you are lost.”
The three pirates look urgently at one another. “Let’s hear the deal,” the spokesman said.
“I will give you and your fellow prisoners a civilian transport,” Thrawn said. “It is partially derelict, but it should safely convey you from this sector before requiring repairs. In return, you will identify the system where Cygni and Angel have taken the Dromedar to remove the tibanna.”